Yan Si stood where he was and did not move immediately.
He went through the current situation in his mind.
First Generation Thirteen Court Guard Squads's captains have almost appeared.
Shijima Chigiri, Obana Danjirō, Saitō Furofushi, Furuoki Otogawa, Kumei Entetsu, Shigyō no Butsuna, Katori Batsu'unsai, Iwahara Kinroku, Zenteiji Yūhin.
Nine people, nine First Generation captains, plus Unohana Retsu.
No, there is another one.
Yan Si tapped his fingers twice in his trouser pocket.
Shihoin Sennai.
The ancestor of First Generation Second Division Captain, Shihoin Clan, he is not dead, he is still alive in Soul Society, but he will not live long.
In order to see the next generation of the Shihoin Clan with his own eyes, and in order to see the birth of Yoruichi's child, he broke his Reiatsu into pieces bit by bit.
There are still about ten years left.
With his age, strength and status, if he wanted, he could live for hundreds more years like those Nobles old men. But he didn't want to.
He said that he had lived enough and seen enough. He had seen everything that should be seen and what should not be seen.
The only thing I can't let go of is Shihoin Clan.
It's not that I can't let go of this surname, it's that I can't let go of Yoruichi, or Yushiro, the child who hasn't been born yet.
That is the child of Yan Si and Yoruichi, a life that combines two excellent genes, how dazzling it must be.
He must take one look before he dies.
So he broke Reiatsu into pieces, dispersed the power, and turned himself into a mortal old man.
Just to hold on for more than ten years, wait until the child is born, take a look at it, hold it, and then close your eyes.
Yan Si's mouth moved.
It's not a smile, it's an indescribable expression.
There are also captain First Generation Thirteenth Division, Sakotsu Saizō.
That person is really about to die, not broken Reiatsu, but his lifespan is up. Recently, he is out of breath more and out of breath. He needs help when walking, feeding when eating, and when he talks, he has to be close to his ear to hear clearly.
He couldn't live for two years, so he didn't come Hell.
Yan Si went through the list in his mind and confirmed one thing... everything that should come has come, and those who haven't come either can't come or there is no need to come.
He raised his feet, ready to step out.
"Little Junior Brother."
A voice came from behind, not loud, but very clear.
It has a gentle and familiar tone that makes people feel at ease listening to it.
Yan Si's feet stopped in mid-air.
He turned around.
Ukitake Jūshirō stood there.
He was wearing Shinigami uniform, with a white Captain's Haori over it. The number thirteen on his back was a little blurry under the dark red light.
His face is no longer as pale as before, it has blood color, and his lips are no longer the sickly purple color, but a normal, healthy and shiny red. His eye sockets are no longer sunken, cheekbones are no longer prominent, and his cheeks are full. He looks as if he is ten years younger.
But there are patterns on his face, just like those on the faces of Captain First Generation.
Like cracks on porcelain, mildew spots on ancient paintings, traces that should not exist but are unexpectedly beautiful.
Yan Si looked at him for two seconds.
Then he smiled. The corners of his mouth turned up and his eyes bent down, with a hint of helplessness and a hint of understanding.
"Jūshirō Ukitake, senior brother." His voice was very calm, "I didn't expect that we would meet again in this way."
Jūshirō Ukitake also laughed.
That smile is the same as before, gentle, with a bit of a sick look... No, there is no sick look now.
His smile no longer had the fragile feeling of "coughing at any time, falling down at any time", but was replaced by a sense of health and stability, like a tree rooted in the ground.
"Junior brother," his voice was better than before. It was no longer hoarse or choppy. Every word was as clear as if it were struck on porcelain. "Time is very tight now, so I won't chat with you anymore."
Yan Si nodded.
He didn't ask "How did you know the time was tight?" He didn't ask "Why are you here?" He didn't ask "What's the matter with the patterns on your face?" Those questions were not important anymore.
Jūshirō Ukitake being here, appearing in this form, only means one thing...Hell didn't even let him go.
"Kaname Tōsen."
The voice of Yan Si is not high, but it is very clear.
Whoosh...!
A black figure swept over from the side and landed in front of Ukitake Jūshirō.
