CHAPTER 13

As the spatial transfer ritual completed, five of the black-robed intruders moved simultaneously—each casting high-level Bakudō spells without incantation.

In an instant, golden light rods from Bakudō #61: Rikujōkōrō impaled the air, hexagonal pillars from #75: Gochūtekkan crashed down, serpentine chains from #63: Sajō Sabaku slithered around his limbs, while nine flickering orbs of #79: Kuyō Shibari suspended around his body—pinning Akira down in one seamless wave.

The assault was mercilessly precise. His limbs were locked, his spiritual energy sealed, and even his jaw paralyzed—rendering him completely unable to move or speak.

The perfect synchronization of the Kidō spells, each supporting the other with strategic overlaps, made one thing clear to Akira:

These men had done this many times before.

Such ruthless efficiency wasn't born from theory—it came from experience. From real, violent captures.

"Spiritual Arts Academy's strongest genius in two thousand years?"

"That's it?"

"Can't even withstand a single coordinated Bakudō barrage. What a letdown."

The sneers were muffled beneath black hoods, but their contempt rang clear.

"He has talent, no doubt," one said coldly. "But he's only had one day of formal training."

"Even with top-class Reiatsu, what can a rookie do when ten of us prepared this trap in advance?"

"A fresh Shinigami with a new Zanpakutō turning the world upside down? Wishful thinking."

Among the ten, one figure clearly stood as the leader. His voice had finality, and none of the others contradicted him.

"Captain, shall we extract him now?" one asked.

"No."

"Sever his limbs first."

"If he struggles mid-transfer and bumps into that person, it'll be disastrous."

The captain's tone was calm—practical. Not cruel, just efficient.

Two stepped forward wordlessly, unsheathing Zanpakutō. Their coordination was no less refined than their Kidō.

The Bakudō they had cast had subtle gaps—precise openings where limbs met torso, as if designed for dismemberment.

Pssht—

Under the bleak false moonlight of the dimension, the swords glinted with chilling clarity.

With dull thuds, Akira's limbs were severed at once. Reiatsu-stifling spells ensured no backlash. The limbs fell, and his body slumped slightly, still held by the overlapping seals.

"Captain, it's done."

The swords were cleaned and sheathed. The task had taken seconds.

"Good."

But then—the captain's eyes twitched. From the edge of his vision, he spotted something strange.

Where the flesh had been cut, there was no blood.

Only radiant golden light.

"…Something's wrong."

"Shunpo—"

A warning left his lips too late.

The moment the others tried to withdraw, the Bakudō bindings unraveled themselves—no, not unraveled. They shattered into radiant specks.

Akira's body disintegrated into flickering golden motes, then reassembled in midair—completely unharmed.

"Kidō decoy," the captain muttered with clenched teeth. "A perfected Kongōkyūen clone…"

He had never seen it used by a student.

Akira emerged from the light, golden Reiatsu surging like divine fire, eyes calm and voice sharp.

"Bakudō. Enchantment. Spatial field."

"I'll ask only once—who is the adult you mentioned?"

The captain didn't answer. His expression darkened.

"You're not qualified to know his name."

He raised his hand.

"Kill him."

At the command, the nine figures burst into motion.

Some drew Zanpakutō, speaking release incantations. Others formed Kidō signs and abandoned chants entirely. A few began full Hadō incantations, spiritual pressure swelling as they prepared to strike.

However—none completed their movements.

Before the first blade cleared its sheath, before a syllable of Hadō escaped lips—

Akira ignited.

His body exploded with light—not just golden, but blinding, pure Reiatsu light that bloomed like a second sun.

The entire pocket space darkened in comparison. The false moon hanging above was utterly outshone, reduced to a shadow behind his brilliance.

"AGH!"

"My eyes—!"

"I can't see!"

One after another, the black-robed attackers cried out. Their vision burned, spiritual perception overwhelmed, equilibrium shattered.

