Chapter 60: Purity is Not Such an Inconvenient Thing
"What... is that!?"
Witnessing this scene, even with Sosuke Aizen's iron-clad composure and world-class acting, he could not stop shock from surfacing on his face.
No matter how much intelligence he gathered, how much effort he spent researching, or how much he tried to imagine Yamamoto's strength—what he saw now completely transcended the limits of his imagination and understanding.
It was as if Hell itself had descended upon the mortal realm. The earth transformed into toxic magma; life and death were reversed. Countless skeletons of terrifying power clawed their way out of the ground, shrieking their resentment toward the living. This army of the dead alone was enough to drown the entire Seireitei in blood.
Yet, the most terrifying thing wasn't the army of the dead. It was the Zanpakuto held loosely in Yamamoto's hand. The blade, thrust into the ground, was charred and withered, emitting only a faint wisp of smoke. It looked mundane.
But in Aizen's sight, the Reiatsu contained within Ryūjin Jakka could no longer be described as "terrifying." It was not majestic like a torrential rain, nor towering like a mountain range. It was... a sun that had fallen to the earth!
Even the mere act of gazing at it would burn one's eyes until they were completely vaporized.
"Is this the gap between the strong and the 'Supreme'?"
Even Aizen, who was arrogant regarding his own Reiatsu, deeply felt the disparity. There was no possibility of a fight; simply standing near that blade meant certain annihilation.
However, Aizen's will was resilient. He didn't dwell on shock for long. He immediately erased his existing battle plans for Yamamoto and began searching for non-combat solutions. For a top-tier scientist like him, this wasn't impossible; it just required time to think.
Aizen's eyes flickered, remembering his experiments. Perhaps, I can use the Hogyoku to breed an Arrancar with a specialized ability designed specifically to counter the old man.
"Is that really the Captain-Commander's Bankai? It doesn't match the archives at all!"
Soi Fon, currently pressed tightly against Yoruichi, was equally stunned. As a member of the Shihoin family and the head of the Onmitsukidō, she had access to nearly all the Soul Society's classified files. The record stated that Yamamoto's Bankai was a giant blade of fire that triggered explosions upon impact—the Gōka no Ken.
To be honest, Soi Fon had always felt that Ryūjin Jakka was overrated. She believed it was Yamamoto's peerless Reiatsu that pushed the blade to a rank it didn't deserve. Like a certain "strongest ice-type" blade held by a mere brat, she felt she could easily kill the master in combat with one hand tied behind her back.
But that didn't matter. The sight of Zanka no Tachi shattered her world-view. Yoruichi looked tense as well, feeling a profound "egg-ache" (frustration). The world hadn't even been devoured by the Void yet, but it was on the verge of being destroyed by the old man's Bankai instead. What a sick joke.
High above in the heavens, within the independent space of the Soul King Palace, a bearded, stout monk peered down and scratched his head.
"I knew it was coming, but seeing it in person... it's still a bit much. Had I known, I would have recruited little Yamamoto into the Zero Division ages ago."
This was Ichibe Hyosube, Captain of the Zero Division. Having lived since the era of the Soul King, he possessed the authority to name all things. He knew the root of every Soul Reaper's soul. He knew their potential and their destiny.
This was his primary way of monitoring the Soul Society and recruiting new members. Reapers whose Bankai possessed the power to shake the Three Worlds were usually invited to join the Zero Division with the promise of immortality—and then banned from using their Bankai via blood-oath treaties. Ichibe thought he had done a good job.
But he had missed Yamamoto. Or rather, Yamamoto hadn't missed the mark—back then, his "explosive fire blade" didn't meet the Zero Division's entry standards. Ichibe hadn't expected that after the founding of the Seireitei, Yamamoto would never stop growing.
Strictly speaking, Zanka no Tachi wasn't a natural evolution of the blade. It was the result of Yamamoto's millennium of independent exploration. He had shifted his focus from the "blade" to the "fire" it carried. He compressed it, refined it, and mastered it until it birthed infinite variations.
Through his authority, Ichibe could sense Yamamoto's attempts, but the details were blurry. Why? Because Yamamoto had reached a realm where he didn't even need the Zanpakuto anymore; his power and wisdom forced Ryūjin Jakka to reach this state.
Regardless, Zanka no Tachi was a massive problem. Every second it existed, it evaporated the moisture of the Soul Society, burned Reishi, and caused irreversible ecological damage. Ichibe considered intervening but stopped when his gaze swept over Ichigo Kurosaki.
"I don't know where that fake Soul King behind him came from, but this kid... has potential. Let's wait and see."
To Ichibe, a successor to the Soul King was mandatory. If anything happened to the current King (the "Linchpin"), the world would end. Ichigo was a candidate. So, he would wait.
The chaos and confusion of the outside world could not reach Ichigo. He had already charged into the army of the dead.
Explosions of air rang out as Ichigo, wreathed in brilliant spiritual flames, acted like a nuclear-powered tank, crushing through the skeletal ranks. No one could hold him for a single exchange. Initially, Ichigo looked like he was enjoying himself, but gradually, his expression changed.
It wasn't because the skeletons were weak. On the contrary, they were formidable, retaining their combat intelligence and home-grown skills, reinforced by Yamamoto's tyrannical fire. If they were still alive, some might have beaten their current skeletal selves.
What stopped Ichigo from enjoying the fight was their shrieks. They had been killed by Yamamoto and should have found peace. Instead, they were bound as his "伥鬼" (servant ghosts), suffering in eternal agony. They fought with savage madness, either to turn the enemy into one of them or to find release through the enemy's hand.
