Quincy

Shuichi had no idea how long they had walked. After crossing the boundary marker, the ground began to crack, the grass changed from withered yellow to ash white, and eventually even the grass vanished, leaving only broken stones, sand, and endless wind. The wind blew for a day and a night, drying out their eyes and splitting their lips. No one in the group spoke; there were only footsteps and the wind.

Then the desert abruptly ended.

The sand beneath their feet turned into grassland, and the grassland into fields. The outlines of trees appeared in the distance. A river wound from north to south, its waters clear, poplars growing thick along both banks.

Shuichi stood by the river, looking at the village across from them.

"This isn't the West Tip Bureau." Chōjirō's voice came from beside him.

"Quincy territory." Shiba Chuanlu still sounded lazy, but his gaze was no longer unfocused.

The group waded across the river. The water was shallow, only reaching their knees. Once they crossed, Reiatsu began to appear.

It was not the sparse, scattered Reiatsu of Rukongai. It was dense, like a net—some strong, some weak, some moving, some still. Shuichi focused and extended his senses as far as he could.

"Over there." He pointed northwest.

Chōjirō nodded.

Shiba Chuanlu said nothing and headed directly in that direction. The group followed.

After walking for about half an hour, the riverbank gave way to fields. Beyond them lay a village of stone houses, chimneys, tiled roofs, and orderly streets lined with low shrubs and green trees.

Shiba Chuanlu immediately drew his sword and charged ahead. Only then did his voice drift back from the distance.

"Battle."

Shuichi could also feel the Reiatsu ahead moving, gathering, and surging toward them at high speed.

"Prepare!" Chōjirō's voice was low.

More than twenty members of the Kuchiki Clan drew their swords. The eight members of the Hachi Clan spread out and advanced in a fan formation. Shuichi drew his sword as well and moved forward with them.

People surged out from behind the shrubs.

Not one or two, but dozens. They wore matching gray uniforms and held standard-issue Reishi crossbows. Their steps were orderly as they halted around fifty paces from the group, their crossbows aimed at Shuichi and the others.

The leader was a tall man with short gray hair and a stern face. He stood at the front of the formation without a crossbow, a short sword hanging at his waist.

"Soul Reapers!"

His voice was cold. "This is not a place you should be."

Shuichi did not answer. He was studying the Reiatsu of those people—not Quincy Reiatsu. That violent, pure thing, like fire, was absent from them. Their Reiatsu felt... like equipment. As though something were assisting them, strengthening them, replacing them.

Reishi Armament.

"They're not Quincy," Shuichi said.

"Most aren't." Chōjirō's voice was low. "But there are a few mixed in."

Shiba Chuanlu stood at the front with his arms folded, his gaze sweeping across the crowd. It paused for an instant on several people. "Three."

Shuichi followed his gaze. Those people stood at the rear of the formation, wearing the same gray uniforms, but their Reiatsu was different—not the Reiatsu of equipment, but their own. That same violent, pure quality.

"Engage them all!" Shiba Chuanlu placed a hand on his sword hilt.

Shuichi circled around the flank, gripping his Zanpakutō as Reiatsu flowed from within him and down his arm into the blade.

The enemy leader raised a hand.

"Attack!"

Reishi arrows rained down.

Chōjirō drew his sword. The blade of Gonryōmaru flashed beneath the sunlight, its golden guard reflecting a blinding glare.

"Pierce them! Gonryōmaru!"

Lightning burst from the sword tip in an arcing chain, sweeping through the front row of Reishi Armament users. The arcs struck their crossbows, and the Reishi Armament exploded. Gray-white smoke spread as seven or eight people collapsed to the ground and stopped moving.

Shuichi charged into the crowd.

His first slash struck a Reishi Armament user in the neck. The blade cut in without resistance. Blood sprayed out and splashed across the back of his hand. He did not stop. His second strike followed, stabbing into the chest of the person beside him. When he pulled out his Zanpakutō, that person dropped to their knees, both hands clutching the wound as blood poured through their fingers.

The eight members of the Hachi Clan flanked them from the other side. Their Hakuda and Zanjutsu were no mere display.

They rushed into the crowd, fists and kicks striking together, Reiatsu concentrated in their fists and knees. Every hit came with the sound of bones breaking, every slash sent blood flying. Those struck fell and never rose again.

The twenty-odd members of the Kuchiki Clan also charged in. Their blades struck the Reishi Armament in showers of sparks, but their Reishi Armament was superior to that of these Quincy. One gray-uniformed fighter after another fell.

Shuichi felt Reiatsu erupt beside him.

