Chapter 70: Uryu Ishida's Confusion
The majestic shadow appeared with eerie suddenness, flowing out from the dark sides of the Seireitei's architecture. In an instant, it enveloped the entire city.
This shadow saved the precarious Seireitei. Once the coverage was complete, the shadow wrapped around the city and suddenly sank downward, vanishing from the Soul Society. The Hellish Macho-Men, lacking sufficient intelligence, did not notice the anomaly and simply continued their massive surge forward into the empty space.
Though Captain-Commander Yamamoto had collapsed due to his heavy injuries, his consciousness remained clear. He keenly sensed exactly who had intervened. But because of this, the shock in his heart was all the more profound.
For all these years, Yhwach has actually been hiding inside the Seireitei!?
In contrast, Ichibe Hyosube—the Monk—showed a look of delight. "Yhwach actually understands the big picture. To lend a hand at this moment saves me the trouble of going to the Wandenreich to hunt him down."
Yamamoto turned his head slightly, giving the Monk an unreadable look. The Monk, watching over the Three Worlds, obviously knew Yhwach's location all along, yet he had never told Yamamoto or the Gotei 13, who had remained on high alert for the Quincy King's resurrection for a thousand years.
Yamamoto said nothing. Now was not the time for such talk. Though the breach of the barrier was brief, a large number of Hellish Macho-Men had already entered the Seireitei and were rampaging. They needed to be purged immediately. Furthermore, he now had to face the very enemy the Seireitei was most wary of.
He could not afford to fall yet. With a silent snarl, Yamamoto gritted his teeth and struggled to stand!
Jushiro Ukitake, supporting him, said with great worry: "Teacher, please, you must heal! Your injuries today are too severe!"
Even a slight movement caused blood to spray and pain to sear his nerves like fire. But Yamamoto violently shook off Ukitake's hand. After coughing up several mouthfuls of blood, he spoke in a raspy voice:
"Ukitake... your Purity is too low. You underestimate me. Mere 'heavy injuries,' whether in the past or now, are not enough to strike me down!"
This was no hollow boast. To be heavily wounded yet forced to stand for the next battle—this feeling allowed Yamamoto to relive the glory days of his youth. He wasn't born invincible. Even during his rise as the "Strongest Killing Ghost," not every battle was smooth. Getting hurt was a daily occurrence; fighting while hurt was common habit. Facing one or more fresh, powerful enemies while dragging a mangled body was something he had done many times.
How else was the Soul Society's strongest assassination technique forged? It was out of necessity—forced to use the most precise movements and the least amount of power to win battles with zero margin for error. If not for that, with his temperament, he would have simply solved everything with a single swing of Ryūjin Jakka. Why bother with "flashy" techniques?
It comforted him to know that a thousand years of peace and decay had not erased the techniques and instincts engraved in his soul.
Pain scorched his nerves, but Yamamoto's breathing became long and steady. Every muscle in his body trembled, doing its utmost to seal his wounds. His internal organs were "overclocking," squeezing out the body's hidden potential to generate the minimum power required to keep moving.
Gradually, Yamamoto's eyes became bloodshot, turning his vision into a deep, dull shade of crimson. Within this red world, the will for slaughter and destruction surfaced!
It was so hot, so violent, that even a peripheral glance made Ukitake instinctively flinch in fear. This was the perspective and will of the Killing Ghost King who had suppressed the Soul Society a millennium ago. After ten centuries, it had returned. To Yamamoto, this wasn't a nostalgic joy; it was a simple matter of survival. It was the madness of being pushed to the brink of death.
Before I die, I'll take as many with me as I can. Kill one for parity, two for profit, and more for a fortune.
A thousand years ago, that demon who sat atop a mountain of corpses, holding a blade of flame with eyes red as blood, had surprisingly simple thoughts. Perhaps it was because the "trash" of that era weren't strong enough, or perhaps because a desperate Yamamoto was simply too good at fighting—every time he swung his blade with the intent to die together, the enemy died, and he lived, growing stronger each time.
The ghost who had crossed countless dead ends was still rampaging in the Soul Society. Would he be as "lucky" today?
His body was mangled, but sensing the extreme, pure power surging with his rising battle intent, Yamamoto felt he was "lucky" to the extreme today! Even if Death came knocking, it would be sliced into eighteen pieces and served as grilled sashimi on a barbecue rack!
Wielding Ryūjin Jakka, a twisted, demonic smile spread across Yamamoto's face as he began slaying the Hellish Macho-Men who had trespassed into the Seireitei.