Kaname Tōsen was wearing a white uniform, with his eyes closed, his hands hanging by his sides, and his right hand resting on his Zanpakutō.
His face was facing the direction of Jūshirō Ukitake, his body was slightly depressed, his knees were bent, and his center of gravity sank.
"Master Yan Si, leave it to me."
Yan Si did not respond. He had already taken steps and walked towards the north.
The steps were not fast, but each step covered a long distance. The soles of his feet stepped on the sand, and there was almost no sound except for the hunting sound of his clothes fluttering in the wind.
Aizen has already left. When he was intercepted by Iwahara Kinroku just now, Aizen had already left.
Hell seems to have used all its interception forces to deal with Yan Si, but against Aizen, only one person was sent, and then nothing happened.
Maybe it's because Aizen chose the south, and the interception force in the south is not enough.
Maybe it's because Hell feels that Aizen is not as big of a threat as Yan Si.
Maybe it's because Hell's power is limited, and it can only focus its limited resources on the most critical directions.
Whatever the reason, Aizen is gone.
South, east, north.
Three directions, three people.
Chiziro Kenpachi, Aizen, Yan Si.
They want to measure the boundaries of Hell, find the end of Hell, and find the position of the heart.
Yan Si spoke while walking.
"Brother, how do you feel about Hell?" His voice floated from the front.
Ukitake Jūshirō stood on the sand, looking at Kaname Tōsen. The Sōgyo no Kotowari in his hand had already been unsheathed.
The blade of the sword is very thin and long, and is divided into two parts, one for each hand.
There is water flow on the blade, and it looks like two silver snakes under the dark red light.
He responded with a smile, his voice was very relaxed, like he was chatting.
"I don't feel anything, I just feel..." He swung the knife out, slashing horizontally from left to right. The blade cut through the air with a hissing sound, "I can't let you go to the end."
Bang...!
Kaname Tōsen's Zanpakutō blocked this sword.
He turned his wrist, pushed the blade away, and moved his body half a step sideways to get out of the way of Jūshirō Ukitake's next combo.
The steps were light and steady, making almost no sound when stepping on the sand.
"The end?" Yan Si's voice came from the front, with a hint of smile.
Jūshirō Ukitake's knife didn't stop. Sōgyo no Kotowari was like two fans in his hand, opening and closing, retracting and releasing, the light of the knife flashed continuously.
But his attacks are traceable... not the kind of crazy attacks that cut the enemy into pieces regardless of the cost, but an attack that is rhythmic and regular, like a routine when practicing swordsmanship.
"Senior brother, if we have a chance, we can talk again in the future."
Yan Si's feet tapped lightly on the sand.
Bang...!
A shallow pit exploded in the sand, red sand flew around, and his figure disappeared from the place.
Jūshirō Ukitake looked in that direction and shook his head slightly.
"In the future?" His voice was very soft, with a hint of helplessness and a sigh, "I'm afraid there is no future."
His sword was still swinging, one blow after another, not fast, but very steady.
Kaname Tōsen's body is moving, turning sideways, flowing through the gaps in the blade like water.
His steps are light and nimble, like gliding on the ice or dancing on the edge of a knife.
Jūshirō Ukitake's knife passed by him every time. The blade stuck to his clothes and cut a few fabrics, but did not hurt the skin. "You need to save more Spiritual Power." Jūshirō Ukitake's voice was very gentle, like a teacher teaching a student, "You can't be so offensive."
He retracted his sword and put it back in front of him, crossing his swords and holding them on his chest.
Then he turned slightly sideways to get out of the way of Kaname Tōsen's counterattack. The blade passed over his shoulder and cut off a few hairs.
"Although I can't control my body, I must attack you." Jūshirō Ukitake swung the knife out again, this time it was a downward slash, and the blade struck from the top of the head with a sound of wind, "But now my attack should be traceable."
Kaname Tōsen ducked sideways, and the blade passed by the tip of his nose.
"Don't be so nervous."
Jūshirō Ukitake's knife stopped and was retracted, giving Kaname Tōsen time to adjust his breathing and stand firm.
"Yes, that's it."
Kaname Tōsen frowned slightly.
He is indeed saving effort.
From the beginning of the battle, he was calculating the cost of every step, the strength of every block, and the angle of every dodge.
