"Senjumaru!"
The moment Säidritz's voice rang out, Fujimiya Makoto's figure cut a sharp arc through the air, his asakuto whipping up a shrill gust of wind as it slashed toward the old man's shoulder.
Yet the elder remained unperturbed, merely extending a hand and pointing his short staff toward Makoto.
"Alchemy!"
However, Fujimiya Makoto neither dodged nor halted, continuing his charge unabated.
No effect.
A flicker of astonishment flashed across the old man's face.
Before he could react, Makoto's low shout echoed from behind him:
"Second Form: Rakusui!"
Propelled by the explosive force of Shunpo, Makoto's slender frame twisted through the air like a serpent, his blade flashing.
The winged boots on Säidritz's feet flapped.
His form vanished once more, reappearing elsewhere.
Like a flicker, he was gone.
This bizarre, emaciated figure gave Makoto the unsettling sensation of punching cotton—nothing like the visceral, bone-crushing clashes he was accustomed to when fighting Shinigami or Hollows.
Before he could adjust, Säidritz raised his short staff for the third time:
"Alchemy!"
Instinctively, Makoto erected a defense:
"Bakudō #39: Enkōsen!"
A circular barrier of light, like a shield, materialized before him.
The moment it formed, the entire surface of the barrier turned a brilliant gold.
A chill ran down Makoto's spine.
At the same time, he began to grasp the pattern of this ability.
—So it only transmutes what he can see into gold?
While he was momentarily stalled, Okiya Genjirō had already completed his incantation, hands outstretched:
"Hadō #63: Raikōhō!"
A golden beam of light tore through the air, thunderous detonations shaking the heavens, deafening in their intensity.
This time, however, Säidritz made no move to evade. Instead, he dispersed the short staff in his hand, reforming it into a small mirror, which he aimed toward the incoming lightning.
"Mirror of Reflection."
The golden lightning was swallowed whole by the unassuming mirror.
Then—
A violent peal of thunder erupted once more, this time hurtling back toward Okiya Genjirō, forcing him into a desperate dodge to avoid the blast.
The stench of scorched air grew thicker.
Yet before Säidritz could relax, another blade came slashing from behind.
Flash.
His body teleported dozens of meters away.
The old man's single eye swept coldly over the two of them, his expression indifferent.
"Only two left, huh..."
"To think these are the so-called Shihan."
"It seems Oradona was simply careless."
Fujimiya Makoto and Okiya, meanwhile, exchanged tense glances.
This battle was unlike anything they had ever experienced.
Shinigami, who had fought Hollows and each other for centuries, had never encountered an opponent like this—one who refused to engage directly.
Worse, even now, they had no idea what his goal was.
But...
A smirk suddenly tugged at Makoto's lips.
"Underestimate me, and you might find your tongue pierced."
"Shirafune."
A calm, feminine voice abruptly sounded from behind Säidritz.
The old man's expression froze momentarily before he barked:
"Iron Cloak!"
The instant the words left his mouth, a series of muffled thuds erupted from within his body. Then, his heavy, hardened coat began to bulge outward, as if countless elongated needles were forcing their way through from the inside.
The thick needles ground against the iron-clad fabric, producing a nails-on-chalkboard screech of metal.
Säidritz coughed up a mouthful of blood, his eyes widening.
An attack from inside my body?!
When did—?!
The elegant, golden-clad figure of Shutara Senjumaru materialized soundlessly behind the old man.
A long needle slowly pierced through the gilded surface of his skin, emerging into the open air.
Then, the layer of gold encasing her own body unraveled like delicate metallic gauze, effortlessly peeled away by three skeletal hands from within.
As if reading his thoughts, the noblewoman chuckled softly:
"Of course, the moment you laid eyes on me..."
"Stitch him! Shirafune!"
Yet before the needles embedded in his body could act, Säidritz discarded the mirror and roared:
"Skin Drawer!"
In the next moment, his original body split open like a suitcase, its seams yanked apart from within.
A new, uninjured version of the old man—albeit slightly paler—burst forth, darting toward Oradona's corpse while leaving his previous body behind.
'I underestimated them!'
'I must—I must report this to His Majesty!'
'Shinigami... are not as weak as they seemed in the human world.'
