Temperature
The first thing they felt was the temperature.
It was not the dry heat of burning flames, but an inescapable, searing heat that seeped out from the depths of their bones.
It was as if someone had dragged the sun down from the sky and placed it right in the center of Seireitei.
The temperature was rising rapidly in every corner of Seireitei.
The stone roads began to grow hot, the air began to warp, and metal scabbards became too hot to hold.
Even the wandering spirits in District 80, at the very edge of Rukongai, who could not sense even Reiatsu, felt that heat.
It was not heat in the body, but heat in the soul, as if something were burning their Reishi from the inside out, leaving them nowhere to escape.
Then came the Reiatsu.
That Reiatsu covered Seireitei, Rukongai, and everywhere within reach of Soul Society.
It was not oppression, but an all-encompassing presence, as if the sky had collapsed and the earth had overturned.
Whether they were Soul Reapers, Quincy, or wandering spirits, they all felt the same thing before that Reiatsu.
Insignificance.
In East District One, Pernida Parnkgjas's golden eyes flickered.
The white threads around him paused for an instant, as if they had been burned by something.
He showed no expression, but his body shrank back slightly.
In West District One, a thin layer of spiritual light appeared on Jugram Haschwalth's shield.
He raised his head and looked toward the center of Seireitei. The distant firelight was reflected in his pale eyes.
His expression remained cold.
"Your Majesty..."
His voice was very soft.
Lille Barro lowered his gun atop the watchtower.
He looked toward the center of Seireitei.
His brows furrowed. It was the first time he had frowned since appearing on this battlefield.
"Your Majesty..."
His voice was just as soft.
North District One.
Paula and Otto, who were retreating, stopped at the same time.
They exchanged a glance without speaking, then increased their Hirenkyaku speed.
The factions that had been locked in fierce combat—
Soul Reapers, nobles, Quincy, and others—were suddenly enveloped by an immense and terrifying Reiatsu.
That unparalleled power pressed down on everyone like a towering mountain, making it difficult to breathe. They had no choice but to temporarily stop what they were doing and turn their gazes toward the center of Seireitei, eager to find out who could release such a terrifying spiritual fluctuation.
At that moment, people finally realized that after the sudden upheaval brought the battle to a temporary halt, the surrounding air had become unbearably hot.
The sensation was like standing on the edge of a volcano about to erupt. Scorching air rushed toward them, making it nearly impossible to endure.
"Commander-in-Chief..." At some point, someone in the crowd murmured softly. The words then spread like wildfire.
"Commander-in-Chief!"
"Commander-in-Chief!"
More and more voices intertwined, forming a noisy, tumultuous wave.
Some shouted with unconcealed excitement, while others whispered the name of this legendary figure with awe.
Even the nobles, who were usually lofty and held themselves in the highest regard, could not hide their astonishment. They murmured:
"It's the Commander-in-Chief... He actually used Bankai?"
"My god, is this the Commander-in-Chief's true power?"
As time passed, their emotions gradually settled. In their place came confidence and renewed courage.
After all, when faced with the power of Bankai unleashed by a mighty warrior like Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto, surely any enemy would feel fear.
"Commander-in-Chief, you finally—" Shiba Chuanlu stood before the Quincy, with no sword in his hand. Three giant birds circled in the sky, while Reishi continued gathering in his hands.
"Yamamoto, it's rare to see you give it your all." The Kuchiki Clan head's aura was disordered, but he stared fixedly at the Quincy before him.
"Power..." Tsunayashiro Shiki raised his head and looked toward the sky, toward Yamamoto.
Soul King Palace.
Ichibē Hyōsube, who had been resting with his eyes closed, suddenly opened them and began drawing some kind of special spell.
The center of Seireitei.
The walls had already been scorched black by blood and fire.
Corpses covered the ground. It was impossible to tell what this place had once looked like. There were Quincy corpses, Holy Soldiers, Holy Soldier squad leaders, Vice-Captain-Class fighters, and even several ordinary members of the Sternritter.
Some had been cut in half, some burned to charcoal, and some had lost all shape, leaving behind nothing but blackened-gray marks.
There were too many corpses—so many that it looked as if a carpet had been woven from Quincy flesh and blood.
Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto stood in the center of the corpse pile.
A layer of flowing, crimson Reishi flames covered his entire body, leaving only his head exposed.
Solar Dawn Garb.
The blade in his hand was no longer merely burning with raging flames. The air around it was completely distorted.
Dawn Blade.
Bankai.
Yamamoto had not used it in a very long time.
So long that the young Soul Reapers of Soul Society did not even know he possessed this Bankai.
So long that most of those who knew had already died.
So long that he himself had almost forgotten what the blade's true form looked like.
Opposite Yamamoto—
Yhwach stood atop the mountain of corpses.
King of the Quincy.
