The Rage of Chōjirō Sasakibe

No one answered.

Bathed in the gazes of everyone present, Seiya simply adjusted the military cap on his head and cleared his throat.

Then, with a light chuckle, he repeated.

"Everyone seems to be troubled?"

Captain of the Invisible Empire's Sternritter Hueco Mundo Subjugation Team.

This was Seiya's current internal position, one he had deliberately sought and lobbied for.

The first to react was Quilge.

A smile resembling ecstatic joy appeared on his face, and the confidence that had previously vanished returned to him at the arrival of this "expected" reinforcement.

With blood still gushing from the wound in his chest and half his body in a wretched state, Quilge staggered behind Seiya.

"You, you're all finished now!"

His right hand pressed against his chest, blood still dripping from the corner of his mouth.

Yet Quilge's left hand stubbornly rose level, pointing toward those before him.

"Captain Arima is His Majesty's most valued close aide! His, his strength is far greater than a third-rate person like me!"

"People like you, Captain Arima only needs one hand to easily crush you!"

"Kneel! You vile and lowly creatures, submit to our Invisible Empire!"

His tone was extremely high-spirited, but soon... Quilge realized that something wasn't quite right.

Wasn't this scene too calm?

—It wasn't strange to have such thoughts, because at this moment, everyone's gaze wasn't directed at him, but entirely focused on Seiya.

Were they shocked by his reputation and strength?

Perhaps not.

Because Quilge could see that many expressions had become somewhat fearful.

Even Grimmjow, who had maintained an arrogant demeanor, was now slightly gritting his teeth, lowering his gaze...

He seemed unable to even look Seiya in the eye.

That wasn't simply submission to power, but something more fundamental, a kind of respect that seemed to well up from deep within.

Without a doubt.

'These people... are afraid of Captain Arima?'

But this seemed very strange! After all, this was an emotion he would only detect in the presence of Yhwach, and now with Seiya.

What was going on with him?

"Captain Arima..."

Unconsciously murmuring, Quilge half-turned his head.

Only to see the other smiling as he raised his right hand, gently pressing it on his forehead.

"Well done, but what follows is my business now. You should rest for a while."

His exhausted nerves didn't need excessive force to be completely "pierced through."

Cutting off the neural connections and thoughts, Quilge instantly fell silent. As his eyeballs rolled upward, his entire body collapsed to the ground.

The thud startled the Quincy troops behind him.

Captain, what are you doing, Captain!

Seiya merely waved his right hand lightly.

Wave-like patterns rippled and spread through the air.

Many watched as invisible gaseous matter enveloped their bodies, and they couldn't help but show extremely painful expressions.

"Ugh..."

Like ducks drowning in deep water, these members of the Quincy army all fell to the ground, until finally their eyes rolled back and they completely lost all signs of movement.

Gin calmly witnessed the entire process and slightly curled his lips, revealing what seemed like a mocking smile.

"Using spirit particles to directly isolate the air and selectively extract substances from it... I see, this level of control, I should say it's just like you."

Using such a familiar tone, as if the two had known each other for a long time.

Yet behind this.

There was also a subtle emotion similar to emotional reflection.

"Is that so? I've only heard about you... Sorry, perhaps I've disappointed you?"

Seiya's calm attitude made the atmosphere suddenly stiffen for a moment.

However, Tōsen reacted before Gin could speak.

This man, now blind and serene, seemingly no longer interested in worldly matters, the current leader of Hueco Mundo.

At this moment, he couldn't help but walk several steps forward.

He tilted his head slightly, using his hearing to capture, as if groping for something, reaching out his right hand.

But this movement was quickly halted by someone beside him.

Gin grabbed his right hand. His smile seemed to have not changed at all, but somehow appeared to have stiffened slightly.

"This won't do... Sir Tōsen."

"Placing your hopes in another person isn't a wise move."

Gin's tone gradually softened, as if he himself felt a lump in his throat, gazing toward the other.

"Moreover... this isn't the person we knew."

Seiya was already dead.

This was merely a remaining shadow, a fragment of power, something similar but not the same.

Although such words might seem disrespectful to the person concerned... Seiya didn't seem to mind.

It even seemed to be "just what he wanted."

"It's a great help if you both think that way... saves me a lot of trouble."

He was Seiya.

Yet he wasn't the one Hueco Mundo knew.

Ironically, this ambiguity was what made people most reflective and choked up.

Tōsen's lips pressed tightly into a line. He seemed to be the one who could least accept this result, to the extent that after his moment of being choked up...

He chose to turn and leave.

Gin looked at his retreating figure, originally wanting to say something, but in the end couldn't speak.

Seiya looked at the retreating figure, hard to say exactly what was contained in that gaze... and in the end, he just returned his gaze.

Until it focused on Gin's face.

"To get to the point, Gin, regarding this cooperation, I believe you should have been psychologically prepared."

Gin nodded slightly, his expression extraordinarily calm.

"This is what Seiya had already left behind and established... it's also the reason I've been able to persist until now, how could I forget?"

A smile appeared on Seiya's face, as if sighing in relief, he said softly.

"Then what we need to discuss is very simple, but before that, there's something I'd like to ask."

"What is it?"

"Who from Hueco Mundo has been dispatched to assist Soul Society this time?"

Gin was silent for a moment, then cast his gaze behind him.

Of the former top ten Espada who remained in Hueco Mundo to defend and help resist external enemies, only Grimmjow remained now.

So.

Where had the rest gone?

