Chapter Thirty-Six: The Leader

"Such ruthless methods..."
Still in District Forty-Three—Nagachiro Shikusou wiped at the not-yet-dried blood with his hand, and from the lingering spiritual energy, he sensed the merciless brutality with which the Quincy struck.
Yet in the face of this, the Soul Society was powerless.
Throughout the entirety of Seireitei, there were only a scant handful who could defeat someone of a captain’s level or higher. But with over eighty districts in the Rukongai, no one could predict where the Quincy would appear. There simply weren’t enough people to cover every area, so the captains could only patrol the streets, rushing to incidents as quickly as possible.
Of course, sometimes luck was on their side—such as now, with Ichino Dicchun happening to be at the scene, making him the first to confront the Quincy head-on.
But luck would not always favor the Shinigami; this was not a long-term solution.
"Vice-captain! Vice-captain Jakube!"
"What is it?"
The shout of an ordinary Shinigami broke Nagachiro’s train of thought.
"Spiritual pressure detected, from the direction of District Forty!"
"District Forty? That should be where Ichino is..."
With Ichino there, there shouldn’t be any problems, but it still felt prudent to check for himself.
What could possibly happen...
"Gather everyone. Follow me, now!"
With a wave of his hand, Nagachiro led the Shinigami squad in a sprint toward District Forty.
……………………………………
"..."
Ichino stared in silence at Credo, who stood before him, his spiritual pressure surging wildly from the so-called "Chant of the Ecclesia."
"What’s wrong, are you so frightened that you can’t even speak, Shinigami?"
Credo, mistaking the silence for intimidation, grew all the more arrogant.
"How tedious. I’m leaving."
But Ichino regarded the now-empowered Credo as little more than air, slinging his blade over his shoulder and turning away without a second glance.
"Wait! Are you running away in fear of me?"
Unexpected by Credo, Ichino’s action provoked an immediate taunt.
"Are you stupid? I’m sparing your life—take the chance to crawl back home."
Ichino halted, speaking quietly over his shoulder.
"Who do you think you’re talking to..."
"This thing of yours may have increased your spiritual pressure and agility, but..."
Ichino turned, his gaze cold and cutting. "You’ve lost even the most basic calm. What’s left to fight for?"
"You’re saying I’ll lose?"
"What a bother. I could end this in an instant."
"You think that even with the absolute power His Majesty bestowed upon me, I would lose?"
"Don’t underestimate me!"
Ignoring the wounds Ichino had already inflicted, Credo charged at him with all the speed he could muster, convinced his opponent spoke out of arrogance.
In the blink of an eye, he was at Ichino’s back.
Ten meters. Five. Three. One...
"Swish!"
And yet, Ichino never turned.

No, he had turned.
But when exactly did he turn? When did he raise his blade? When did he strike? None of it was seen.
Not even Credo saw it—for by the time he realized he’d been slashed, blood had already dyed his world red.
"See? I told you—it would be over in a flash."
Without sparing another glance at Credo’s fallen, uncertain form, Ichino strode away once more.
"Clatter."
"? "
A strange sound from above abruptly stopped Ichino in his tracks.
"Boom!"
Space itself shattered inward, and from within strode a man in a black cloak.
"...Who are you?"
Ichino looked up at the black-clad man gazing down upon Rukongai from the sky.
No spiritual pressure. No emotion. Not even...
Not even a sense of life.
It was an existence that embodied "death" even more fully than a Shinigami—so profound it felt untouchable.
The man’s hand rested lightly on the pristine white haori at his side, a gesture so sudden it seemed out of place.
"So you’re the captain of the Eighth Division, Ichino Dicchun?"
The man stood beside Ichino, asking softly.
"!!!"
When?
Even his movements couldn’t be traced...
No...
Had he been there at Ichino’s side from the very start?
"I see..."
A grin crept over Ichino’s lips, revealing for the first time beastlike fangs.
"So you’re the leader of the enemy, then?"
"The man of legend himself—Ichino Dicchun."
The man glanced sidelong at Ichino, speaking in a flat tone: "To defeat in a single strike the Thirteenth Commander of the Silver Cross Knights after he’d used the ‘Sacred Chant’—you truly are a man who possessed captain-level strength a hundred years ago."
"Hmph. No need to mention fodder like that. You look like you could give me more of a thrill—why don’t we have a fight?"
Ichino swung the blade from his shoulder, the dormant flame of his battle lust reigniting with ferocious intensity.
"Hmm..."
With a casual lift of his hand, the man effortlessly blocked the pressure Ichino unleashed.
"No need to worry—I came here for battle. However..."
The man smiled faintly, his eyes cold, locking onto Ichino with chilling intent.
"Let’s add some conditions."
"Conditions?"
Ichino raised an eyebrow—never before had someone proposed such a thing in the midst of battle.

"If I win, you’ll join us as a ‘special combatant.’ How about that?"
"Ha, you mean I should cling to life in defeat?" Ichino assumed his customary battle stance. "Save that talk for after you’ve beaten me."
"Fair enough..."
"Bankai!"
Without warning, Ichino unleashed his final trump card.
It was not because he felt outmatched—nor out of fear.
It was simply a desire to fight without restraint.
He no longer needed to worry whether the trembling souls hiding in nearby houses could withstand his spiritual pressure, nor whether his strength would bring harm to Rukongai.
He would fight with everything he had—without reservation, without hesitation, to utterly destroy his foe.
This was the highest combat directive issued by Shigekuni Yamamoto, Captain-Commander of the Thirteen Court Guard Squads.
"Whoooosh!"
Black flames erupted—not from his blade, but from Ichino himself, spreading across his skin.
Then the flames shot upward, a pillar of darkness soaring into the sky before exploding, raining down like black fire over District Forty, setting all of Rukongai ablaze.
The inferno devoured spiritual particles on a massive scale, replenishing Ichino’s spiritual pressure as fast as it was spent, allowing him to maintain his peak. This was his Bankai—
"Hellfire Prison: Infernal Chaos."
Shrouded head to toe in black hellfire that threatened to consume all, Ichino bore down upon the Quincy leader with the aura and pressure of a demon king.
And yet the man did not move an inch.
"So this is Bankai?"
"Hey, don’t just stand there talking..."
The swing of Ichino’s blade, wreathed in black flames, was faster than ever—an instant, and it was already descending on the man’s head.
"Experience it for yourself!"
"Bang!"
"!"
The blade, blazing with hellfire, came down like a mountain collapsing.
Yet, faced with Ichino’s frenzied Bankai, the man only smiled, raising his left arm to block the attack.
His white uniform sleeve was scorched away by the chaotic flame, the blade biting several centimeters into flesh—but no further.
Even to hope for deeper was futile.
"Impressive—Bankai. No, I should say, your Bankai is impressive."
The man spoke softly, as if nothing had happened, a faint smile on his lips. "If not for the ‘Still Blood’ technique, I imagine this arm would have been severed."
It was then that Ichino noticed faint crimson patterns where the man’s arm had been struck—substances seeming to well up from beneath the skin, unsettling to behold.
"Well then..."
The man reached to his waist with his right hand, left arm still raised, and with a ferocious grin, slowly drew his own blade.
"I believe it’s time for you to pay us a visit."