He wore a black cloak, and his Reiatsu was brazen and unrestrained.
He stood before the raging flames without being burned or retreating. Instead, he lifted his cloak and smiled.
Yamamoto looked at Yhwach, and Yhwach looked at Yamamoto.
Between them lay a stretch of scorched earth and corpses scattered everywhere.
There was no one else here. Everyone else was already lying on the ground.
"Yhwach." Yamamoto spoke in a voice that was not loud, yet the entire Seireitei could hear him.
Yhwach did not respond.
Flames burned across Yamamoto's body. Holding the Zanpakutō that blazed with roaring fire, he walked step by step toward Yhwach.
Suddenly—
A Reiatsu appeared behind Yamamoto on the right.
Yanyuan Jinle.
He stood there silently, holding his Zanpakutō. His eyes reflected the raging flames. His face was covered in soot and blood, but his eyes shone brightly as he stared fixedly ahead.
Then another Reiatsu appeared on the left.
Bakuzan Katori.
Her naginata hung downward, its blade angled toward the ground. All her sharpness was concealed in a lowered stance. She stood there quietly, the raging flames reflected in her large, round glasses.
Nobutsuna Shigyo walked over from the other side of the scorched earth, Zanpakutō in hand, and quietly took his place beside Yamamoto. The fiery glow illuminated half his body.
Entetsu Kumenoi's Zanpakutō was already sheathed. He appeared beside Nobutsuna Shigyo with Shunpo. The fiery glow illuminated half his body, and the small eyes on his face reflected the flames.
Then another Reiatsu appeared on the right.
Yachiru Unohana.
Her Captain's Haori was completely soaked in blood. She quietly held her Zanpakutō and gazed at the flames before her and the man called Yhwach.
All their gazes focused on Yhwach.
Standing in the center of the scorched earth, clad in a black cloak, he lifted it with his right hand and smiled. His gaze was fixed entirely on Yamamoto. He completely ignored the other five captains.
Yamamoto did not turn around.
He knew they had arrived.
He did not need to turn around.
Yamamoto walked forward.
With every step—
The Quincy corpses beneath his feet ignited under the intense heat of Solar Dawn Garb. Flames burst from their wounds, reducing flesh to ash and bones to white powder.
Yamamoto walked across the burning corpses, leaving a flaming footprint with every step.
Yhwach watched Yamamoto approach.
That was not a smile someone surrounded by six captains should have worn.
It was a smile that was—
Knowing, certain, and even touched by a hint of pleasure.
As if it were saying: You're finally here. I've been waiting for you for a long time.
Then he froze.
A blade pierced through his chest from behind.
The tip emerged from his left chest, the silver-white blade drenched in blood.
Yhwach lowered his head and looked at the blade tip protruding from his chest. His pupils contracted slightly.
Behind him, a "corpse" stood up.
Chōjirō Sasakibe.
His white haori was soaked through with blood. His face, hair, and clothes were all smeared with it.
When he rose from the pile of corpses, he looked like a resurrected zombie—covered in blood, his features indistinct, yet the blade in his hand was steady as a rock.
Gonryōmaru.
It had pierced through Yhwach's chest.
Chōjirō's face showed no expression. His hand did not tremble, his blade did not deviate, and his Reiatsu did not fluctuate. How long had he been lying here? Had he been here since the battle began? Or had he infiltrated the corpse pile before Yamamoto activated Bankai? No one knew.
But everyone knew one thing.
He had been waiting a long time for this strike.
Yhwach's body stiffened.
It was not death, but paralysis.
Gonryōmaru's ability was to control lightning. The instant Chōjirō pierced Yhwach's chest, he injected lightning into his body, paralyzing his nerves, the flow of Reishi, and even his consciousness.
Only for an instant.
But for Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto, an instant was enough.
Dawn Blade was raised high, then swiftly brought down.
The blade swung from Yamamoto's hand. Flames poured from it, forming a sea of fire that surged into the sky.
It was Ryujin Jakka's full-power strike in Bankai, a force capable of erasing a city from the map, compressed into this small slash.
The instant the blade descended, Chōjirō pulled Gonryōmaru free.
"Raaaaaahhh!"
His voice was almost drowned out by the roar of the flames.
He retreated with Shunpo, leaving an afterimage in the air.
He did not need to run far. He only needed to escape the range of Yamamoto's attack.
The flames devoured Yhwach.
They devoured the scorched earth beneath his feet.
They devoured the corpses around him.
They devoured everything.
The radiance of the flames erupted in the center of Seireitei.
It was like a small sun had been born on the ground, spreading outward and swallowing buildings, streets, and air.
The heat wave surged in every direction from Yamamoto, forcing the captains back several steps.
Unohana raised her arm to shield her face, while Yanyuan was pushed backward several meters by the heat wave.
Then the light faded.