High above the Seireitei, a white, towering palace-city emerged from the shadows, overlapping with the Soul Society. In the deepest, most desolate hall, Yhwach sat upon his throne. Infinite shadows surged from his feet, spreading to wrap the entire Seireitei and pull it into the Shadow Domain.
It wasn't that the Wandenreich had emerged into reality; the Seireitei had fallen into the Wandenreich!
Regardless, this move meant the Quincies' thousand-year lurking was fully exposed to the Soul Reapers. It was a helpless but necessary sacrifice. If time could restart, Yhwach would never have chosen the Seireitei's shadow as a hiding spot—even with its Reishi abundance—he'd have picked a barren wasteland instead.
Who could have guessed that a thousand years later, a flood of muscle-men would fall from the sky?
Yhwach knew little of Hell, but as the Son of the Soul King, his spiritual senses were sharp. He confirmed that these black muscle-men, with their "free and hearty" smiles, were impossible to communicate with. As individuals, they lacked sentience, but their collective aura formed a vast, ethereal, yet very real Will. It was a chaotic, non-communicative Will with a singular tendency: to ravage, infect, and devour.
If these men entered the Seireitei, nothing would grow again. Houses would be leveled; foundations dug up; even earthworms would be punched into pulp. Yhwach had seen them do this in the Rukongai. After the black flood passed, the very ground had been hammered down several meters by their fists.
The medium for the Wandenreich's existence was the shadows cast by the Seireitei's buildings. If the city was leveled, the Quincies would have nowhere to hide.
Had it been the Yhwach who just woke up, he might have watched the Seireitei's destruction with spiteful joy. But after his talk with Mo Yu and the shattering/rebuilding of his psyche, he had regained the mindset of the King of Light from a millennium ago. For the sake of mutual survival, he suppressed his hatred to lend a hand.
Yhwach expected uninvited guests. Sure enough, the Monk arrived shortly.
"Yhwach," the Monk said immediately. "You know the Soul King Palace has been seized by a heretical god. As the King's son, will you stand by and watch?"
Yhwach leaned back, the cold touch of the throne cooling his simmering rage. He said coldly:
"Ichibe Hyosube. After a thousand years, you are as arrogant as ever. Your words are always notifications and demands. It makes me quite displeased..."
At the mention of his name, the Monk's expression tightened. To an old monster from the Chaos Era, names were the true essence of an existence. His name was bestowed by the Soul King, carrying supreme glory. He didn't believe anyone left in this world was qualified to speak it. In the past, he would have scolded Yhwach, but now he simply skipped the topic.
"You saved the Seireitei because you don't want to face the Hellish Calamity," the Monk said. "To end it, you must join me in storming the palace. I will open the hidden mechanisms to close the lid on Hell."
For a million years, the palace had been seized and the lid opened before, yet the worlds survived. This proved the Monk wasn't lying. But Yhwach didn't care if the Monk was truthful. He looked down at the Monk with icy indifference.
"Ichibe Hyosube... you truly know nothing. That is no 'heretical god.' That is the True Soul King. What He does now is not the poisoning of the world, but a necessary cleaning before the flawed Three Worlds return to correctness. Just as one must excise a festering pustule before healing a wound... Monk, you are that pustule of the old era that must be removed."
The fact that The Almighty could not see Mo Yu's origins was proof enough; Yhwach had only seen such a phenomenon regarding the Soul King. Honestly, Yhwach didn't even care about the King's identity. As long as the entity supported the destruction of the current Three Worlds, he would call it the most orthodox Soul King imaginable.
The Monk grew annoyed, wanting to deliver a "God-Slap," but he suppressed the urge. Having lost his authority, his Oken-rebuilt blood and bone were becoming unruly. He realized that while he looked down on Yhwach, Yhwach was effectively the strongest being left in the world. Without his authority, the Monk wasn't sure he could win.
Fortunately, the awkwardness didn't last. Yamamoto, having finished the preliminary purge, walked into the Shadow Realm with Ryūjin Jakka in hand.
Yhwach lowered his gaze to the "Killing Ghost" who had ruined his ambitions a millennium ago. "Genryusai Shigekuni Yamamoto. After a thousand years... you've grown old."
There was a hint of sentiment in his voice. Yamamoto had killed him via an ambush, and Yhwach held some lingering hate, but he had mostly let it go. It wasn't just "winner takes all" logic; it was the fact that even with his eyes sealed, Yhwach had been at his peak with a victorious army, yet a younger Yamamoto had managed to assassinate him with just a few followers. Removing the enmity, it was a feat worth applauding.
"Yhwach... you've grown old too!"
Yamamoto looked at the man on the throne. A thousand years ago, Yhwach was a noble, arrogant King; now, he looked shadowed, his face worn by time and his gaze darkened by age.
