Ashido quickly sized up the young man.
He shook his head slightly and said in a low voice, "Captain, his presence is enough to overwhelm the Wandering Souls around here, but among Shinigami, he's nothing special."
So this was the "demon"?
Ashido was a little disappointed.
But Kurayashiki Kenpachi beside him reacted in a completely different way.
The Eleventh Division captain, who was always a little too cheerful, had lost every trace of his smile.
His right hand slowly settled on the hilt of his Zanpakuto.
He leaned forward slightly, an instinctive stance taken when facing an opponent.
His eyes were fixed on the young man by the well, fire burning in their depths.
"No, Ashido."
"You're wrong."
Kurayashiki Kenpachi's lips slowly curled into a grin.
"This guy..."
"Is absurdly strong!"
The young man stood up.
His movements weren't quick; if anything, they were sluggish, like rusty gears slowly grinding back into motion.
But as soon as he straightened, the aura he'd been holding back began to seep out. It wasn't a sudden surge of Reiatsu, but a "presence" tinged with rust and the smell of blood.
His right hand gripped the Sawtoothed Long Sword leaning against the tree roots. Then he raised his eyes and stared straight at Kurayashiki Kenpachi.
No, more accurately, he was looking at the Captain's Haori Kurayashiki Kenpachi wore.
His eyes, previously vacant, now shone with startling brightness. Light flickered in them, and fire burned.
The corners of his mouth slowly lifted, forming something that wasn't quite a smile. It was more like the bared grin of a beast that had spotted its prey.
He stared at the Haori with absolute focus, as if trying to etch every last detail into his eyes.
His mind, nearly consumed by pure instinct and bloodlust, nearly "rusted" shut, was now churning faster than ever before.
A vague image surfaced in the depths of his mind, an image from long, long ago, perhaps imprinted there when he still had more "memories."
That figure, too, wore a similar-looking long coat that seemed quite impressive.
He was comparing them.
The clothes this person wore with those worn by the figure in his memory.
Kurayashiki Kenpachi was smiling, too.
It wasn't his usual open, hearty grin, but a low chuckle that rumbled up from deep in his throat, brimming with burning battle lust.
Just now, the instant his eyes met the young man's, a jolt of electricity had shot unexpectedly down his spine.
The sensation was far too familiar.
After countless brushes with death and countless battles against powerful enemies, his body had long since honed an instinctive warning system that surpassed reason.
His body was screaming at him: This guy is dangerous! He's a threat to you! He's worth fighting with everything you've got!
Before he was even consciously aware of it, his body had already shifted its balance. His muscles tensed slightly, and his Reiatsu drew inward, like a volcano on the verge of eruption.
He tightened his grip on the hilt at his waist. Every cell in his body was cheering, yearning for what was to come.
How long had it been? A hundred years? Two hundred?
It had been far too long since simply standing off against someone had made him tremble all over, impatient to draw his sword.
But he was still a captain, after all.
The Eleventh Division revered battle, but his pride as captain kept him where he stood, hand on his sword, waiting for his opponent to move first.
In the center of the clearing, the two men simply watched each other.
The wind swept sand and grit between them, but couldn't stir the hem of either man's clothes.
Standing just behind Kurayashiki Kenpachi's shoulder, Ashido's brow furrowed even more deeply at his captain's words: "absurdly strong."
He focused again and carefully sensed the young man.
The "amount" of Reiatsu he had really wasn't much. If anything, it was a little "pathetic."
Spiritual Pressure Level? Ten at most, and middle of the pack at that. His Reiatsu was impure, too.
At that level, Ashido was confident he could take him down quickly in a head-on fight, let alone the captain.
Two strikes? He might not even need that many.
So what was going wrong? The captain couldn't have misjudged him, especially when it came to an opponent's strength.
Was there something I'd missed?
Ashido pressed his lips together. With a thought, several soft red "strips of cloth" quietly extended from his body and reached toward the young man, attempting to make more direct contact with and analyze the fluctuations in his spiritual power.
The spiritual threads brushed through the space around the young man and touched the Reishi naturally escaping from him.
The information they returned was still utterly unremarkable: chaotic, lacking any order, and limited in strength. It was no different from what Ashido had observed with his eyes and sensed from the man's Reiatsu.
Had the captain really gotten it wrong? Ashido couldn't help glancing at him.
Kurayashiki Kenpachi stood taut, his gaze frighteningly intense. That was the look he wore only when facing an evenly matched opponent—or one even stronger.