...

Boom boom boom boom boom!!

The rolling thunder at the horizon continued incessantly, purple-red lightning spread and rolled between the cloud layers, like the angry roar of a deity, demonstrating an incomparable presence.

Chōjirō raised his Zanpakutō high, anger evident on his face, now it was also the rage rolling inside him.

His opponent was a tall, unidentified figure standing before him.

Not only did he look like someone not to be trifled with, in fact, his strength was equally extraordinary.

At first, he was just causing havoc in the outer areas, taking advantage of the chaos to slaughter squad members at will.

By the time they realized, seated officers went forward to support, but were still repelled by him.

Looking at the badly wounded Genshirō beside him, Chōjirō's neatly trimmed beard began to tremble slightly...

His expression had already begun to distort.

No matter how refined a person was, they could not turn a blind eye to such atrocities.

"How many people have you killed?"

"A hundred... two hundred? Or three hundred?!"

"Do you know that these are all loyal people who, following Captain-Commander Yamamoto's name, had abandoned position and identity, yet still remained active at his side?!"

We are no longer members of the First Division.

But we still exercise the duty and right of defense.

With no more belief to sustain his work, the meaning of Chōjirō's existence had already transformed in his retirement.

If nothing unexpected happened.

This would be what he would continue to protect.

However, now it had all been trampled and completely destroyed by the opponent... just thinking about this, the hatred boiling in his heart was almost becoming something substantial.

But facing such an angry Chōjirō.

The Sternritter member wearing a white robe, military uniform, and neatly adorned equipment seemed completely unmoved.

Instead, he revealed a rather smug smile.

Slowly, gradually closing his right hand.

In the midst of the victim's shrill screams, he completely crushed the head.

Guh... splat!

Under the extremely cruel echo, not a drop of blood stained his body.

This guy even had spare energy to use spirit particles to create a similar isolation, so that his white clothes wouldn't be stained with even a trace of blood.

Casually throwing away the headless corpse in his hand.

This man revealed an arrogant and playful smile.

"Kill a bunch of trash, and stronger scum will appear."

"Although bullying the weak is a quite boring and tedious thing, I can't help it..."

"I'm the type to easily get absorbed in it, whether it's the feeling or the screams, they all have a unique beauty to me."

Driscoll.

His right hand slightly raised, taking the time to comb back his hair, then adopting a very casual expression and posture.

"So, who are you? Are you any different from these scum?"

"I am Chōjirō, the one who will take your life!"

—Ha, fell for it.

Unlike his appearance, the cunning deep in Driscoll's heart absolutely formed a stark contrast with his looks.

'I've known your name for a long time... the one who ambushed His Majesty a thousand years ago, causing him serious injuries, right?'

'Though His Majesty wouldn't say anything, someone with that personality would definitely hold a grudge~ Just by bringing your head back, I'll definitely get my share of the reward.'

'As for strength...'

Driscoll's Schrift "O" gave him infinite confidence at this moment!

OverKill, mass slaughter.

Under the activated state, the more people he killed, the more exaggerated the bonus he received.

Although in the Sternritter, filled with monsters and demons, this kind of ability that could be considered bottom-tier was completely unremarkable. But as they say, even small figures have corresponding wisdom...

Driscoll knew his position best, and also clearly understood what he should do.

To please Yhwach.

Since he couldn't achieve anything directly, he would use some cunning, and take down these "stinking fish and rotten shrimp" first!

Driscoll's smile became ferocious and disgusting.

He stepped forward slowly, treading over the squad members beneath his feet, blood and limbs splashing, causing Chōjirō to completely lose his reason.

"You bastard!!!"

Drawing his sword, slashing from above.

Such a broad, sweeping move already had no technique to speak of, yet it was the best method to vent emotions.

Seeing Chōjirō rushing before him, Driscoll only revealed a more arrogant smile.

Using the device on the back of his hand as protection, as his hands crossed in an instant, a thick spirit particle spear was already in his grasp.

The collision of metal and spirit particles splashed out sounds that could make one wince.

The strength of both sides at this moment was evenly matched.

"...!!!"

Chōjirō's expression gradually became ferocious.

He continuously increased his force, but did not achieve any definite, effective results... although Driscoll was also in a state of exertion, that sense of composure was even more infuriating.

"Hey, with just this level of strength, you can't kill me."

"You definitely have other abilities you haven't used yet, right? Like that... let me think..."

"That's it! That thing called Bankai! I know about it, although you're just a lieutenant, you also possess that level of power, right?"

The bonus brought by Schrift O allowed Driscoll to easily suppress Chōjirō, who had not yet fully released his power.

He pressed forward step by step, causing Chōjirō to continuously retreat, his face showing an expression of humiliated anger.

That's right.

Just like that.

Just like the principle of adding fuel to the fire.

He only needed to ignite the anger in the opponent's heart, then he could willfully proceed with "training," until this towering fire completely exploded, becoming a fierce flame capable of burning even oneself.

'Come to think of it, these guys' strength does have some expertise...'

Driscoll himself was most clear about the bonus brought by mass slaughter, and now he had deliberately accumulated to this degree before seeking out Chōjirō.

He thought it was a sure thing.

But now, even if the opponent didn't use Bankai, he seemed unable to easily defeat him.

'If it weren't for the Stern Medallion, I really wouldn't be a match for this guy...'

So.

What kind of desperate expression would he show when his Bankai was taken away?

Driscoll was already impatient to see that moment.

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Powerstones?

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