The sudden burst of golden brilliance stabbed into the eyes of the black-robed figures, blinding them with intensity. Those who had moved to re-engage found their vision snatched away—devoured by an overwhelming, searing white radiance.

All they could see was an expanse of blinding white. No silhouettes. No shadows. No ground. No blade.

The blinding light disrupted everything—Zanpakutō release chants halted mid-syllable, Kidō incantations fizzled out incomplete, and reflexes faltered.

"Way of the Blade—Kenatsu."

Amidst the radiant tide, Akira's voice echoed clearly. With a single motion, he drew his Zanpakutō in a horizontal arc.

Boom—

A wave of boiling, roaring Reiatsu surged forth from the unsheathing motion—feral and unrelenting. The golden sword pressure surged with terrifying force, burning spiritual particles in its wake. It wasn't a strike—it was a declaration of dominion.

Those black-robed assassins—still blinded—were swallowed by the golden tempest before they could even raise a guard.

Pshff.

Splatter.

Slice.

Reiatsu-enhanced steel carved through flesh and bone with no resistance.

Nine heads silently separated from necks—an execution carried out with divine precision. The golden wave passed, and the nine bodies fell in unison.

Only one remained.

The leader.

Despite being momentarily blinded, his senses were honed. He reacted to the imminent threat with Shunpo, vanishing backward just as the golden wave tore past.

"Tch…"

"I underestimated you."

"You won't get another chance like that."

The black-robed commander skidded to a halt several meters away, muscles tense, eyes narrowed. With a swift, practiced motion, he gripped his Zanpakutō's hilt and roared his release:

"Howl—Kamikaze!"

Blue Reiatsu surged like a cyclone. The sealed blade transformed instantly, warping into a longer, curved blue edge crackling with slicing wind. The very air distorted around it.

Without a single swing, violent gales erupted outward. The battlefield's air pressure destabilized as nine massive tornadic currents burst from the ground like serpentine tails—chaotic, destructive, majestic.

The gale tails churned with destructive intent, like wind-forged extensions of a Tailed Beast. The surrounding terrain fractured beneath their force, and dust rose like a veil.

"Time to end this."

"Akira Sōsuke."

His voice was sharp—arrogant and final.

"If we keep the master waiting any longer, even delivering your corpse will displease him."

His gaze sharpened, like the honed edge of his blade, cold and merciless.

Then—

Akira's lips moved.

"The Four Great Noble Houses?"

It was a quiet sentence. A calm utterance—but like a blade drawn without warning.

The black-robed leader froze. His Reiatsu fluctuated—almost imperceptibly. But not imperceptibly enough.

"…So I'm right."

Akira smiled faintly, not out of mockery—but certainty. Precision.

"Die."

The commander's face twisted with fury. He knew he'd slipped. A reaction like that was confirmation.

Killing intent surged. No more games.

Raising his blade, the commander slashed downward—

And the nine storm-serpents of wind answered his call, coiling from all directions and converging on Akira in an aerial death spiral.

Air pressure tore at the earth. The sound of rending space and wind screamed through the field.

Yet Akira—

Calm and composed—took no defensive stance.

He slid his Zanpakutō back into its scabbard.

"Open your eyes—Zhuyin."

The instant the words left his mouth, the world changed.

A column of radiant gold erupted from beneath his feet—like a beacon piercing the night. The heavens responded.

Golden light raced toward the sky, devouring the silvery moonlight and replacing it with solar radiance. A brilliant orb, like a miniature sun, rose behind Akira—casting divine illumination over the battlefield.

The radiant light banished the darkness of the spatial barrier, and in that moment—

The nine storm-serpents stopped.

No, not just stopped.

They unraveled.

Like illusions pierced by truth, they were disintegrated by the overwhelming spiritual pressure of the release—erased without a trace.

Turbulence gave way to silence. Destruction to awe.

Akira stood alone beneath the golden sun, untouched.