Chapter Thirty-Four: The Quincy
Boom!
The dead silence of the night was shattered. The once tranquil street had turned into a hellish scene.
Screams echoed, blood splattered, desperate cries for help rang out.
District 43 of West Rukongai—Shikusa—had been attacked.
There was no doubt about it—the attackers were Quincy.
No one knew how they had managed to freely enter the Soul Society, but one thing was certain—
This was an absolute disaster for the Soul Society.
The crazed invaders didn’t utter a single word; upon encountering the residents or Shinigami, they struck mercilessly. Their weapons had already claimed countless lives.
“Report, cleanup complete.”
A soldier in plain attire spoke to a man with short golden hair, clad in a white cloak.
“Let’s go. We’re heading back,” the man replied coldly, leading his subordinates away, vanishing without a trace.
All that remained for the Shinigami, who arrived much later, was emptiness.
“Damn it…” Nagatsuro stared at the blood-stained ground, gritting his teeth.
How many times had this happened in the past ten days? He couldn’t remember anymore.
There were eighty-nine districts in West Rukongai; every district beyond the thirtieth had been attacked.
The distance was too great, and the Shinigami always received news too late. By the time they arrived, not even the enemy’s shadow could be found.
Only now did Nagatsuro realize how fortunate it was to have the Department of Technological Development.
But that didn’t mean the Quincy would always have the upper hand.
District 40 of West Rukongai—Kiwai.
“Hey, it’s been a real hassle being chased around like rats these past few days,” Ichino Diharu said, resting his Zanpakuto on his shoulder, tilting his head.
“I don’t find running around to be troublesome,” replied the man with sandy-colored short hair and a white cloak, calm and composed.
“Huh? Are you dense? I meant it’s a pain for us to have to chase them around.” Diharu swung his blade. “Anyway, sooner or later it’s going to be all-out war, right?”
Behind him lay the corpses of Quincy he had cut down.
“Why not settle things right here and now?”
“A foolish question.”
The man closed his eyes, reached for his sword at his waist, and drew it.
“This battle was inevitable from the start.”
“I’m no good at word games. If possible…”
Diharu’s spiritual pressure exploded, so intense that even the buildings along the street seemed to groan.
“Let’s just fight directly!”
“That’s reasonable…”
The man leveled his sword at Diharu.
“Thirteenth Captain of the Silver Cross Knight Order—Credo Digla.”
“Captain of Squad Eight—Ichino Diharu!”
The clang of blades followed the exchange of names.
This was the first battle between Shinigami and Quincy!
Credo subtly lowered his hand, dissipating the pressure Diharu had exerted on his sword.
But among the Quincy, anyone at the rank of Captain was on the level of a Shinigami Captain—their spiritual pressure, strength, and combat experience far surpassed any common soldier.
As Credo withdrew his sword, he added force, his blade sliding up the back of Diharu’s sword, aiming straight for Diharu’s chest.
A ferocious grin appeared.
Diharu grabbed Credo’s sword with his other hand and swung his blade at the man once more.
“Bare-handed, huh…”
Suddenly, Diharu halted his attack, jumping back two steps to put distance between himself and Credo.
He glanced at the palm of his hand, which bore a burn-like wound. Strangely, a stream of spirit particles seeped from it, dissipating into the air.
“This is… spiritual pressure?”
“Correct.”
Credo flicked his sword, which was now adorned with a crossbow-shaped construct made of spirit particles.
“‘Materialize the spiritual pressure of anything touched, causing it to vanish.’”
“This is the power bestowed upon me by His Majesty.”
“Heh, I don’t know who this ‘His Majesty’ is, but it seems we’re well matched.”
Diharu raised his blade and spun it in his hand.
“Reduce all to nothingness—Chaos Flame.”
Black, ominous flames appeared once more.
“Black flames…”
From his spiritual pressure, there was nothing unusual about Diharu’s Zanpakuto apart from its color.
“Well, you’d better be careful. Releasing your Zanpakuto so soon is more than I expected, but you’ve shown your trump card, so I guess that’s fair.”
“Shown my trump card?”
Credo’s voice took on a strange tone, as if he’d heard something bizarre.
“You dare say you’ve shown your trump card?”
“I know, Shinigami. All your so-called Captains possess the ultimate technique called ‘Bankai.’”
“And yet you claim to have shown your trump card? That’s rather dishonest.”
“Hah? So you guys even know about that? Well, I suppose it doesn’t make much difference. But…”
A sly gleam flashed in Diharu’s eyes.
“I don’t know if you’ve shown yours either.”
“…Fair enough, we’ll see.”
Credo raised his sword, the crossbow-shaped spirit particles dancing energetically.
“Let’s see who reveals their true hand first.”
“Sounds interesting. Let’s get on with it.”
It didn’t interfere with his fighting, so whatever happened was fine.
Diharu swung his blade, the black flames tracing a glaring mark in the air.
“One hundred and twenty-one soldiers couldn’t even scratch you. I must…”
“Get serious.”
Credo had barely finished speaking when he flashed behind Diharu, firing an arrow at his back without hesitation.
Diharu, ignoring his wounded hand, snatched the arrow out of the air.
“Your wound will deepen.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Ignoring Credo’s warning, Diharu tossed the arrow aside and charged his foe.
He swung his blade, wreathed in black flames, directly at Credo’s head!
No one would foolishly wait for their head to be cut off; Credo instinctively blocked Diharu’s attack with his sword.
But that was exactly what Diharu wanted.
The black flames latched onto Credo’s sword like ravenous wolves, voraciously devouring the spiritual pressure.
“This is…”
Quincy possessed acute spirit particle senses; Credo immediately sensed something amiss.
“Be careful, Quincy.”
Diharu withdrew his blade, grinning malevolently at his opponent.
“You’ll die a most unpleasant death once I’ve set my sights on you.”