Valley of Screams.
Though everyone present had anticipated this from the start, the moment Tsunayashiro Shōgo's voice fell, all the captains and instructors standing in the front row couldn't help but freeze in place.
If the Dangai were seen as a vast cosmic expanse, then the Soul Society, Human World, and Hueco Mundo formed a complete three-body structure, a grand world maintaining stable pathways within the Dangai.
The Valley of Screams, however, was a smaller realm, ceaselessly drawing in souls lost beyond the Dangai and pulling them into its grasp.
Such small worlds were countless within the Dangai, varying in size, each like bubbles dotting the center of a glass of water capable of vanishing or emerging at any moment.
This particular Valley of Screams, controlled by the Tsunayashiro family, was one among them.
The only difference was...
Thud!
The scabbard in Shōgo's hand struck the ground flatly, emitting a dull sound.
As the sound faded, a tide of plain-clothed warriors surged forth from behind him.
Each stood over two meters tall, their arms thick and inhuman, more akin to the shape of Hollows. Their faces were shrouded in white cloth, hoods drawn tight, long hair cascading down, and their chest garments hung fully open.
Bold red characters spelling "Wanderer" adorned the white cloth.
Brandishing swords and cleaving blades, their presence radiated ferocity.
An almost unnatural reiatsu pulsed from their bodies.
Through countless generations of Tsunayashiro crafting, nurturing, and accumulation, the number of wandering souls in this world had long surpassed that of an ordinary Valley of Screams.
With enough wandering souls, it was only natural that some would emerge with innate reiatsu talent.
"ROOOAR!"
Yet what escaped their mouths was not human speech, but a beastly bellow.
Clearly, these beings had been subjected to some special treatment by the Tsunayashiro. Their actions now bore no trace of human rationality, only the vivid red marks branded on their chests as they gathered behind Shōgo.
Yamamoto stood still, silent as ever.
The shinigami behind him gazed mockingly at the rabble of beasts across from them, each wearing a bloodthirsty grin. Yet none spoke their suppressed stillness like the heavy, dark clouds before a thunderstorm, brimming with lethal intent.
The forces behind the two old men stood in stark contrast one clad in black, the other in white.
A clear divide.
Yamamoto's gaze didn't linger on these beastly soldiers for even a second, remaining fixed calmly on Shōgo.
He knew full well.
This man's trump card wouldn't be so... foolish.
Yet Shōgo merely issued a calm command.
"Exterminate them."
The instant the order was given, the humanoid beasts behind him erupted into motion, raising their swords with deafening, thunderous roars.
The next moment, they surged forward like a tidal wave.
Without a word from Yamamoto, the instructors led by Makoto charged like tigers unleashed from their cages, crashing into the enemy ranks and slashing with abandon.
"Kill!"
Makoto, the swiftest among them, naturally took the lead, spearheading the black tide like an arrowhead piercing straight into the white throng.
Only up close could one grasp the sheer size of these "Wanderer" soldiers, each towered like a silverback gorilla, their oversized greatswords noticeably larger than standard.
But that didn't matter.
In an instant, Makoto's blade slashed downward, carving a dazzling arc of light through the air.
"ROOOAR!"
Though its eyes were shrouded by white cloth, the Wanderer soldier before him accurately gauged the blade's trajectory. With a furious shout, it swung its massive sword toward Makoto.
The clash of steel rang out with a sharp, metallic tear.
Then, Makoto's seemingly slender blade effortlessly severed the door-sized black greatsword, slicing directly into the soldier's flesh.
"Hm?"
The moment his blade struck, Makoto's eyes flickered.
His wrist instantly applied greater force, ruthlessly cleaving through sinew and muscle, splitting the giant from left to right in a single stroke. Amid a wretched scream, blood sprayed through the air.
Just then, as his blade met the skin, he'd felt it distinctly.
The texture was far tougher than that of a typical Shinigami.
If he had to compare, it was somewhat akin to the Hierro of a Gillian Hollow, though not quite that resilient.
Clearly, there was something odd about these creatures' bodies.
But Makoto didn't dwell on it.
If the sky fell, the tall ones would hold it up.
For a foot soldier like him, charging forward with fearless abandon was enough.
As the two forces clashed, the captains led by Yamamoto subtly began to encircle Shōgo.
