One Slash Kill, What a Joke

Ashido quickly sized up the youth.

He shook his head slightly and said in a low voice, "Captain, his aura is enough to suppress the Rukongai here, but it's nothing among Shinigami."

Is this the "evil spirit"?

Ashido was a little disappointed.

But Kurayashiki Kenpachi, standing beside him, reacted completely differently.

The Eleventh Division Captain, who had always been overly cheerful, had lost all trace of a smile on his face.

His right hand slowly moved to the hilt of his Zanpakuto.

He leaned forward slightly, a natural preparatory movement when encountering an opponent.

His eyes were fixed on the youth by the well, a fire burning in their depths.

"No, Ashido."

"You're wrong."

The corners of Kurayashiki Kenpachi's mouth slowly curled upwards.

"This kid..."

"Is ridiculously strong!"

The youth stood up.

His movements were not fast, even a bit sluggish, like rusty gears grinding back into motion.

But as he straightened, the restrained aura he had held back subtly dispersed, not a surge of spiritual pressure, but a "presence" tinged with rust and the smell of blood.

His right hand grasped the serrated longsword leaning against the tree roots, then he raised his eyes, staring directly at Kurayashiki Kenpachi.

No, more accurately, he was looking at the Captain's Haori on Kurayashiki Kenpachi's body.

His previously vacant eyes were now astonishingly bright, light dancing within them, fire burning.

The corners of his mouth pulled upwards bit by bit, forming not quite a smile, but more like the expression of a beast baring its teeth at prey.

He stared at the Haori with extreme intensity, as if trying to etch every single thread into his eyes.

His mind, almost completely filled with pure instinct and bloodlust, almost "rusted" over, was now spinning at an unprecedented speed.

A vague shadow, a shadow imprinted long, long ago, perhaps when he still held more "memories," surfaced from the depths of his mind.

That shadow also wore a long, imposing-looking garment.

He was comparing.

Comparing the clothes the person in front of him was wearing to the figure in his memory.

Kurayashiki Kenpachi was also smiling.

Not his usual hearty, open smile, but a low chuckle rumbling from the depths of his throat, filled with burning battle intent.

The moment their eyes met just now, a jolt of electricity shot down his spine unexpectedly.

The feeling was all too familiar.

Having walked the line between life and death countless times, having fought fierce enemies innumerable times, his body had long ago forged an instinctive warning system far beyond reason.

His body was screaming at him: the guy in front of him was dangerous! Capable of threatening you! Worthy of your full strength!

Before he could even consciously realize it, his body had automatically adjusted its center of gravity, his muscles tensing slightly, his spiritual pressure contained but like an erupting volcano.

He tightened his grip on the hilt at his waist, every cell in his body cheering, yearning.

How long had it been? A hundred years? Two hundred years?

It had been so long since he had felt this trembling sensation, this urge to draw his sword, just from standing in a standoff.

However, he was a Captain, after all.

The Eleventh Division revered battle, but his pride as a Captain kept him rooted in place, hand on his sword, waiting for the opponent to make the first move.

In the center of the clearing, the two men stared at each other.

The wind whipped sand through the space between them, but couldn't stir the hem of their clothes.

Ashido stood behind and to the side of Kurayashiki Kenpachi, his brow furrowing even tighter after hearing the Captain's "ridiculously strong."

He once again focused his mind, carefully sensing the youth.

The "amount" of spiritual pressure was indeed small, even a bit "meager."

Spiritual power level? At most, mid-tier ten, and impure at that.

At this level, let alone a Captain, Ashido himself was confident he could quickly defeat him in a direct confrontation.

Two swings? Perhaps not even that.

Where exactly had things gone wrong? The Captain couldn't possibly be mistaken, especially on an issue like "an opponent's strength."

Did I miss something?

Ashido pursed his lips, and with a thought, several soft, red "cloth strips" silently extended from his body, reaching out towards the youth, attempting to directly contact and analyze his spiritual energy fluctuations.

The spiritual threads brushed lightly against the space around the youth, coming into contact with the spirit particles he naturally emitted.

The information fed back was still unremarkable: chaotic, lacking order, limited in strength, with no fundamental difference from the results of visual observation and spiritual pressure perception.

Did Captain make a mistake? Ashido couldn't help but tilt his head to look at his Captain.

He saw Kurayashiki Kenpachi tense all over, his eyes burning with a terrifying intensity, a state he only adopted when facing an equally matched or even stronger opponent.