He turned. A man in a gray uniform stood three paces away, holding a short sword. Reishi had gathered over its blade, giving it a pale blue glow.

The Quincy's eyes were cold. He looked at Shuichi and swung his short sword down.

Shuichi blocked. His Zanpakutō collided with the Reishi short sword with a shrill metallic scrape. The Quincy was powerful—not through brute force, but strength enhanced by Reishi. Shuichi's feet slid half a step across the ground, but he did not retreat.

He shifted aside, his blade sliding down along the Quincy's sword and cutting toward the man's fingers. The Quincy released his weapon and backed away. The short sword fell to the ground, but Shuichi gave him no chance to catch his breath.

Straight Cut

The blade fell from overhead, cleaving down the centerline. Chōjirō had taught him the Straight Cut for two years.

That Quincy had no way to evade the strike.

The blade entered through his collarbone and stopped at his chest. Shuichi pulled it free, blood running down the blade and dripping onto the ground.

The Quincy dropped to his knees, staring at Shuichi before falling backward. Then his Reiatsu vanished.

Shuichi stood there, gripping his bloodied Zanpakutō and looking at the corpse on the ground.

Behind him, the battle continued. Metal clashed, people screamed, and Reishi crossbows fired amid the chaos. He took a deep breath, turned around, and walked toward his next target.

The battle lasted less than fifteen minutes.

More than forty corpses lay on the ground, all in gray uniforms. Fragments of Reishi Armament littered the field. Shuichi's side had also suffered casualties. Three members of the Kuchiki Clan were injured, along with one from the Hachi Clan. The wounded received simple treatment according to custom.

Shiba Chuanlu stood in the middle of the battlefield. He looked at the corpses on the ground without any change in expression.

"Only three were Quincy. The rest weren't."

He said, "Routine rest. The place with the densest Reiatsu is still ahead."

Less than half an hour after the battle ended and they began resting, a massive Reiatsu suddenly appeared, like a mountain dropping from the sky.

Everyone was instantly drawn to the disturbance.

On the distant horizon, white figures stood in formation.

There were roughly a hundred of them at a glance, dressed in white military uniforms and carrying blue Reishi bows and standard-issue cross swords. One person at the front stood apart from the rest. He wore an additional white cloak, with a silver emblem set into its collar, and a cross longsword at his waist. His golden hair drifted slightly in the wind, his face stern.

A blond adjutant stood beside him. His uniform matched that of the man at the front but was simpler, without an emblem. Behind them stood several hundred Quincy soldiers in white uniforms, their Reiatsu so orderly it resembled a wall.

"Hirenkyaku," Shiba Chuanlu said.

His voice was low. "The Quincy's high-speed movement. It differs from a Soul Reaper's Shunpo, but the result is about the same."

Shuichi looked at the people in white uniforms. Their Reiatsu did not have the artificial sensation of Reishi Armament. They were real Quincy.

Several hundred of them—not scattered stragglers, but an army.

The blond man at the front took a step forward. His pace was not fast, yet every step carried him an enormous distance. After only a few steps, he stood a hundred paces ahead of the formation. The adjutant followed behind him, equally light-footed.

The blond man stopped and drew the cross longsword at his waist. Its tip pointed upward, the blade perpendicular to the ground, the hilt level with his shoulder.

The shoulder-level upright sword stance.

"Sternritter, Johnsen Kreuzitis."

His voice was not loud, yet every word carried clearly. He was not shouting; his Reiatsu made the air vibrate with his voice.

The cross longsword pointed forward, its tip aimed at Shiba Chuanlu.

"Soul Reaper, state your name."

Shuichi felt Shiba Chuanlu's Reiatsu change. It did not erupt; it condensed, like scattered sand suddenly clenched into stone.

Shiba Chuanlu put a hand on his sword hilt and drew his blade. The sound of the Zanpakutō leaving its sheath was short and sharp.

"Looks like you Quincy have no intention of negotiating."

Before his words had faded, he had vanished. Shunpo. Shiba Chuanlu's Shunpo was not the straight-line burst Chōjirō had taught him, but an eerie, unpredictable zigzag movement, like a bird changing direction in the wind.

Johnsen's Reiatsu contracted in an instant, then erupted. Hirenkyaku. His body vanished from where he stood.

Two bursts of Reiatsu rose in the distance at once. Shiba Chuanlu's was steady and heavy, like a mountain. Johnsen's was violent and pure, like a blaze. The two Reiatsu collided, and a muffled boom came from the distant hills as the ground trembled faintly.

A collision of Reiatsu.