A tense standoff.
Yet no one made the first move.
At their level, all could easily sense the overwhelming presence emanating from Shōgo's aged frame, a sensation akin to some colossal entity lurking within.
It was an intangible yet unmistakable pressure.
But paired with Shōgo's frail elderly appearance, it created a strange dissonance.
As if something within him didn't belong.
Amid the cries of battle, his soldiers were being slaughtered at breakneck speed, their corpses carpeting the grassland. Yet Shōgo remained unhurried, his voice cool and measured as he spoke:
"Impressive, Yamamoto."
"To rise from a mere rabble to this point, standing at the threshold of what it means to be a Shinigami."
"Even I must admit."
"Compared to the fools filling the ranks of the Five Great Noble Families and the Central 46, you and your kind may well be the better rulers and guardians of this vast Soul Society."
Yamamoto continued to watch him silently.
Or perhaps, he was waiting.
"But…"
Suddenly, Shōgo's tone shifted. He slowly drew his Zanpakutō, tossing the scabbard aside. His voice grew older and raspier.
"You, son of rabble, know far too little."
"You may have heard of the Soul King."
"But I wager you can't even begin to comprehend what the Soul King truly is, can you?"
At this, Yamamoto's brow furrowed slightly.
He didn't know why this old man brought up the Soul King now, but such high-level secrets were indeed beyond his knowledge.
That realm in the sky had been sealed for countless years by a power surpassing all understanding.
Beyond a few inconsequential names, no information ever trickled down to the world below.
It was as if the Soul King Palace housed only guards and nothing else.
Noticing his puzzled expression, Shōgo broke into a slow smile. Gripping his blade, he untied his wide-sleeved kimono, revealing a withered, sinewy torso, and continued calmly.
"The Soul King is the Three Worlds themselves."
"Eyes, ears, brain, limbs, organs, bones, veins, nerves, skin, nails, hair…"
"Every last piece was graciously bestowed upon this world by Him."
"He entrusted it all to us, the Five Great Noble Families, permitting our ancestors to wield the sun, moon, stars, and the laws of humanity in His stead, to maintain this world's stability."
"His very existence is the mightiest force in this world."
"Beyond Shinigami, beyond Hollows, beyond Humans…"
"So, Yamamoto."
Shōgo spoke slowly, his voice growing ever calmer.
"I'm done being a Shinigami."
As he shed his clothes and spoke these words slowly, everyone present understood why Shōgo was explaining all this.
Their gazes turned to his chest.
There, at its center, a crystalline femur roughly the thickness of an arm pierced his body like a dagger, embedded firmly and unmoving.
The shriveled skin around this bone pulsed with newfound vitality, shifting from vigor to decay.
What had once been aged and rotting flesh transformed under this power into the smooth, youthful texture of a young man's skin. Bulging veins, like writhing earthworms, swelled beneath the surface, greedily siphoning strength from the bone.
It was unmistakable, this was a bone of the Soul King.
Much like the Ukitake who could trade with the Right Arm of the Soul King, Mimihagi, to have the Soul King's hand remove the frail, diseased lungs of the congenitally weak Ukitake Jūshirō, making him a substitute for the Soul King to restore his vitality, the Tsunayashiro possessed a similar secret technique.
Their method, however, was entirely different.
To put it precisely it was a desperate gambit, sacrificing their lives to forcibly seize a fragment of the Soul King's power, unleashing it in an extreme burst to achieve combat prowess capable of touching the pinnacle of this world.
The moment they witnessed this, everyone understood the source of that intense strangeness they'd felt earlier.
They could sense it clearly.
Even this single, fragile-looking crystalline bone contained power far surpassing anyone among them, even Yamamoto.
In that instant, every gaze sharpened.
Only Yamamoto seemed to have anticipated this, continuing to ask calmly.
"So, the Soul King is dead?"
"Then what exactly are those people up there guarding?"
As the Soul King's bone fully melded into his body, Shōgo's expression grew more relaxed. He burst into hearty laughter:
"How could that be?"
"How could the Soul King die?"
"Even without a brain, bones, or organs, the Soul King endures forever, Yamamoto!"
"The reason the Soul King grants so much to this world is because…"
"He must not exist!"
