"Is that guy... a monster?!"
"Impossible! How can such a person exist?"
"I can't feel his Spiritual Pressure at all; there's no way he's an ordinary human!"
"Is he a Shinigami? That guy must be a Shinigami, right?"
The leaders were in a state of panic. After all, this was the first time the army they took such pride in seemed unable to protect them.
"What are you panicking for! So what if he's a Shinigami? Is it not as if we haven't killed them before?"
Instead, it was the Strategist who remained the calmest among them.
"Wasn't our original plan to organize a decapitation squad using the elite experts from each of our groups? Now, we are simply returning the plan to its original track. He is just facing ordinary soldiers; can you not kill dozens or hundreds of them?"
Though he said this, severing dozens of heads with a single strike from a hundred paces away was obviously not something they could truly replicate.
However, his words allowed the leaders to regain a shred of courage. They ordered their personal guards to charge forward—while they themselves, with tacit understanding, began to turn and retreat.
Just as everyone was collectively practicing the philosophy that "a wise man does not stand under a crumbling wall," the Strategist couldn't help but glance back.
And that single glance turned his calm instantly into cold sweat, chilling him from the back of his neck all the way down to his heels.
Before that approaching man, their personal guards were no different from ordinary people without spiritual power. The opponent did not swing his blade one extra time, nor did he pause for even a single step.
This made him realize a cruel truth—the frog in the well can never truly recognize the moon in the sky.
So, he immediately discarded all dignity and anything that might encumber him, thinking only of fleeing this place immediately. Yet, his feet stopped dead in their tracks.
Under the astonished gazes of the others, he turned around cleanly and dropped to his knees, prostrating his entire body on the ground in a grand gesture of submission.
"Hey! What are you do—"
The voice sounding behind him distorted for an instant, followed by something scalding hot splashing onto his back. Finally, there was a dull thud, as if a heavy object had fallen to the ground.
The man lay on the ground, trembling, not daring to move a muscle.
All sounds seemed to drift away from him: the chaotic footsteps, the confused shouting, and the clashing ringing of swords falling to the ground. The only thing missing was the sound of wailing—because in this battle, up to this moment, there had not been a single wounded survivor.
The Strategist trembled, slowly raising his head.
What entered his vision was a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood.
Countless severed bodies and fresh blood paved the ground. Only a few quick-witted fellows were kneeling on the ground like him, clutching their heads. Even though they were soaked in blood, they dared not make the slightest movement, simply continuing to shiver in place.
He didn't even dare to look back, for he knew the scene behind him must be exactly the same. The only difference was that there might be one person still standing there.
"Stand up."
The sudden voice made his entire body tense up. The Strategist hurriedly scrambled up from the ground, shivering as he hung his head, turned around, and continued to maintain a bowing posture.
"You should be one of the leaders of the allied forces, right?"
"Yes! This subordinate deserves ten thousand deaths! It's just that I—"
"Enough. Identify the heads of those other leaders for me."
"Yes! I will do it right away!"
The Strategist's heart gave a jolt, and he hurriedly began to rummage through the corpses in a fluster. It wasn't too difficult, however, as they had all been together at the time, so he quickly found all the heads.
"My Lord, my Lord, these people are the madmen who vainly attempted to wage war against you. I was truly just swept along by them! In fact, I have long held feelings of admiration for you, my Lord, and your Yellow Turban Army. I wanted to join, but their power was simply too great, so I could only temporarily submit to them—my Lord! Please believe me! My Lord!"
Suzuki Makoto, of course, did not believe a single word he said. However, he indeed needed this person to remain alive for the time being.
After all, for those being ruled, nothing was more effective or impactful than a public judgment of their former leaders.
"Since you say that, you should have the ability to organize manpower, correct?"
"Of course! My Lord! Of course! I can be your right-hand man—no, no, no, I can be your dog, a very useful hunting dog!"
The Strategist was ecstatic inside. As long as he was still useful to Suzuki Makoto, he could continue to live!
"Go and organize all the survivors, then gather the supplies and clean up the battlefield. After that, lead me to the camps of all the groups that participated in the alliance."
"Please leave it to me!"
He arranged those heads neatly, bowed respectfully once more, and then immediately began dragging up the guys who were still kneeling on the ground. Even if he had to punch and kick them, he forced them to move. Then, following Suzuki Makoto's instructions, he led them in cleaning the battlefield and collecting useful supplies.
The thirty men had already caught up, crowding around the General of Heaven Banner. The look in their eyes as they gazed at Suzuki Makoto contained nothing but boundless fanaticism.
They were convinced that they had found the Lord they must follow for the rest of their lives!
The thirty men knelt in unison.
"Greetings, Your Excellency!"
"Alright, I said I don't like using honorifics. After this battle, the Zaraki District should come to know of us. Once we have taken over the camps where these people were based, you will disperse to various locations. Take the rules of the Yellow Turbans, and this General of Heaven Banner, to every person in the Zaraki District—can you do that?"
"We can!"
They shouted fanatically.
It took the survivors two full days to clean up this blood-soaked earth. They gathered all the corpses, leaving ten of the thirty men to guard several hundred ordinary people as they dug pits to bury them. Suzuki Makoto then led the Strategist and the remaining two hundred or so people, setting off toward their own camp.
Interestingly, the vast majority of these two hundred-plus people were those who had previously come to infiltrate under Suzuki Makoto. Their reactions were the fastest. After all, they had witnessed countless times before how Suzuki Makoto spared those who surrendered. Even if they might be judged and executed afterward, as long as they dropped their weapons and surrendered, Suzuki Makoto would absolutely not kill them on the battlefield.
Therefore, aside from a few die-hard loyalists, once they realized that there was no difference between one hundred people and ten thousand people in front of Suzuki Makoto, they dropped their swords and surrendered with extreme efficiency.
Of course, there were also quite a few scattered stragglers who fled in different directions. This was also intentional on Suzuki Makoto's part. After all, the purpose of this battle was to establish authority, not to kill everyone. The key to establishing authority lay in leaving enough survivors; dead men, after all, could not spread fear and prestige.
"Eiju?"
The man trembled, wiping the mud and blood from his face, and bowed awkwardly to Suzuki Makoto.
"My Lord, it's me."
"I told you, don't use honorifics with me."
____
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