Ashido's mind was filled with question marks.

Just then, the youth spoke.

His voice was hoarse, as if he hadn't spoken properly in a long time, with a rough, jagged quality.

"Hey," he stared at the haori on Kurayashiki Kenpachi's body and asked directly, "Where did you get that outfit?"

Kurayashiki Kenpachi was stunned for a moment, then burst into loud laughter:

"Hahaha! You mean this?" He patted the haori on his chest. "Seireitei issued it! What, you like it?"

"Seireitei?" The youth repeated the word, a clear look of confusion on his face.

He tilted his head, seemingly searching his memories, but found nothing.

This wasn't surprising. If he had truly stayed in a chaotic place like the Gomukure District, with its low numbers, it would be perfectly normal not to know the name of Seireitei, the center of power.

Here, a "Shinigami" might just be a vague, terrifying legend; where they came from or what they represented, no one cared.

Only those who came from the front districts might have truly seen a Shinigami.

Kurayashiki Kenpachi looked at the youth's puzzled expression, his smile widening. "You want it? Simple."

He flipped his empty left thumb upwards, pointing at himself. "Kill me, and it's yours. That's always been the rule of the Eleventh Division."

"Captain!" Ashido couldn't help but exclaim.

While it was true that their division had an unwritten code of "challenge a superior and you can take their place," this guy was of unknown origin, and issuing such a casual death invitation was a bit too...

Kurayashiki Kenpachi simply waved his hand casually, signaling him to be quiet, his gaze never leaving the youth opposite him.

Ashido's throat bobbed, and he swallowed the rest of his words.

He understood his Captain. Once he entered this state, nothing anyone said would matter.

The confusion on the youth's face slowly disappeared.

He processed Kurayashiki Kenpachi's words, and the light in his eyes burned even brighter.

"Is that so?" he said in a low voice, as if confirming, or perhaps talking to himself.

Then, the curve of his lips widened into a sneer. "Then give it to me!"

Before his voice even fell, he moved!

The serrated long sword in his hand sliced through the air, chopping down at Kurayashiki Kenpachi's head!

Before the blade even arrived, the ferocious intent condensed on it surged forward!

Here it comes!

Every cell in Kurayashiki Kenpachi's body let out a high-pitched cry at that instant!

It was trembling, a shiver of extreme excitement!

This pure, unreserved strike, born solely for slaughter!

This thrill of facing death head-on and bringing death to the other!

He hadn't felt it so clearly in a hundred years!

"Hahaha! Good!"

Kurayashiki Kenpachi roared with laughter, not dodging or evading. His right hand, gripping the sword hilt, completed the drawing motion!

A blinding flash of light shot upwards from below!

The moment the sword lights met—ch-ch!

It was the dull, wet sound of a sharp blade cutting into flesh.

The expected clash of metal against metal didn't occur, nor did the anticipated violent collision of spiritual pressure.

That brilliant sword light pierced through the youth's seemingly ferocious attack trajectory without any obstruction, and then plunged into his chest.

Blood, as if reacting a moment later, suddenly sprayed from the deep wound on the youth's chest.

The warm liquid, carrying a strong metallic scent, splattered all over Kurayashiki Kenpachi's head and face.

The youth's forward momentum halted abruptly.

The serrated long sword in his hand clattered to the ground.

He lowered his head, looking somewhat blankly at his bleeding chest, then looked up at Kurayashiki Kenpachi, whose face was covered in his own blood, standing so close.

The fire in his eyes quickly extinguished, returning to its previous emptiness.

His lips moved slightly, as if trying to say something, but in the end, only a meaningless sigh, "Hh..." escaped.

Then, his eyes rolled back, and he fell straight backward, crashing heavily onto the gravel-strewn ground, kicking up a small cloud of dust.

In the open space, only the sound of the wind blowing remained, along with the faint echo of the serrated longsword that had fallen to the ground and was trembling slightly.

Kurayashiki Kenpachi stood rooted to the spot, the fanatical smile on his face completely frozen, then slowly contorted.

His face was a mixture of shock, bewilderment, and the emptiness brought by a massive drop in expectations.

Kurayashiki Kenpachi's eyes widened. His face was still smeared with the opponent's blood as he watched, with his own eyes, the "opponent" he had so eagerly anticipated spit blood from his chest, roll his eyes, and fall like a log.

His hand, still gripping the sword, remained in the posture of having swung it, a drop of blood slowly sliding off the tip.

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.