Takeda Satoru's brows were tightly knit as he forced himself to endure the searing pain ripping through his body.
If he hadn't dodged that earlier ambush in time, he would've been cut clean in half.
After countless years of battle, avoiding lethal danger had become instinct.
He was badly wounded, yes—but he still held the advantage of time and terrain. If he could just hold on for a few more breaths, other Shinigami would arrive.
This ends here, you bastard.
Takeda forcibly sealed the wound with Reiatsu, stopping the bleeding for the moment. As he swung his arm and cut, the Reiatsu wrapped around his blade doubled, a crushing pressure bearing down on Aizen like a mountain.
This was the true power of a veteran captain.
He didn't know who this attacker was or why he'd ambushed him, but it was obvious the man had picked the wrong target.
Aside from a handful of monsters in the Gotei 13—and that dangerous Shutara Senjumaru—Takeda had never feared anyone.
So die.
Faced with that suffocating oppression, Aizen lowered his gaze. From start to finish, he remained calm, as if this fight were nothing more than an ordinary sparring session.
His quiet Reiatsu flowed like water, wrapping around the blade in gentle waves.
Straight black traces rose up from the surrounding air, weaving together into patchwork, mottled patterns. The air grew heavy—like shifting mercury.
Aizen lifted his eyes, raised his arm, and cut.
Inky-black sword pressure burst from his blade. In an instant, the street fell into total silence, as if even sound had been cut away.
For the first time, real panic flickered in Takeda's eyes.
His own proud sword-pressure technique was as fragile as paper—cleanly severed. And that strange black pressure didn't slow at all as it came for him.
A thick, overwhelming sense of danger erupted. For a moment, it felt like death itself had reached out a hand to him.
This was even more eerie and terrifying than what had happened in the manor.
Takeda didn't dare hesitate. Even if it worsened his injuries, he had to release everything.
"Bankai!"
"Saga Miitsu!"
With a grinding crackle, crystals burst from the earth and wrapped around Takeda like armor. The wound that had reopened sprayed out a near-lethal amount of blood.
The crimson reflected in the crystal, mixing with the golden sunlight and scattering into countless blinding points.
More crystals erupted from rubble and broken stone, crushing buildings and forming an unbelievably strong defensive structure.
Saga Miitsu was a Bankai built for both offense and defense.
Once the crystal defense fully formed, even other captains would struggle to break it quickly.
The black sword pressure swept through without a sound.
Cracks spiderwebbed across the crystal. Takeda felt as if he could hear his own heart shattering, but survival instinct drove him into the fastest reaction of his life.
He dodged backward-left, letting the black pressure skim past him—
And his entire arm was cleanly cut off.
A flicker of surprise crossed Aizen's eyes. He hadn't expected Takeda to be that decisive at the edge of death—sacrificing an arm to avoid a fatal blow.
Still, that outcome wasn't unacceptable.
Aizen closed in again, forcing a look of panic across Takeda's face. Takeda immediately expanded his Bankai domain further, crystal spikes bursting up from the ground.
But Aizen's target clearly wasn't Takeda.
Kidō Reiatsu surged out, forming rope-like light cords that wrapped around the severed arm on the ground. With a gentle pull, the "trophy" slid right into Aizen's hand.
The next moment, several powerful Reiatsu signatures appeared nearby.
Through the veil of Kidō energy, Aizen looked at Takeda one last time—then turned and vanished into the shadows without a trace.
"Oh my… looks like we're a bit late."
Wooden geta clicked softly on shattered crystal as a man with a brown ponytail, two ornate hairpins, and a pink haori spoke lightly.
Captain of the Eighth Division—Kyōraku Shunsui.
The scene was brutal. Solid old buildings had been wrecked under the unrestrained Reiatsu of captain-class combat.
Broken crystal and earth mixed together, already dissolving back into reishi.
Like a natural disaster had passed through.
Captain-class destruction really was absurd.
"Captain Takeda—did you see the attacker's face?"
A stern-looking man with a round afro and a white captain's haori asked seriously.
Captain of the Seventh Division—Aikawa Love.
Takeda coughed up blood, forcing himself to use healing Kidō on his injuries.
"Sorry, Captain Aikawa. He used some kind of Kidō concealment. I couldn't identify his Reiatsu signature or his face."
Seeing this, Love hurried forward to assist with healing Kidō as well.
They weren't medical specialists like Fourth Division, but as captains they could at least stabilize wounds.
Yet the more Love healed, the more a chill crept over him.
He was a newly promoted captain, still behind Takeda in both experience and strength.
And yet even a captain as strong as Takeda had nearly been gutted and killed on the outskirts of Seireitei.
Just who was the attacker?!
In the ruins, an old man with an imposing face tried to catch the remaining traces of Reiatsu, but no matter how hard he tried, he found nothing useful.
"The attacker was cautious. He didn't even leave reishi traces behind."
Kuchiki Ginrei shook his head helplessly, then looked toward the battered Takeda with a trace of pity.
Their response time had been fast. The moment they sensed the Reiatsu clash, they Shunpo'd here at once.
And yet in this extremely short window, Ninth Division Captain Takeda had nearly been disemboweled and had lost an arm.
The first injury was treatable—Captain Unohana could heal it. But a missing limb was not easily restored.
"Ginrei-dono, I'll leave things here to you for now."
After recording everything, Kyōraku Shunsui suddenly looked up. "I'm going to report this to Old Man."
Watching him leave, worry flickered in Kuchiki Ginrei's eyes.
Araki disaster. Shihōin turmoil. Menos breaching Soul Society. A captain being ambushed…
Another turbulent season.
Could the Kuchiki clan really make it to the far shore?
...
...
First Division, Captain-Commander's office.
Yamamoto listened to Kyōraku's report without expression. His eyes lowered slightly as thought flickered within them.
Silence filled the room.
Kyōraku waited casually for instructions, showing not the slightest sympathy for Takeda's ordeal.
Even among captains, Takeda's style and political stance leaned heavily toward the nobles, which had long bred resentment in the ranks.
On top of that, he'd attacked that unseen Genryū "kouhai" without even understanding the situation.
Kyōraku had never liked the man.
So Takeda getting ambushed actually improved his mood.
As he wondered who had done such a "kind" thing, Yamamoto's voice suddenly broke the silence:
"Kyōraku. Go bring that brat Naraku here. I have questions for him."
Kyōraku lifted his brows, surprise crossing his face.
~~~
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