Säidritz's mind remained coldly rational. He knew his role in this invasion of the Soul Society was merely as His Majesty's vanguard.
For him, the priority was returning alive with this intelligence.
And ensuring no Quincy secrets fell into Shinigami hands.
[Fujimiya! Fujimiya! Look, it's the Doraemon old man!]
[He's really good at transforming, huh?]
[I want one too! Get me one!]
But before he could reach Oradona's corpse, a childlike voice suddenly echoed in his mind.
Säidritz's blood ran cold.
Another enemy?!
Without turning, he tried to invoke another Erfindung.
This time, however, before he could speak, his throat clamped shut as if seized by an invisible hand.
What is this—?!
The question barely formed when Fujimiya Makoto's whisper reached his ears:
"Third Form: Hoshizame!"
A fleeting brilliance, like a shooting star, arced through the sky. The young man's slender frame pierced the clouds without a sound, his spiritual pressure condensed entirely into his blade, compressed to an imperceptible singularity.
"Bang—"
By the time he reappeared, he was already in front of the old man, his stance frozen in a silent thrust.
Tiny droplets of blood spattered the ground.
A gaping hole, large enough to fit a human head, now pierced Säidritz's torso—clean through.
Makoto turned, holding a seemingly ordinary lens in his hand.
He tossed it onto the Doraemon old man's body and muttered, "Your Erfindungen can only maintain three at a time, right?"
"You should really keep better track of your own toys."
His deduction was correct.
By pinning down the lens—preventing it from dissipating into reishi—he had blocked Säidritz from activating another tool.
Against an opponent reliant entirely on external power, stripping away their Schrift left them helpless.
Though, the Quincies a thousand years ago really were weak...
As this thought crossed his mind, he casually drew his blade across the old man's throat in a horizontal slash.
Always finish the job.
Better safe than sorry.
"Makoto!"
Just as he was about to further dismember the corpse, Shutara Senjumaru's voice rose in displeasure:
"That was my prey!"
"A newly discovered species unseen in five hundred years!"
"Even a sword-swinging monkey should know better—at least leave the body intact!"
"Hah?!"
Makoto wasn't about to indulge her. "Finishing off enemies is basic combat etiquette."
"How do you know they're truly dead if you don't chop them up?"
"This is the golden rule passed down by Unohana-sensei. Are you saying you know better than her?"
"Tch. As if they're some kind of monst—"
Shutara Senjumaru's retort died as her eyes suddenly widened.
"Move!"
Makoto barely had time to react before an intense heat erupted beneath his feet.
"BOOM—"
The Doraemon old man's corpse ballooned grotesquely before exploding violently.
The blast engulfed everything within twenty meters, the sheer force of the shockwave hurling even the distant observers off their feet.
Säidritz reappeared farther away.
In his hand, he clutched Oradona's remains—just a head and one arm.
The old man gazed coldly at the inferno and murmured:
"To deduce the flaw in a Schrift so quickly..."
"Impressive."
"Pity I couldn't retrieve all the pieces."
Makoto's guess wasn't entirely wrong.
Säidritz's Erfindungen did have a limit.
But it wasn't three—it was four.
He simply always kept one Explosive Clone in reserve. The Skin Drawer he had discarded earlier was his real body.
Still, that level of explosion wouldn't be enough to kill them.
Sure enough.
Before Säidritz could finish his thought, Fujimiya Makoto, Shutara, and Okiya were already turning toward him.
Unfortunately, the distance was now too great for any of them to intercept.
"This time, we were unprepared."
"But rest assured."
Säidritz's icy gaze swept over them. "Next time, you will witness His Majesty's divine radiance."
With that, a spatial rift split open behind him.
As he turned to leave, Makoto suddenly called out:
"Oh, one more thing."
"We're not Shihan."
Säidritz stiffened slightly, his sharp eye locking onto Makoto.
Unfazed, Makoto pointed at himself and grinned like a villainous underling boasting about his boss:
"There are at least thirteen people stronger than us."
"Any one of them could crush the three of us single-handedly."
"I wonder... how many of them your poor 'Majesty' can handle?"
"..."
Säidritz stared at him in silence, noting that neither of the other two contradicted the claim. His pupil constricted.
"Hmph!"
Immediately, the Doraemon old man quickened his pace.
This is bad!
I need to retreat!