The scorched earth had turned to glass.
The corpses had become ash.
Where Yhwach had stood, nothing remained.
West District One.
Shuichi was awakened by the heat.
It was not an illusion. It was genuinely scorching.
The tatami beneath him felt as if it had been roasted over a fire, giving off a charred smell. The woven grass surface of the cushion was hot to the touch.
The air inside the room twisted. Sunlight streamed through the window, but the light itself seemed heated by something, pricking his skin like needles.
Shuichi suddenly opened his eyes.
He had no idea how long he had been asleep.
His last memory was of sitting in the estate and practicing Sword Meditation. Then his consciousness sank into a sea of flowers, where that figure in a white crossed-collar robe and red cloak waited for him in front of the wooden hut.
What happened afterward? Had they been clashing swords the entire time? Had he been practicing Zanpakutō techniques the entire time? The four-colored sea of flowers spun before his eyes again and again—red, blue, yellow, white; red, blue, yellow, white—like a carousel that would never stop.
The Zanpakutō had been forcing him to practice Sword Meditation the entire time.
He could feel it.
Every time he tried to wake up, the sea of flowers grew denser. The stems of the Red Spider Lilies wrapped around his ankles and dragged him deeper.
The person whose face he could not make out would not let him leave.
Until the temperature changed.
The sea of flowers began to wither.
It had not been burned by fire. Instead, it had been scalded to death by the irresistible heat seeping in from the outside.
The petals curled, blackened, and dried. The stems snapped. The person whose face he could not make out stood in front of the wooden hut and, for the first time, raised their head to look toward somewhere beyond the sea of flowers.
Then Shuichi woke up.
He sat on the tatami in the estate, drenched in sweat. His Shihakushō clung to his body as though it had been hauled from the water.
His wet hair hung over his forehead. Sweat trickled down his chin and dripped onto his knees with a faint sound.
Everything around him was a mess.
Reiatsu.
There was far too much Reiatsu.
Distant and nearby, strong and weak, from Soul Reapers and Quincies.
They were all stirred together like a pot of boiling porridge, churning through his senses. He had never sensed so much Reiatsu in the Seireitei. He had never felt this kind of temperature in the Seireitei.
He knew nothing.
He did not know how much time had passed, what had happened outside, whose Reiatsu those were, who was still standing, or who had already fallen.
He only knew one thing: he had to go out and see for himself.
The moment that thought surfaced in his mind, the Zanpakutō at his waist suddenly grew heavier.
It was not psychological weight. It was physical weight.
It was as though someone had tied an iron ingot to his belt. The weight dropped sharply, making his body tilt to the side.
Shuichi lowered his head to look at the Zanpakutō, a trace of confusion appearing on his face.
The increased weight lasted only an instant.
Then it returned to normal.
Shuichi did not know what it meant.
Was the Zanpakutō warning him? Trying to make him stay? Or had he merely imagined it? He had no time to think about it.
He stood up and pushed open the estate's door.
The Seireitei was burning.
This was not a metaphor.
The streets were filled with firelight. The air warped and distorted from the heat, while buildings in the distance appeared and disappeared through the thick smoke.
Bodies lay scattered across the ground—Soul Reapers, Quincies, nobles, and Holy Soldiers all mixed together, making it impossible to tell who was who.
Shuichi headed toward the nearest location with powerful Reiatsu.
His Shunpo was not fast, but it was steady.
Along the way, he saw far too much.
Ruined squad barracks, collapsed walls, stone roads soaked in blood, and Zanpakutō and Reishi Bows scattered everywhere.
He did not know how much he had missed, or where he should have been and beside whom.
He only knew that the place he was heading toward had chaotic Reiatsu.
When Shuichi reached the outskirts of the Sixth Division's base in West District One, he saw those purple twin ponytails.
Furoufushi Saito lay sprawled amid the ruins.
Her Zanpakutō had fallen several meters away, its blade covered in blood and dust.
She was still alive, though her Reiatsu was unstable.
In front of him, a long-haired blond man was slowly approaching.
He wore a white Quincy uniform and a dark cloak. His left hand held a silver-white shield, while his right gripped a long Reishi sword.
His expression was stern. His blue eyes held no emotion, like a winter lake—calm and cold.
His Reiatsu was heavy.
So heavy that Shuichi's footsteps stopped for an instant.
Shuichi did not know him.
He only knew that this man intended to kill Saito, and that Saito could no longer stand.
Shuichi did not hesitate.
He drew his Zanpakutō.
The silver-white blade slid from its sheath and let out a clear hum in the overheated air.
Red surfaced along the sharpened edge of the blade.
He swung.
Red sword energy flew from the blade, skimming across the ground through the ruins and rubble as it slashed toward the blond man.
Wherever the sword energy passed, it left a deep red mark across the ground.
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