Moments ago, Moyu's teammates had been arrogant and full of pride. But now, what stood before him were only crimson stains—bodies reduced to pools of blood and ash. Their eyes, wide with terror, reflected their final realization: they had never stood on the same level as him.
Moyu could see the fear in their fading gazes. That fear only deepened his smile.
Even a calm expression—a gentle curve of the lips—now looked like the smile of death itself. Those who still breathed didn't wait to think; they turned and fled without a word, scrambling through the rubble like cornered beasts. Some hoped to escape; others would run to call for reinforcements. Either way, Moyu didn't bother to stop them.
There's an old saying, he thought: even if a monk escapes the temple, he cannot outrun his karma. Let them run. They'll find the same end waiting at the bottom of the abyss.
With that quiet conviction, Moyu picked up the severed heads of his fallen foes and continued walking forward.
When he reached the enemy's camp—a mountain stronghold fortified with crude barriers—he hurled the heads onto the peak. The thud echoed through the valley.
The men stationed there froze. Their earlier victory cries died in their throats as they saw the blood-stained trophies roll across the stone. The air grew sharp with fury and disbelief. Some recognized the faces of their fallen comrades—men who had fled mere moments ago.
"You bastard!" one of them shouted, his voice cracking with rage. "No one dares climb this mountain and defy us! You'll die here—you'll never leave alive!"
It was true that before, Soul Society had largely ignored this outlawed cluster of rogue souls, viewing them as too insignificant to waste troops on. As long as they didn't cause excessive damage to surrounding districts, the Gotei 13 let them exist in the shadows.
But not this time.
This mission was Moyu's assignment alone, personally authorized by the Captain-Commander. Yamamoto had called it "a test of balance"—a chance to measure Moyu's discipline when handling tasks that required both strength and restraint.
Moyu grinned faintly. A one-man purge. It's almost too easy.
"Well," he said, resting a hand on his Zanpakutō, "since we're already here, let's make this lesson worth remembering. Watch carefully—this is what real thunder looks like."
In a single motion, Moyu drew his blade. The steel hummed, lightning crackling along its edge as he swung. Four or five rogues rushed forward—and were instantly cleaved apart, their bodies severed in mid-stride before their screams could leave their throats. Blood misted through the air, glowing faintly under the spiritual static that followed.
His assault was merciless, yet precise—every movement honed through years of control. The remaining outlaws stumbled back, their bravado stripped away. Fear replaced fury in their eyes.
Moyu lowered his weapon and turned slightly, addressing the two figures standing behind him—Naruto and Sasuke, both wearing standard training uniforms of the Academy's advanced class.
"I didn't bring you here to watch," Moyu said evenly. "This exercise is for you. I want to see how far your instincts have developed. Fight them. Learn from this."
The two young souls exchanged a glance, uncertain.
Sasuke's brow furrowed. "You mean… we're supposed to defeat them ourselves?"
Moyu nodded. "Exactly. You won't grow stronger by standing behind me."
Sasuke understood, his expression sharpening into quiet resolve. Even at his age, his spiritual control was remarkable—his strikes disciplined, his aura steady. Naruto, on the other hand, looked unsure, shifting nervously but trying to mask it beneath forced bravado.
Seeing their hesitation, Moyu rested a reassuring hand on each of their shoulders.
"Don't overthink it. Treat them as enemies, nothing more. I'll be watching your movements the entire time. If any of them truly endanger you—"
His eyes gleamed with that calm, unshakable certainty that chilled even the air.
"—I'll intervene without hesitation."
The wind howled over the mountainside, carrying the metallic scent of blood.
And as the two students stepped forward, blades trembling in their hands, they finally understood—this was no ordinary lesson. This was how a Shinigami learned to survive.
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