His Spiritual Power is not unlimited. Although Soul Jade can be replenished, the replenishment speed cannot keep up with the consumption speed. If he swings the knife as crazy as Kenpachi Zaraki, he will not be able to hold on long ago.
But Jūshirō Ukitake is helping him save effort.
It's not a deliberate effort, it's just a matter of controlling the rhythm.
Although his attacks continued, there was room for every blow and a gap for every combo, giving Kaname Tōsen time to dodge and time to adjust and breathe.
"How could you do this?"
Kaname Tōsen's voice was very low, with a hint of doubt.
He has seen the battles of those First Generation captains.
Shijima Chigiri versus Unohana Retsu, Obana Danjirō versus Kenpachi Zaraki, Saitō Furofushi versus Kuchiki Byakuya... none of those people would hold back.
They cut it down, they cut it down, leaving no room or way out.
One knife after another, each knife is harder than the last knife, and each knife is faster than the last knife.
Like a mad dog and wild beast, like a puppet driven by something and forced to attack crazily.
But Jūshirō Ukitake is different. His attacks are controlled.
It's not because he is weak, it's because he... is in control.
Jūshirō Ukitake sighed.
The light in those eyes dimmed a little, and the curvature of the corners of the mouth narrowed a little.
"First Generation people are crazy." His voice was very soft, as if he was talking to himself, "They don't have any righteousness in their hearts."
Kaname Tōsen's brows furrowed even more tightly.
He understands.
It's not that I can't release water, it's that I don't want to release water.
Those First Generation captains, whether they are controlled by Hell or not, whether they have self-awareness or not... they are that kind of people themselves.
Fighting mania, Killer, mad dog.
Give them a knife and they will chop until their enemies die, they themselves die, and the world is destroyed.
They don't care about Three Realms, they don't care about Hell, they don't care whether they can be liberated. Once they come out, they will fight.
If you fight, you will win.
If you win, you have to kill.
Kill until no one can stand up, kill until the blade is curled, kill until your hands are weak.
Soul Society also has this kind of lunatic.
Kenpachi Zaraki, Unohana Retsu.
Those two people, on the Hueco Mundo battlefield, when the whole army was fighting for their lives, they were killing each other.
No matter who the enemy is, no matter who the teammates are, no matter what the situation of the battle is... there is only the opponent, only the knife, and only the fight in his eyes.
Kaname Tōsen's back felt a little cold.
If those First Generation captains are all such lunatics... how long can we last?
He glanced at the battlefield.
Kenpachi Zaraki Over there, the sound of the collision of blades continued, one after another, as dense as raindrops, without stopping. Unohana Retsu Over there, the red blade light flashed in the distance, one after another, like lightning, like a heartbeat.
Kuchiki Byakuya Over there, Senbonzakura's petals were flying in the wind and split open by the light of the knife.
They can still hold on.
But how long can it last?
"First Generation... Are they all fighting lunatics..."
Kaname Tōsen's voice was very low, as if he was asking himself.
Jūshirō Ukitake's knife swung over again.
This time it was a straight stab, with the tip of the knife pointed at Kaname Tōsen's throat.
Neither fast nor slow, just the distance that Kaname Tōsen can avoid.
Kaname Tōsen ducked sideways, and the tip of the knife passed against his neck, cutting off a thread on the collar.
"It's okay." Jūshirō Ukitake's voice was very relaxed, "You guys should be able to last a long time."
He moved his eyes away from Kaname Tōsen and scanned the figures still fighting in the distance. "For those who have taken Soul Jade, Spiritual Power consumption and replenishment can reach a balance. As long as it is not a continuous high-intensity burst, it will be no problem for several years."
Kaname Tōsen frowned.
He did take Soul Jade.
Lord Aizen gave him one, after Yan Si Master Feigning Death, when Hueco Mundo was preparing for war.
That Soul Jade not only allowed his Reiatsu to break through to the first level, but also gave his body the ability to automatically generate Reishi.
Although the generation speed is not fast, as long as it does not burst out continuously, the balance can be maintained.
Third Espada, Fifth Espada, Ninth Espada, they also have Soul Jade. Kuchiki Byakuya also has them.
But Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto does not, Chōjirō Sasakibe does not, and Chiziro Kenpachi does not.
Their Spiritual Power is limited, use less and there is no refill.
And... if consumption exceeds replenishment, everyone will be in danger.
"What's at the end?"
Kaname Tōsen's voice suddenly rose, and he parried a slash from Jūshirō Ukitake with his blade. He slid back two steps and distanced himself. Jūshirō Ukitake did not pursue him. He stood on the spot, with his two swords hanging by his sides, and the tips of the swords pointed at the ground.
The patterns on the face shone slightly under the dark red light, as if something was flowing under the skin.
"I don't know."
His voice was very soft, as if he was talking about something that had nothing to do with him.
"But my body tells me that I can't let you pass."
He raised his hand and pointed at his chest.
"I hope there's something good over there."
Kaname Tōsen's breathing stopped for a moment.
"But... if there really is something," Jūshirō Ukitake's voice deepened, "It's something that even Soul King can't do anything about."
Kaname Tōsen's body paused.
Not even Soul King can do anything about it.
These five words were like five needles, piercing into his brain. Soul King... the supreme being who created Three Realms, the Almighty, and was sealed in the Royal Palace for ten thousand years... something that even he couldn't do anything about, was at the end of Hell.
What is that?
Kaname Tōsen Countless thoughts flashed through his mind. Each one was like lightning. It lit up and then went out without leaving any trace.
His body was dodging instinctively, his steps were moving, and his knife was blocking.
But his brain isn't there.
His mind was stuck in the seven words Soul King.
"I hope my junior brother can find a way."
Jūshirō Ukitake's voice was like a basin of cold water pouring down from the top of my head.
Kaname Tōsen's pupils shrank.
The sword light has already arrived in front of me.
He instinctively raised his knife to block, but was half a beat too late.
The blade grazed his arm, cutting through the white uniform, leaving a shallow wound on the skin. Blood seeped out from the wound, almost invisible under the dark red light.
"Be serious." Jūshirō Ukitake's voice was filled with helplessness and reproach, "Don't really get hacked to death."
His knife did not stop, Sōgyo no Kotowari was like two fans in his hand, opening and closing, retracting and releasing, the light of the knife flashed continuously.
But his eyes were gentle, the corners of his mouth were raised, and his tone was relaxed... It was as if he was practicing swordplay with his friends, or teaching students basic skills.
Kaname Tōsen Concentrate your mind.
His steps stabilized, his breathing adjusted, and he held the knife tightly.
The moment of confusion just now almost killed him.
If Jūshirō Ukitake hadn't deliberately slowed down, the knife would have slit his throat instead of grazing his skin.
He took a deep breath.
Then he realized something... Zanjutsu of Jūshirō Ukitake was much stronger than he imagined.
In the past, Soul Society and Ukitake Jūshirō were notoriously sick.
He coughed for three days, vomited blood at every turn, fainted in the middle of a meeting, and quit in the middle of a battle. No one had ever seen him use his full strength because his body did not allow him to use his full strength.
But now... his body was given by Hell.
There is no illness, no injury, no hidden illness accumulated over the years.
This body is perfectly healthy and full of strength.
And that body contained the soul of Captain Thirteenth Division, who had lived for hundreds of years, practiced swordplay every day, thought every day, and simulated battles in his mind every day.
Hundreds of years of accumulation, hundreds of years of swordsmanship... all were released.
A layer of cold sweat broke out on Kaname Tōsen's back.
Fortunately, Jūshirō Ukitake is controlling and releasing water.
I am using my best efforts to suppress my body and prevent it from exerting its full strength.
"The body made by Hell is so realistic." Jūshirō Ukitake's voice came from the front with a wry smile, "I can't control those instinctive reactions."
His knife swung out again.
It wasn't what he thought, it was his body that moved on its own. Hundreds of years of conditioned reflexes have been engraved into the bones, into the blood, and into the memory of every cell.
He wants to hold back, but can't hold back, and wants to slow down, but can't slow down.
We can only try our best to make every knife have a trace to follow, so that Kaname Tōsen can see the trajectory clearly, predict in advance, and avoid it.
Kaname Tōsen said no more.
His knife was blocking, his footsteps were moving, and his body was dodging.