The nostalgia ended quickly. Yamamoto's blood-red eyes locked onto Yhwach. He raised his blade and barked:
"Yhwach! You have returned after a thousand years. What is your intent!?"
"The era has truly changed. A thousand years ago, you wouldn't have dared question me with such a broken body. But today... though you've aged, you've become more potent..."
Yhwach whispered, his focus shifting entirely to Yamamoto, excluding the Monk. The scorching, tyrannical killing intent coming from the Commander was something Yhwach hadn't felt even when he died a millennium ago!
Though Yamamoto looked like a flickering candle in the wind, Yhwach did not underestimate him. He had seen Uryu Ishida kill Mayuri with a fist of pure battle intent. He had seen the pulverized Ichigo Kurosaki pummel Yamamoto while trampling over Death.
And now, he felt it from Yamamoto himself—that spirit so potent it made one's hair stand on end!
Yhwach was no fool; in combat, his wisdom was flawless. He felt the same "Kinetic Power" in all three of them. He had already stepped toward the New Era himself, sensing the Purity lingering in the world better than anyone.
"But, Genryusai... do you underestimate me? You think you are potent, wild, and strong... but have you considered that I might be... EVEN MORE POTENT, WILDER, AND STRONGER!?"
Yhwach suddenly clenched his fists. The shadows enveloping the Seireitei vibrated violently!
"Even while I hold the entire Seireitei in my palm and cannot use my full strength... in this Shadow Domain constructed with 70% Absolute Realm output, can your Purity withstand me!?"
The crushing pressure of a superior was undeniable.
"You think a mere 70% Absolute Realm can make me back down? Have you seen the absolute power called Ultimacy, which can only be mastered with the resolve to embrace death? That is true Purity!"
Yamamoto's blade cracked further, on the verge of shattering. His aura surged—not just by a bit, but by multiples.
The Monk watched these two meet, talk for two sentences, and then immediately switch to a power system he didn't recognize. Their spiritual pressures were completely illogical, skyrocketing with every second. He felt like he had slept through an entire era.
He tried to speak, but whether by design or accident, the combined pressure of the two combatants surged toward him, blasting him right out of the room!
With the Monk gone, the tension between the two remained, but their expressions softened. The Monk, in his arrogance, lacked political wisdom. He didn't realize that in this era, choosing to step into the Purity system was effectively choosing a side.
Since both Yhwach and Yamamoto had "re-classed" as Martial Artists, they had common ground to talk, setting aside their ancient hate. They had reached a tacit agreement: the Monk was an outsider to this new world, so they kicked him out.
"The Shadow Domain can only sustain the Seireitei for one day before returning to reality. Prepare for battle. I will send support, but remember: I need dozens of minutes of rest before I can descend a second time..."
Yhwach was direct. His goal was simple: survival. Yamamoto was just as blunt.
"Fine. But that is secondary. You should have felt it from the world's roar—we must slaughter as many Hell grunts as possible and reach the Soul King Palace. That is the key to everything."
Yhwach paused, choosing his words. "I felt it too, perhaps deeper than you. I do not recommend going to the palace so quickly, even with the barriers gone. I sense a horror waiting there unlike anything we have ever known. If we rush in now, the 'Potency' of our deaths will match the 'Potency' of our charge."
Yamamoto sensed the world's battle intent and confirmed the truth of those words. A massive darkness sat atop the Soul King Palace.
"Then what do you suggest?"
"The world has given us the answer," Yhwach replied. "The power called Purity is sufficient to gnaw through the Hell Miasma. In the coming time, I will have the Quincies re-class as quickly as possible. I also need time for my final adjustment—to complete my metamorphosis into a Perfect Martial Artist."
Yamamoto nodded. "I also need time. The technique called Reishi Rotation... I've received feedback from the Purity system about it, but I'm still a fraction away from mastering it. And the Soul Reapers below truly need an upgrade."
In a few sentences, they settled matters. They shared a long look and said no more. They didn't mention ancient grudges or the future of their coexistence. Those were for later. For now, they would act like Martial Artists: communicate through their fists!
Yamamoto turned to leave, but Yhwach spoke one last time:
"Uryu Ishida is the next successor to the Quincies."
Yamamoto paused, slightly surprised. Yhwach didn't say what to do with him; he just identified him. Whether to kill him or release him was left to Yamamoto's discretion.
Yamamoto gave no response and walked away.
In the distance, still hanging from the execution stand, Uryu Ishida stared at the shadowed sky and fell into deep thought.
Where am I? What's happening? Why is it that since I woke up, one miracle after another happens, yet NO ONE HAS COME TO UNTIE ME!?
End of Chapter
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