Mirai concealed all of his Spiritual Pressure. He moved closer, and soon the two men came into clear view.
They were human—breathing hard, faces tense with anxiety and a kind of feverish excitement.
Both wore similar white robes. The fabric looked expensive, but it was stained with dust and sweat from the battlefield.
From them, Mirai could sense only a faint trace of Spiritual Power.
It was barely stronger than an ordinary person in Rukongai—nowhere near enough to hold any rank. In Soul Society, they wouldn't even qualify as Academy students.
And yet, that small amount of power was enough for them to see spirits. Right now, they were gripping the bodies of two recently deceased soldiers.
The souls of those soldiers were full of pain and confusion. The two men clutched the Chains of Fate at their chests with a tight, possessive grip.
Mirai frowned.
What were they doing?
In their free hands, they held strange metal tools—like oversized nails. Using the sharp ends, they pried at the point where the chain met the chest: the most crucial part of the Chain of Fate.
Were they trying to rip the Chain of Fate out by force?
Mirai found it absurd.
When the Chain of Fate breaks and disappears, a hole forms in the chest, and the soul begins to hollowfy. To escape the agony, it starts consuming other spirits—until it becomes a Hollow.
These two humans were accelerating that process.
They were forcibly tearing at the Chain of Fate to create the hole.
Did they think the souls weren't changing fast enough? Or did they have some other purpose?
Whatever the reason, Mirai had a duty. A Shinigami must maintain the cycle of souls and guide them to Soul Society.
Watching two humans create dangerous Hollows right in front of him was unacceptable.
He stopped hiding. In a flash, he moved in and landed between the men and the souls.
"Let go."
His voice wasn't loud. His sword was already drawn, its tip angled toward the ground.
"Shinigami have authority over souls. Step back now."
The two men startled at his sudden appearance, nearly dropping their tools. They stumbled back a few steps, staring at him.
Mirai's Spiritual Pressure felt clean and weighty—completely different from the blood-soaked air of the battlefield.
They took in the black robes and the sword, and at last they understood what he was.
The older man, with a short beard, steadied himself. He raised his voice, irritation and arrogance bleeding through.
"A Shinigami? Hmph! These two souls served the Oda clan when they were alive!
Even in death, it is only right that we take their loyal spirits. They will become 'Oni-Musha' and continue serving our Lord!
This is an honor for them. It is our right!"
The younger man stepped in at once, even more aggressive.
"Exactly! We are the official Onmyoji of the Oda clan! Our job is to create and lead Oni-Musha! These two souls are our 'materials!'
A Shinigami? Go to the battlefield and deal with the souls that have no master! Don't block us!"
Mirai didn't react to their words.
He looked at the two soldier souls. After being pulled and pried at, they looked worse.
Their eyes were unfocused. They still wanted to fight, but now the pain of being torn apart overwhelmed everything.
Mirai said nothing. He simply lifted his hand and pressed the base of his sword's hilt to each soul's forehead.
A soft purifying light appeared.
The soldiers' expressions eased. Their bodies relaxed. Their eyes cleared, and they looked at Mirai, lips moving as if they wanted to speak.
Then they broke into small motes of light, rising slowly before fading into the air. They had accepted the guidance and were heading to Soul Society for a new life.
It was clean and efficient—finished in less than two seconds.
Mirai slid his sword back into its sheath with a sharp click.
Done.
He had no interest in talking further with these men. He turned to leave, intending to continue his research.
"Stop there! You Shinigami!"
A furious shout erupted behind him. The bearded man's voice had a shrill edge.
"Are you new?! Don't you know the rules?! Do you know who supports the Oda clan?! You destroyed the materials for our Oni-Musha!"
Mirai stopped.
He turned slowly. His face was expressionless as he looked at the two men, with such a calm gaze..
"Who?" he asked, without emotion.
He was genuinely curious now.
When he arrived, he noticed the area wasn't empty. A squad from the 13th Division was working about a hundred meters away.
They must have sensed these souls. They must have seen the men and their suspicious actions.
Mirai had assumed they were simply being lazy—waiting for the problem to worsen so they could clean it up later.
But the way these men spoke suggested something else.
Why were they bold enough to shout at a Shinigami?
The bearded man puffed up with pride and snorted.
"It's fine to tell you! Our Lord—Lord Oda—has made contact with the people 'below!'
We have permission to take the souls of brave men on the battlefield. We use them to make Oni-Musha for the war!
This right has been granted to us! Do you understand now?"
The younger man straightened and added, "That's right! Now leave! Do not interfere with our work!
If you stop us and we don't have enough Oni-Musha for the Lord's battle…
Hmph. Even if you return to the 'Shinigami World,' you'll be in trouble! The Lords above will punish you!"
Mirai was genuinely shocked.
Contact with people "below." Granted rights. Turning souls into Oni-Musha for war. The Lords above.
Since when did Shinigami interfere with human wars to this extent?
They were allowing humans to trap souls and force them into transformation—just to keep a war going?
It was a blatant insult to Captain-Commander Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni.
Could it be that certain Shinigami were running this kind of business in secret?
Judging by their confidence, the involvement ran deep.
Mirai looked at the two men, at their smug, arrogant faces. His gaze slowly darkened.