Once, twice, three times. Every impact made the air shudder and the ground beneath their feet quiver. Shiba Chuanlu's Reiatsu was steady as a mountain; every time it was suppressed, it rebounded even more fiercely than before. Johnsen's Reiatsu was like a blade—sharp and precise—every slash seeking to cut through Shiba Chuanlu's defenses.

Chōjirō kept his hand on his sword hilt, feeling the clash of Reiatsu in the distance as he looked toward the several hundred Quincy soldiers in white uniforms. Their formation remained orderly, their Reiatsu stable, like a motionless wall.

"Our problem is ahead of us."

The blond adjutant stood before the formation, not following Johnsen into the distance. His gaze passed over Shuichi and rested in the direction where Shiba Chuanlu and Johnsen were fighting. His expression was calm, as though he were waiting for an outcome.

Chōjirō lowered his hand from his sword hilt.

"Wait," he said.

Shuichi watched the two colliding Reiatsu in the distance, gripping his Zanpakutō tightly.

Just as Shiba Chuanlu and Johnsen's figures vanished over the horizon, the blond adjutant moved.

He drew the longsword at his waist, its tip pointed upward, the blade perpendicular to the ground, the hilt level with his shoulder—the exact same opening stance as Johnsen's. Shoulder-level upright sword stance. The blade flashed under the sunlight.

Holy Soldiers!

His voice was not loud, but every word drove into the air like a nail.

The several hundred Quincy in white uniforms behind him moved at once. They raised their bows in neat unison, Reishi gathering in their hands. They drew light from the void, forming bowstrings and nocking arrows. Hundreds of Reishi longbows opened at the same time, the sound of taut bowstrings as orderly as a clap of thunder.

Shuichi's pupils abruptly contracted.

"Scatter!"

Before Chōjirō's voice had faded, the Hachi Clan had already moved. Ryouka Hachi led her eight people in Shunpo to both sides. The twenty-odd members of the Kuchiki Clan spread into a fan formation and gathered Reishi to form Reishi defenses.

Everyone knew that scattering would only keep them from becoming easy targets. They still could not fully withstand the Reishi arrows.

Chōjirō stood at the very front of the group. His left hand gripped Gonryōmaru's sheath, while his right slowly drew the sword. The sound of the blade sliding from the sheath was not a crisp metallic ring, but a low hum like distant thunder, accompanied by flickering golden lightning.

The blond adjutant pointed his sword forward.

There were no words, no command. Just one movement. The sword tip dipped forward from shoulder height, pointing at Shuichi's group.

Hundreds of Reishi longbows released at once.

A rain of arrows.

The Reishi arrows gathered in the sky into a curtain of deathly light, blotting out the heavens. Their shrill flight tore through the air like a thousand birds screaming together.

Shuichi gritted his teeth, holding his Zanpakutō horizontally before him to form a Reishi defense as he chanted Kidō. He knew he could not stop them. Several hundred arrows—he could block ten, maybe twenty, but the rest would turn him into a sieve. Yet he did not retreat. He needed to block the arrows and carve out a relatively safe patch of ground for himself.

Chōjirō raised Gonryōmaru.

The sword tip pointed toward the sky. Dark clouds appeared from nothing above his head—not drifting in, but gathering into existence. Gray-black clouds churned, swelled, and pressed downward over the sword tip like a vast vortex.

Then lightning fell.

Yellow lightning poured down from the dark clouds, weaving around Chōjirō into a vast canopy. The arcs were blinding. The air ionized with crackling explosions.

Bankai!

The rain of arrows struck the lightning.

The Reishi arrows were swallowed the instant they touched the lightning curtain. Like a gigantic mouth, the lightning devoured hundreds of arrows in one bite, leaving nothing behind. The Reishi within the arrows exploded inside the lightning curtain, turning into countless tiny points of light before fading away.

Standing behind Chōjirō, Shuichi could feel the power of that lightning. It was not ordinary Kidō lightning. It was Bankai—Gonryōmaru's Bankai.

"Kōkō Gonryō Rikyū."

Chōjirō's voice was not loud, but Shuichi heard it clearly. The vice-captain's back stood straight in the center of the lightning curtain, Gonryōmaru aimed at the sky. Its golden guard shone especially brightly amid the lightning, while the yellow canopy above him rotated slowly like a massive, living barrier.

The blond adjutant lowered his sword.

He looked at the lightning curtain, his expression unchanged.

The Holy Soldiers drew their bows again. A second wave of arrows could come at any moment.

Chōjirō swung Gonryōmaru. The lightning curtain flashed through the sky, then split off a bolt that struck toward the blond adjutant. The blond adjutant raised his sword to block it, neutralizing the attack.