Ichigo lost interest. He retreated from the encirclement and looked at Yamamoto with pity:
"Old man... you are a Soul Reaper, yet you torture the souls of the dead. Is this the foundation of the era you created—this insane scenery? It's truly hard to watch."
Yamamoto raised his eyes. His voice, scorched by the heat, sounded like clashing steel.
"Boy, is your resolve only at this level? If you wish to protect everything within your sight, you cannot be bound by 'good' or 'evil.' Those concepts are meaningless before absolute power. To protect this era, I gave everything I could and seized everything I could. Even if I am a demon, even if I am covered in sin, I have never given up. This is the Karma I carry!"
The Bleach world was not a fairy tale, and Yamamoto was no Prince Charming. After founding the era, he faced conspirators, ambitious nobles, and crises from all sides. He realized that conquering a world is hard, but ruling it is harder. To protect the Seireitei, he made himself the Soul Society's "Nuclear Weapon." He used his blood-stained blade to suppress every monster in the Three Worlds.
But the cost was steep. The skeletons were his source of power, but they were also wounds that would never heal, gnawing at his existence. This was why he had aged so drastically despite being a long-lived soul.
Ichigo fell silent for a moment, his eyes meeting Yamamoto's unwavering gaze.
"I felt your conviction. It has very high Purity. But there is one thing I must tell you: I am different from you. I walk the path of the Strongest specifically so I don't have to choose. Now, I will give my all to crush your cycle of Karma!"
"Boy, enough talk! Cross this sea of blood and fire like a man! Throw everything you have at me!"
The roar—a mix of indifference and madness—witnessed the return of Yamamoto's hot-blooded spirit after a thousand years. And within that spirit lay a trace of unspeakable joy.
Yamamoto had sensed the undercurrents in the Seireitei through his spies. He knew a "Hidden Hand" was moving, specifically among the minor nobles. He had realized Mo Yu's intent to overthrow the old order. In his youth, he had used the same methods.
Yamamoto knew that with his strength, if he bowed his head, he would have a place in the new world. The Soul King was magnanimous; look at the five Noble houses that betrayed Him—they lived in luxury for a million years.
But he was an old, stubborn man. He resisted change. This era held two thousand years of his blood, sweat, and madness. He wasn't ready to let go. So, he waited.
And he got Ichigo! A boy who was like him, yet completely different—a spirited youth ready to forge a new future.
Yamamoto decided to discard all caution and fight to the death. His blade would be the trial. If Ichigo could cross it, it proved the boy had the potential to go further than he ever did. Yamamoto's defeat would be the stepping stone to Ichigo's peak. The transition between eras would be smoother because of this sacrifice.
Yamamoto swung his blade, sending the army of ten trillion toward Ichigo.
"As you say... I am coming!"
Ichigo reached up and pressed his hand against his bone mask. In the next instant, the mask shattered. A pillar of brilliant spiritual light erupted, shaking the sky and forming vortex clouds over the Seireitei. The bone shards became fluid, coating him like a pure white battle robe, with black horns curling into a crown. Cross-stars shone in his pupils, radiating divine solemnity.
The "Second Stage" transformation he had briefly used against Fisher reappeared. Ichigo took a step forward.
"Absolute Realm 40%—ENDLESS HEAVENLY FIST! BREAK THROUGH!!!"
Ichigo lunged. Simultaneously, countless phantoms of Grand Fisher appeared, roaring as they punched through the skeletal army. A path was cleared!
Ichigo charged toward Yamamoto with zero reservation. Yamamoto simply whispered:
"Zanka no Tachi, Nishi: Zanjitsu Gokui (West: Remnant Sun Prison Garb). Feel the cruelty of fifteen million degrees!"
Reiatsu exploded, forming a cloak of 15-million-degree flames. It was an absolute defense that would vaporize anything that drew near.
Aizen, still calculating how to counter the old man, felt his mind stall. This is not scientific. To simulate the core temperature of a star with spiritual power... what level of Reiatsu and control did that require? Even Mayuri wouldn't dare dream of this.
Aizen thought that if he were Ichigo, he would retreat. Such power couldn't be sustained forever.
But Ichigo didn't flinch. He lunged straight at Yamamoto and swung his fist.
The 15-million-degree cloak vaporized the flesh of Ichigo's fist before it even touched the old man. Ichigo didn't care. He kept swinging. After the flesh was gone, the bone melted and turned to ash!
Yet Ichigo didn't stop the momentum. He kept driving forward. Aizen was baffled—Ichigo's arm was gone below the elbow; what was he doing?
In the next instant, Aizen realized his own Purity was too low.
Yamamoto's face was struck by an invisible shockwave, his head snapping back. His face was etched with shock.
Who said you need an arm to throw a punch? Purity is not such an inconvenient thing.
Ichigo retracted his shoulder and swung the other arm. The heat blocked material attacks, but it could not stop a Martial Artist's Will. Ichigo had "visited" Uryu's battlefield through historical sensory tracing and witnessed his fight with Mayuri.
He had learned a vital lesson: Intent driven by peerless battle spirit is also a weapon! And it's even more potent!
The other hand was vaporized by the heat, but the invisible Fist of Intent ignored all barriers and slammed into Yamamoto.
Being so close to 15 million degrees, Ichigo paid a heavy price. Not just his arms were gone; the skin, flesh, and bone of his face and body were evaporating. Yet his lidless eyes remained locked onto Yamamoto.
Ichigo was betting his life to pummel his enemy with pure Intent. With his soul, with his spirit—more, stronger, unending.
End of Chapter
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