A Millennium of Tempering
A sea of fire roared and the Roar in the direction the blade pointed.
The blazing flames, like a towering crimson wall stretching across the sky, roared down upon the black figure atop the stone steps.
The marble evaporated into white steam the moment it came into contact with the heat wave.
Yhwach stood still, his right arm holding a pure white broadsword, which he extended horizontally forward.
The viscous black mud churned up from beneath his feet, transforming into a massive, dark curtain.
Boom!
The flames collided head-on with the darkness, unleashing a deafening thud.
A raging storm of Reishi whipped up layers of scorched earth, blowing away all the remaining ruins around the temple.
However, the Ryūjin Jakka, capable of incinerating everything, was forcibly suppressed the moment it came into contact with the black liquid.
The surging flames failed to pierce the darkness; instead, they seemed to be dissolved layer by layer by some higher-level rule, quickly fading away.
Shigekuni Yamamoto-Genryūsai's single eye narrowed slightly, and he took a step forward with Shunpo.
The old man suddenly appeared on the left side of the platform, his long sword slashing down with the force of splitting a mountain.
Yhwach with a backhand slash.
The two divine weapons clashed and collided in mid-air, producing a sharp and piercing metallic clang.
An irresistible repulsive force erupted from the surface of the broadsword.
Yamamoto felt a tingling sensation in his hand, and was thrown backward several feet by the immense force, his wooden clogs carving two deep grooves in the scorched ground.
The old man's chest rose and fell slightly, his wrist holding the knife remained steady, but his gaze had become more solemn than ever before.
Those two exchanges just now seemed simple, but the level of power they contained completely exceeded the realm of common sense.
The Quincy progenitor before them had absorbed the Soul King's Source, and the sheer weight and strangeness of his Reiatsu had reached an incomprehensible level.
"Does even a tiny spark of Shikai dare to touch the hem of a deity's robe?"
Yhwach twirled his sword, looking down at the old man with an air of superiority, and said calmly, "The flames you are so proud of are nothing but insignificant tricks before me now."
Yamamoto slowly straightened up, his eyelids lowered, concealing the surging light in his pupils.
"Is that so?"
Yamamoto sheathed his sword half an inch, his voice deep and aged, "Then I'll show you one more time: the blade I've honed for a thousand years."
Before the words were even finished, all the flames raging above the ruins of the main hall abruptly ceased.
The air inside the entire suspended temple seemed to have been sucked out.
The towering pillar of crimson-gold fire did not continue to spread; instead, it poured back towards the blade in the old man's hand like a waterfall flowing backward.
In the blink of an eye, all the light and sound vanished without a trace.
The once magnificent Shikai longsword lost all its firelight, transforming into a charred and broken katana covered in soot and fire marks.
The blade didn't even exude the slightest Reiatsu; it looked like a piece of withered wood charred by a raging fire.
"Bankai."
Yamamoto whispered the true name that had been etched into his memory for a thousand years.
"The Zanka no Tachi."
As those four words were uttered, an unimaginable and terrifying change instantly occurred.
All the moisture in the air evaporated in an instant.
The bluestone and white jade inside the dilapidated temple visibly shriveled and cracked, eventually crumbling into dry, grayish-white powder.
Even the clouds in the far distance were completely dissipated under this extreme heat.
The atmosphere of the entire Wahrwelt began to distort violently, and the space rippled like water.
The Soul Reaper and Quincy on the lower defensive lines simultaneously felt a dryness in their throats, as if cut by a knife, and their lips cracked and bled within moments.
Yhwach calmly gazed at the charred, broken blade, black mist slowly rising from its surface.
Yamamoto strode forward, his speed exceeding the limits of visual perception.
"Zanka no Tachi - East - Kyokujitsujin".
The old man held the knife in both hands and made a simple, unadorned horizontal cut.
The charred blade did not emit any flames; only the slender tip contained an invisible sharpness that had been condensed to the extreme temperature of fifteen million degrees Celsius.
The blade swept across the void.
There was no explosion, no roar.
The churning black swamp in front of Yhwach was completely wiped out the moment it touched the tip of the blade, its molecular structure failing to hold, turning into nothingness.
A bottomless chasm was torn into the earth's surface, the break as smooth as a mirror.
Yhwach swung his sword to meet the attack, and the pure Reishi clashed with the tip of the Kyokujitsujin.
