"Seal it off! Lock down that side too!"
"Has the fire over there been put out yet? That's the critical document archive! What are you all dawdling for?!"
"Move the bodies out first, same goes for this side!"
"Notify the families immediately, reorganize Seireitei's order… Damn it, where is everyone? Those cowardly deserters!"
Commands flowed ceaselessly from the underground assembly hall of the Central 46, relayed by the Executive Militia to every division, all in a desperate bid to restore Seireitei's dignity in the shortest time possible.
Yet within the central underground chamber itself, a stark silence reigned.
Tsunayashiro Mado, acting Head of the Tsunayashiro, sat quietly at the table, his expression grave as he waited.
The wise men of the Central 46 usually barking orders at Seireitei's divisions now sat behind their seats like obedient schoolchildren.
Some of the less composed among them even trembled faintly.
Though they appeared to be working to restore Seireitei's former order, it was merely a gesture to calm the masses.
Everyone knew a battle that could determine the fate of Seireitei nay, the entire Soul Society was unfolding somewhere beyond their knowledge, at the cost of the previous Head of the Tsunayashiro's life.
Mado more than anyone bore a mind in turmoil.
Yet, to uphold the Tsunayashiro's dignity, he forced himself to maintain a stern facade, standing as an example alongside them.
He understood clearly that the slightest hint of unease from him would send these decrepit, foolish wise men fleeing faster than anyone.
But didn't they ever stop to think?
If the vast Soul Society truly fell to the rabble bandits, where could these so-called noble bloodlines possibly escape to?
Who in the Soul Society didn't know?
The Genji School's founding rallying cry was to slaughter every noble.
Just as the air in the underground chamber sank into a deathly stillness...
Mado abruptly stood with a thud from his seat.
His sharp senses detected it, the spatial coordinates of that Valley of Screams had emerged in his bloodline's perception.
But almost the very next moment, an overwhelming sense of annihilation surged from within, snuffing out all signs of life in an instant.
At that moment, he knew the outcome.
"Tsunayashiro-sama?"
"Mado-sama?!"
"Has the victor been decided?"
"How did the battle go?"
That single motion spurred everyone present to their feet, a cacophony of voices clamoring toward Mado.
Yet he merely braced himself against the table, standing still for a moment.
Then his face drained of all color.
Bloodless.
He murmured softly, "How… could we lose?"
His voice was faint, but to the ears of those present, it struck like thunder, resounding with a deafening boom.
A few among them reacted instantly, rising from their seats with decisive speed. These old wise men were normally reliant on juniors or students to hobble along suddenly rediscovered Shunpo, vanishing from their spots in a flash.
The rest dissolved into chaos, their ability to decide shattered, scurrying about like ants stripped of their antennae.
But the Genji School would grant them no time to react.
Boom!
A piercing screech, as if space itself were being torn asunder, erupted from the sky above Seireitei.
No, not "as if."
Every remaining Shinigami in Seireitei looked up, stunned.
Then, a pitch-black rift split open vertically in midair.
Leading the way, naturally, was Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto and his retinue.
Though he'd just emerged from an all-out decisive battle, Yamamoto's condition showed little decline.
As he gazed down at Seireitei below, his expression and eyes were impassive, cold as a machine.
Behind him, the shinigami numbered fewer than two hundred.
Yet every survivor possessed the potential to become at least a lieutenant or higher in the future.
In this moment, they arrived riding the momentum of a crushing victory.
Yamamoto spoke slowly.
"Today, all nobles in Seireitei..."
"Are to be executed."
"Captains and Instructors of each division will restrain their members, carry out these orders, and safeguard the properties and records of each clan."
"Plundering, assault, and abuse are strictly forbidden. Nobles must be clearly distinguished from slaves and retainers, and the task completed in the shortest time possible."
"Disobedience means death."
His voice, resonant as a great bell, swept across the entirety of Seireitei.
The shinigami still lingering here realized the gravity of the situation in an instant, understanding that Seireitei's final trump card had been utterly crushed.
Every noble's face blanched.
But the Genji shinigami who'd survived that horrific campaign flushed with fervor, their eyes gleaming as they roared in unison.
"Yes!!"
A bona fide band of killers wasn't a place for just anyone.
These shinigami, forged in mountains of corpses and seas of blood, had endured countless humiliations and abuses at noble hands. Some had even been slaves to those very nobles, driving them to this "holy ground" to learn the art of killing at any cost.
Now, their wish was finally within reach how could they not be exhilarated?
The moment the command was issued, the shinigami behind Yamamoto darted forth like shadows, blades raised as they charged toward the noble Shinigami clad in black Shihakushō.
Distinguishing retainers and servants could wait.
For now, they targeted those in Executive Militia and Shinigami uniforms each strike a guaranteed kill!
Soon, Seireitei devolved into a blood-soaked battlefield, ringing with the clash of steel.
Yamamoto spared the scene below not even a glance.
He'd clawed his way out of piles of corpses long ago.
If it meant swiftly eliminating the former ruling class, no matter how gruesome the method, he wouldn't bat an eye, so long as it was fast and decisive enough to uproot them entirely. Even if it caused collateral harm to countless innocent servants and retainers, he cared little.
As for himself, he strode purposefully toward Seireitei's deepest underground chamber.
The Central 46 had to be purged first.
Makoto and the others, as subordinates, naturally learned to anticipate their leader's core intent.
Catching the direction of Yamamoto's gaze, a group of captains immediately moved to seal off the passages around the central underground chamber, cutting down the nobles who fled in panic, blocking them at every turn.
Each wise man in the Central 46 represented the voices of numerous noble families, large and small, many were even heads of upper-tier clans themselves.
The secrets and knowledge locked in their minds were invaluable.