"And that is the mission the Tsunayashiro has borne for countless years."
The moment his words fell, he snapped his head up, locking eyes with those before him.
At that instant, the reiatsu within him surged to an unimaginable height.
Even the captains present, all wielding reiatsu surpassing at least the Tier-3 couldn't suppress the rising dread in their hearts when facing this terrifying force. They felt like ants beneath a looming black shadow, gripped by visceral fear.
Almost simultaneously, Shōgo's form vanished from where he stood.
Kinroku Izuhara, standing beside Yamamoto, adjusted his glasses and shouted sharply.
"Come formless void, become my visage twists."
"Fuhahara!"
The instant he drew his Zanpakuto, the space before them rippled faintly like water, tracing an invisible arc.
In a flash, a narrow gash tore through the once-flat grassland, stretching dozens of meters and effortlessly splitting the ground in two.
Everything obstructing this spatial blade was cleaved in half, leaving only a smooth cut that severed Shōgo's charge in an instant.
The old man's figure reappeared on the far side of the spatial slash.
Immediately after, a petite figure darted from the crowd. As she unsheathed her blade, a slender serpentine tongue slipped unconsciously from her mouth. Her single eye gleamed scarlet, and her deep purple twin tails stretched taut in the high-speed rush.
At the same moment, Saitō Furofushi's unmistakable, sickly-sweet cry rang out.
"Devour all to extinction! Shuketsukyū!"
Her deep purple blade, wreathed in crimson bloodlight, slashed downward toward Shōgo, leaving a blinding trail.
Yet Shōgo merely raised his tachi.
Clang!
The instant their blades met, an overwhelming force surged from the opposing edge, halting Saitō's petite form mid-motion. Her wild, delicate features stiffened slightly.
In a split second, both she and her blade were sent flying, kicking up a violent gust across the clearing.
But in that fleeting gap, several invisible spatial blades descended toward him.
Simultaneously, entering Shōgo's field of vision was the expressionless Batsu'unsai Katori, charging close with her naginata, while another figure flickered in his peripheral vision, circling to his rear.
Tch.
Yet, facing this coordinated assault from multiple elites, Shōgo merely sneered in disdain.
The next moment, he raised his tachi to block.
Katori's pupils contracted sharply beneath her glasses.
Guided by sheer instinct, she withdrew her naginata and sidestepped half a pace.
Buzz!
A vibrating hum filled her ears.
The two invisible spatial blades that had been hurtling toward Shōgo silently cleaved through the spot she'd occupied a mere second before.
Had Katori been a fraction slower, she'd likely have been torn apart by her own allies' attack.
This is…
Katori frowned instinctively.
Behind her, the bespectacled man's face mirrored her grave expression.
Clang!
A heavy strike descended from Shōgo's twig-thin arm, crashing onto the shaft of Katori's naginata with a deep, muffled thud. The blow forced her downward, her calves nearly sinking into the earth.
In that brief pause, a knee slammed into her abdomen with a thud. The immense force nearly robbed her of consciousness, her eyes rolling back beneath her glasses. A withered hand swiftly seized her long hair, flinging her sideways with a bang, she crashed into the ground, tumbling countless meters away, raising clouds of dust.
Before the old man could turn, a lipless, toothy maw loomed silently behind him... Entetsu Kumoi.
A pair of maces, thicker than Tsunayashiro's arms, roared down toward him.
Yet before they could land, Shōgo raised his tachi single-handedly, blocking them with ease, his blade unwavering.
Then came an elbow thrust backward.
Entetsu's beastly frame was sent flying by the blow.
The sequence seemed lengthy.
In truth, from Kinroku's assist, Saitō's charge and release, to Katori and Entetsu joining the fray, and finally all of them being flung aside, it all unfolded in less than a second.
To the distant Shinigami onlookers, these captains who seemed invincible on any other day were like mere foot soldiers before this old man, crushed with a trembling disparity.
They stood no chance against him!
"Yamamoto!"
The sinewy bare-chested old man pointed his blade forward.
"Come, let me see your strength!"
***
Bonus Chapter:
100 Power Stones = 1 BC
300 Power Stones = 2 BC
500 Power Stones = 3 BC
700 Power Stones = 4 BC
1000 Power Stones = 5 BC
***
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