Ashido's mind was full of questions.
Just then, the young man spoke.
His voice was hoarse, as if he hadn't spoken properly in ages, with a rasp like serrated teeth.
"Hey." He stared at Kurayashiki Kenpachi's Haori and asked bluntly, "Where'd you get those clothes?"
Kurayashiki Kenpachi froze for a moment, then burst into booming laughter.
"Hahaha! You mean this?" He slapped his chest, patting the Haori. "The Seireitei issued it! What, you like it?"
"Seireitei?" the young man repeated, a clear look of confusion crossing his face.
He tilted his head, as if searching his memories, but found nothing.
It wasn't strange. If he really had spent all his time in a chaotic place like Zaraki District, one of the districts with the highest number, it was only natural that he wouldn't know the name of the governing center, Seireitei.
Here, "Shinigami" might be nothing more than a vague, terrifying rumor. No one cared where they came from or what they represented.
Perhaps only those who had come from the districts further in had actually seen Shinigami.
Kurayashiki Kenpachi saw the young man's confusion, and his grin grew even brighter. "Want it? Easy."
He pointed his free left thumb back at himself. "Kill me, and it's yours. That's how things have always worked in the Eleventh Division."
"Captain!" Ashido couldn't help speaking up.
It was true that the division had an unwritten tradition of letting anyone who challenged a superior take their place, but this guy's origins were unknown. Extending an invitation to his own death so casually was a bit too—
Kurayashiki Kenpachi merely waved a hand at him, signaling for him to be quiet, his eyes never leaving the young man across from him.
Ashido's throat bobbed. He swallowed the rest of his words.
He knew his captain. Once he got like this, nothing anyone said would matter.
The confusion on the young man's face slowly faded.
He absorbed Kurayashiki Kenpachi's words, and the light in his eyes burned even more fiercely.
"Is that so?" he murmured, as if confirming it, or perhaps talking to himself.
Then the corners of his mouth lifted farther into a savage grin. "Then give it to me!"
Before the words had even left his mouth, he moved!
The Sawtoothed Long Sword in his hand tore through the air, chopping straight down at Kurayashiki Kenpachi!
The blade hadn't even arrived, but the savage intent gathered along its length was already crashing over him!
Here he comes!
Every cell in Kurayashiki Kenpachi's body let out a piercing cry in that instant!
It was trembling, a shudder of absolute exhilaration!
A pure, utterly unrestrained slash, born solely for slaughter!
The thrill of facing death and bringing death to the other man!
He hadn't felt it so clearly in a hundred years!
"Hahahaha! Good!"
Kurayashiki Kenpachi roared with laughter. He didn't dodge. His right hand gripped the hilt and completed the draw!
A dazzling flash of light swept upward from below!
The blades crossed—and then came a wet, muffled sound.
It was the sound of a sharp blade cutting into flesh.
The clang of metal on metal he'd expected never came. Nor did the violent clash of Reiatsu he'd anticipated.
The dazzling blade-light passed through the young man's seemingly ferocious attack without resistance, then sank into his chest.
A moment later, as if the blood had only just caught up with what had happened, it burst from the deep wound in the young man's chest.
Warm liquid, thick with the smell of rust, splattered across Kurayashiki Kenpachi's head and face.
The young man's forward momentum stopped dead.
The Sawtoothed Long Sword in his hand clattered to the ground.
He lowered his head and looked in bewilderment at his bleeding chest, then raised his eyes to Kurayashiki Kenpachi standing within arm's reach, his face covered in the young man's blood.
The fire in his eyes quickly went out, leaving them vacant once more.
His lips moved as though he wanted to say something, but in the end, all that came out was a meaningless, breathy "Huh..."
Then his eyes rolled back, and he toppled straight backward, crashing onto the rocky ground and kicking up a small cloud of dust.
Only the sound of the wind remained in the clearing, along with the faint quiver of the Sawtoothed Long Sword lying on the ground.
Kurayashiki Kenpachi stood where he was, the feverish grin on his face frozen stiff before slowly twisting out of shape.
His expression mingled shock and bewilderment with the emptiness of a crushing letdown.
Kurayashiki Kenpachi stared wide-eyed, the other man's blood still running down his face, watching his eagerly anticipated "opponent" spurt blood from his chest, roll his eyes, and topple over like a log.
The hand holding his sword remained frozen in its follow-through, while a drop of blood slowly slid from the tip.
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
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