Ikkaku of the broadsword was sliced off on the spot, and the remaining Reishi was evaporated into dust.
Yhwach used the momentum to glide backward several feet, landing steadily on the edge of the platform.
"Instead of releasing flames, it concentrates all the heat at the tip of the blade, obliterating anything it touches."
Yhwach raised his hand, re-condensing the sword tip, and said coldly, "A thousand years ago, you used this very move to crush my people."
"That's just the beginning, Yhwach."
The air Yamamoto suddenly rose.
"Zanka no Tachi ·West· Zanjitsu Gokui."
Boom!
The heat of fifteen million degrees Celsius transformed into a tangible golden Reiatsu that surged forth from the old man's body, enveloping his entire being.
That was no ordinary flame, but an extreme heat like that of the sun's core.
The rock strata hundreds of feet in diameter beneath Yamamoto's feet instantly melted into a stream of crimson lava, and even the void beneath his feet emitted a mournful cry of unbearable pressure.
The old man was like a war god draped in the sun; with each step he took, the earth sank several feet.
Yhwach brandished his broadsword, and several Heilig Pfeil materialized from the void, whistling as they shot forth.
However, those light arrows containing vast and sacred power evaporated instantly, like moths drawn to a flame, when they approached within three feet of the Yamamoto, leaving not a trace.
"Mortals who attempt to bask in the sun's light will ultimately be consumed by their own fire," Yhwach said.
"Before I turn to ashes, I will surely burn you to nothingness first."
Yamamoto reversed the hilt of the sword with both hands, and the charred, broken blade plunged straight into the boiling lava beneath his feet.
"Zanka no Tachi - South - Kaka Jūmanokushi Daisōjin"
The earth trembled violently.
Countless charred skeletons and arms struggled to emerge from the scorching lava and the earth's depths.
Those are the souls of all those who perished under the Ryūjin Jakka over the past thousands of years.
Hundreds of millions of charred skeletons crawled out of nothingness, their eye sockets flickering with chilling phosphorescent light, enveloping the entire platform like a tidal wave.
At the very front of the mountain of skeletons stood several ancient general skeletons, each radiating a unique Star Cross pattern.
Those were the first generation of Quincy elites who died at Yamamoto's hands a thousand years ago.
The charred skeletons stretched out their pale fingers, filled with resentment and instinct from their lives, and reached out to grab Yhwach at the top of the stone steps.
Yamamoto gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, his single eye fixed intently on the man on the high platform.
During that fierce battle a thousand years ago, when he saw his comrades-in-arms turn into charred bones and fall into pools of blood, this man once showed a look of wavering and anger.
However.
At this moment, Yhwach stood surrounded by bones, his cold face showing not a trace of emotion.
The man lowered his eyelids, not even glancing at the ancient generals who had served him to the death.
His eyes were empty and indifferent, as if he were looking down at a meaningless speck of dust.
A charred, skeletal hand gripped the hem of Yhwach's robe.
Yhwach didn't even draw his sword; he simply lifted his foot and crushed the skeleton, head and all, to pieces.
The flying bone fragments dissipated in the air, and the man's breathing remained calm and steady, without the slightest pause.
Yamamoto's fingers tightened slightly as he gripped the sword.
The last vestige of curiosity in the old man's heart vanished at this moment.
The monster before me has been completely stripped of all emotions and bonds as a living being.
To achieve his goal of reshaping the Three Realms, he was willing to sacrifice all his subordinates, annihilate all his compatriots, and turn everything into his own resources.
Standing before him was no longer the leader from a thousand years ago, burdened with the destiny of the Quincy, but a pure destroyer of cause and effect.
To face such an enemy, any attempt to test or waver is a desecration of the dead.
Only complete and utter destruction without reservation.
Yamamoto drew his sword, holding the charred blade horizontally with both hands, and his body traversed space, instantly slashing in front of Yhwach.
An invisible blade of light, traversing the void, burst forth from the blade, cleaving the remaining structure of the entire temple in two.
Yhwach raised his hand and activated the viscous black mud, forcefully resisting the sweeping extreme heat.
Two world-destroying forces collided and annihilated each other within a small space.
Yamamoto held nothing back, concentrating all the extreme heat of the Kyokujitsujin onto its tip. The Zanjitsu Gokui transformed into a robe of surging sun, draped over his body, and he shattered the ground as he launched a frenzied attack on Yhwach.