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With a mighty swing of his naginata, Genryūsai Yamamoto brought the weapon crashing down toward Yagami Ryo, cutting through the air with a sharp gust of wind.
If it had been any other captain, that pressure alone would've frozen them in place for a moment.
But for Ryo? It didn't slow him down by even a millisecond.
In the blink of an eye, Ryo closed the distance, his blade aimed straight for Yamamoto's chest.
Just then, Ryo's eyes narrowed—he noticed something. In Yamamoto's left hand… a cane had suddenly appeared.
Shing—!
A violent arc of sword light tore through the air, carving a deep, bottomless gash into the earth below.
Standing just twenty meters away from Yamamoto, Ryo glanced down at the gash, then back at his opponent.
Now, Yamamoto stood firm—naginata in his right hand, Zanpakutō in his left. One long, one short. One for offense, one for defense. A flawless stance.
Watching from the sidelines, Kyōraku Shunsui tilted his straw hat down and muttered in surprise, "Dual-blade style with Twin Polarity right from the start, huh? Looks like the old man's not holding anything back."
"That guy… he actually forced sensei to go that far," murmured Ukitake Jūshirō, brows tightly knit, clearly uneasy.
Facing Yamamoto head-on, Ryo raised an eyebrow, his tone playfully sarcastic, "What is it with you old-school Shinigami and dual-wielding?"
Retsu Unohana hid blades in her sleeves, Yamamoto's style was all-in-one offense and defense, and even Shunsui and Ukitake were dual-blade users.
Now that he thought about it, all these millennium-old captains were apparently fans of the double-sword look.
Yamamoto stabbed his naginata into the ground and smacked a hand against his chest with a resounding smack.
The wound Ryo had dealt him just moments ago instantly tightened, closed up, and stopped bleeding. Within seconds, it was reduced to a faint, barely visible scar.
As his injuries vanished, Yamamoto finally looked at Ryo with a low, rumbling voice: "When dealing with a traitor, there's no need for restraint."
"A traitor, huh?"
Ryo's tone was still amused, but he raised his Zanpakutō, taking a thrusting stance.
"Tell me, who's really the one sitting on a stolen throne?"
Yamamoto's eyes snapped open, his glare sharp as a blade. "Just what are you? A Shinigami—or a Quincy?"
There was hesitation in his voice. Suspicion.
He wondered… did Ryo Yagami know the truth? The truth about the Soul King... that the Zero Division had created it from the corpse of the Quincy progenitor?
Ryo replied, disappearing from sight in a blink. "The loser doesn't get to know the truth."
"You arrogant brat…"
With a low growl, Yamamoto grabbed his naginata. Flames exploded around him, erupting like a volcano. His presence was overwhelming.
"If you think you can defeat me, you're a thousand years too early!"
The searing fire swirled upward, morphing into massive flame dragons that roared and lunged in every direction.
But weaving between them—darting effortlessly through the gaps—were dozens, maybe hundreds, of Ryos.
"A thousand years?"
The army of Ryos all chuckled at once, their voices echoing through the burning air.
"Ten seconds is all I need."
Yamamoto's pupils shrank.
For a moment, he wasn't seeing Ryo anymore—but a long-haired woman with a blood-stained blade.
It was... Retsu Unohana. Captain of the Fourth Division.
A curved slash arced through the air like a crescent moon.
In the next instant, a massive wound split open across Yamamoto's chest.
"Old man!!"
"Sensei!!"
Shunsui and Ukitake gasped, drawing their blades and preparing to rush in.
"Stay back!" Yamamoto barked.
He slashed forward with his naginata—and actually hit Ryo.
Clang!
Ryo caught the strike with one hand, blocking it cleanly.
Eyes narrowing in mild surprise, he said, "Oh? You actually kept up with my speed?"
Yamamoto grunted, blood dripping from the fresh wound and soaking into the scorched ground below.
Gripping his sword tightly, he glared at Ryo and growled, "You copied Unohana's slash after just one exchange!?"
That's right—the strange curved technique Ryo had just used was something he picked up from his fight with Unohana.
As her former enemy and now commander, Yamamoto knew that sword style too well to mistake it.
"I don't like the word 'copy,'" Ryo replied with a chuckle, clearly acknowledging it.
"I see…"
No wonder he'd felt like he was fighting Unohana herself just moments ago. Narrowing his eyes, Yamamoto muttered darkly, "That ability of yours—learning instantly, bypassing years of experience. Is that your power?"
"Not exactly. Just borrowing the strength of a certain item," Ryo said, smirking.
While fighting Unohana, he'd memorized her techniques, strategy, and combat rhythm. But what really let him absorb and replicate it all so fast… was the Hōgyoku.
As long as you believe in the possibility, as long as you have the potential and meet the conditions—you can make it real.
That's the power of the Hōgyoku.
And Ryo had all the conditions needed to master Unohana's style—so with the Hōgyoku's help, it only took him ten seconds.
That's how dangerous, and how terrifying, its power really was.
"Hmph. A 'tool,' huh?"
Yamamoto let out a short laugh—and in that laugh, his body bulked up, muscles swelling with spiritual power.
The slash on his chest now seemed almost irrelevant.
"You've surprised me, kid."
He dropped the naginata and grabbed his Zanpakutō with both hands, holding it out horizontally in front of him.
By now, he knew—capturing Ryo alive was impossible.
Eyes blazing, Reiatsu boiling over, he roared,
"In a thousand years, only two people have ever made me get serious!"
Then he swung his blade with full force: "Reduce All Creation to Ash—Ryūjin Jakka!!!"
A pillar of crimson flame erupted with the swing, igniting the very air itself.
"Oh crap, he's going full power!" Shunsui shouted, shunpo-ing backwards at top speed.
Ukitake threw a shield-like spirit device toward Rukia and turned tail, sprinting as fast as he could.
The two of them ran over three kilometers before they dared to stop and look back.
At the center of the battlefield, Rukia—now safely shielded—was trembling, tears welling in her eyes as she whispered in despair, "Somebody… please save me…"
Ryo glanced her way briefly, then turned back toward Yamamoto, who now stood engulfed in a vortex of flame.
His expression turned serious.
"That kind of power… it's about on par with a five-digit."
Yamamoto's strength had clearly exceeded Ryo's expectations.
Now facing a true top-tier opponent, Ryo dropped his playful tone. One hand rested on his Zanpakutō as his eyes sharpened.
"Well then, time to see what your Ryūjin Jakka is really made of!"
As he finished speaking, golden-red light burst from his blade.
And just then, a low whisper echoed through the air:
"Rule over everything, Byakuya!"
(A/N: Byakuya lit means "White Night")
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