Even these latecomers of the Genji School understood the necessity.
"Bastards! Filthy peasants!"
"Peasants! How dare you raise your blades against me? Noble?!"
"Damn it, all of you, get out of my way!"
Even at this point, many of Seireitei's lofty nobles couldn't grasp the situation, still believing themselves the untouchable elite atop the Soul Society.
Facing the oncoming swarm of shinigami, some dared to brandish whips, roaring and swinging them as they once did at slaves and retainers.
For such trash, Makoto didn't spare a glance, one slash severed their heads.
The majority of the remaining nobles fared no better.
These bloated rats, perched in their assembly halls, might have been adept at politics, scheming, and betrayal, perhaps even skilled in crafting and manipulating Reishi.
But when the masses below drew their zanpakuto against them, these refined nobles turned into a herd of trembling swine, cowering on the ground.
Makoto still recalled the research materials and Reishi ingredients he'd uncovered in noble estates during his battles across the regions. So when it came to cutting them down, he felt not the slightest burden.
The path from the Seireitei gate to the central underground assembly was stained with vast swathes of crimson blood.
Unlike those like him, clearing the perimeter...
Yamamoto descended from the sky.
He strode directly into the dark underground assembly hall.
"Genryūsai-sama!"
The first to breach the depths, Sasakibe, straightened up, wiping blood from his cheek and bowing slightly toward Yamamoto.
Behind him, forty-six corpses lay neatly arranged in the chamber's center.
Not one had escaped.
Only Tsunayashiro Mado's body retained a seated posture, his head placed beside it.
He had taken his own life.
Though he lacked the courage to die fighting, Mado didn't seem as weak as his father had thought.
At this moment, their enemy leadership had been fully decapitated.
Seeing this, though his face betrayed no emotion, Yamamoto inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.
With Seireitei's head severed, the remaining noble families could only fend for themselves.
Their next task was simple: take the time to sweep through the regions, wiping out these scattered nobles like grains of sand.
Then, the Soul Society could finally be cleansed.
Perhaps envisioning that future or finding this moment less arduous than he'd imagined Yamamoto felt a rare stir of emotion.
If he could achieve this…
A brighter era would dawn, wouldn't it?
"Is this enough to satisfy your grudge?"
But just as Yamamoto's mind drifted to a free future unshackled from noble oppression...
A stranger's voice sounded in his ear.
Yamamoto's body jolted, his hair standing on end.
Who could approach this close undetected by his senses?
"Who's there?!"
He whipped around, his gaze fierce as a tiger's.
Not just him Sasakibe's eyes widened too.
He'd slaughtered the entire Central 46 himself, how had he missed this presence entirely?
Yet as they turned, they saw a figure in plain robes, his coiled beard wild, a string of large red prayer beads around his thick neck. In one hand, he held a wine gourd; in the other, a stout brush. He stood on high wooden clogs.
Round-faced and jovial, he exuded a candid warmth.
Meeting Yamamoto's ferocious stare, the monk didn't flinch, maintaining his hearty demeanor without a trace of anger.
"I'm asking you, does killing just these few parasites really quench your rage?"
"If you'd like, why not kill a few more?"
"Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto."
Yamamoto studied him, frowning instinctively, unable to sense any familiar reiatsu from the monk.
But the next second, taking in the man's appearance, a rumor clicked in his mind, and his eyes widened sharply.
"You… could you be…?"
The monk grinned, his expression earnest.
"My name is Ichibē Hyōsube. You've heard of me, I assume?"
"You can call me the Monk Who Calls the Real Name."
"Or, if you prefer, Monk."
At that name, Yamamoto's face darkened.
He raised a hand, halting Sasakibe's subtle move to strike, and fixed a calm gaze on the rotund monk before him, asking evenly:
"What's this about?"
Ichibē Hyōsube took a swig from his gourd, his tone mild, "Simple. These Central 46, the eighty-two wise men, kill them as you please."
"I've had my fill of them for a while now."
"But the Five Great Noble Families cannot be entirely wiped out."
"And the remaining noble shinigami must retain at least sixty percent of their numbers."
Like a teacher assigning homework to a child, he coaxed gently, "Listen well, this isn't a negotiation. I'm informing you of the line you can't cross."
Yamamoto listened in silence.
Then, staring at the bald monk with equal calm, he countered.
"And if I don't?"
"Well, you'd best comply."
Ichibē Hyōsube sighed as if troubled, his tone suggestive yet brooking no refusal.
"If you won't listen, it'll be a hassle."
"Then… I'd have no choice but to cut you down, would I?"
Yamamoto's pupils constricted.
But before he could act, Sasakibe's patience snapped, his face taut with fury as he roared.
"You dare insult Genryūsai!-sama?"
The instant his words fell, a thunderous explosion erupted, dazzling lightning blooming in the narrow chamber. The peak-piercing might of the blast surged toward Ichibē.
"Bankai - Kōkō Gonryō Rikyū!"
Yet, facing the thunder-type Zanpakutō's strongest Bankai strike, Ichibē merely glanced over, flicking his hand as if swatting a fly.
With a bang, Sasakibe tumbled into the rubble, instantly unconscious.
His chief disciple fell before him, yet Yamamoto's expression didn't flicker. He continued gazing at Ichibē quietly.
"So, neither you… nor the Soul King care who rules the Soul Society."
"Is that right?"
"Then why make an enemy of me?"
His tone remained steady as he met the monk's eyes.
Ichibē scratched his bald head.
"It's a bit complicated to explain."
"Oh, right."
"How about joining the Soul King Palace?"
***
Bonus Chapter:
100 Power Stones = 1 BC
300 Power Stones = 2 BC
500 Power Stones = 3 BC
700 Power Stones = 4 BC
1000 Power Stones = 5 BC
***
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