But his mind was empty, he didn't think about anything, and he didn't dare to think about anything.
If you think too hard, you will be slow, and if you are too slow, you will die.
In the distance, the figure of Yan Si has disappeared.
Red sand, rocks, dead branches.
The wind kept blowing, the sky was dark red, the ground was dark red, it was difficult to distinguish the boundaries and direction.
Only the endless road under my feet keeps extending.
Yan Si is running. Not Flash Step, not Sonído, but walking.
But every step takes a long way, so far that when the soles of your feet hit the ground, a circle of air waves will explode behind you.
The sand was trampled into deep pits, like the footprints left by giants or the holes made by meteorites.
He is calculating.
How long has it been since he left the position of Jūshirō Ukitake?
Converted to the distance of Human World, it is about enough to circle the earth twice.
But there is no end to Hell.
Sand is still sand, rocks are still rocks, dead branches are still dead branches.
The sky is still that dark red sky, and the clouds are still those thick, like coagulated blood clots.
No changes, no signs, nothing to refer to.
He dispersed his perceptions.
It's not Reishi perception... There is no Reishi here. It's another kind of perception, a more primitive and essential touch.
Like the ultrasonic waves emitted by bats, like the vibrations in spider webs.
He spread out his power, like putting his finger in water to feel the direction of the current.
Within a radius of dozens of kilometers, every grain of sand, every stone, every dead branch... was within his perception.
The clear image is engraved in the brain and imprinted on the retina.
He increased his speed.
The air waves under my feet became louder, the bunker became deeper, and the sound of the air being torn apart became sharper.
The wind blew past my ears, carrying that indescribable smell... rust, dust, rot, and other things. It became stronger.
Time is passing.
Yan Si I don't know how long it has been.
Here, time is meaningless.
There is no sunrise, no sunset, no clock, no heartbeat. There is only wind, only sand, and only the dark red sky that never changes.
There was a stabbing pain in his brain.
It's not that I have a headache, it's that I feel like I've been pricked by something.
It was as if something hit the edge of his perception hard.
He immediately slowed down and regained his senses.
The sting is gone.
But the traces still remain in my mind.
Yan Si's right hand held the handle of Sayafushi's knife.
He slowed down and walked step by step.
The soles of his feet stepped on the sand, making a squelching sound.
Hundreds of steps.
He stopped. There was a mountain in front of him.
The red mountain is very high and steep, and the cliffs are as smooth as if they had been cut by a knife.
There are cracks on the cliff, and the black ones extend from the top of the mountain to the foot of the mountain, like countless dry rivers and countless torn wounds.
The mountain is very high. Only when Yan Si raises his head can he see the top of the mountain.
The top of the mountain is flat, as if it had been shaved off by something.
He stepped forward and stepped on the cliff.
The soles of your feet stick to the vertical cliff, as if you are stepping on the water, walking up step by step.
The wind blew past us, getting stronger, carrying an indescribable smell... not rust, not dust, not rot.
It's a different smell, thicker and heavier, like something is burning or something is extinguishing.
He reached the top of the mountain.
The top of the mountain is a huge platform, red rock, as flat as a mirror.
In the center of the platform was a huge opening. It was round, at least several hundred meters in diameter, and its edges were black, as if it had been burned by fire.
Yan Si walked to the edge and looked down.
It's not lava, it's mud.
The black mud is very thick and thick, like asphalt ink, as if it is mud that has risen from the depths of the earth and has been deposited for hundreds of millions of years.
The mud is turning slowly, clockwise, like a giant eye.
The center of the vortex is at the deepest point, at the bottom of the black mud...
There is a door.
Gates of Hell.
Just like the door they saw in Hill of the Twin Executions, it was made of skeletons, and the bones were intertwined, like countless hands holding together.
But it's bigger, older and heavier.
The skeleton on the door frame is alive, its mouth is opening and closing, and it is screaming silently.
There is light in the eye socket, dark red, like a dying charcoal fire. It lies there, like an envelope waiting to be opened, an entrance to a deeper, darker place.
Yan Si stood on the edge of the cliff, the wind blowing up from below, bringing with it a strong, heavy, suffocating black breath.
He looked at the door for a long time.
"Found it."