Ashido stared at the silhouette, stunned.
It looked as if it had no physical body—like it didn't exist. The figure was clearly there, yet he could not sense any spiritual pressure from it at all.
If not for his eyes, he wouldn't believe such an existence stood before him.
The Labyrinth of Death was filled with darkness—rot, decay, death, and the breath of endings.
It was horrifying.
As if the most dreadful substances in the world had been gathered here; merely looking made him feel his life being drained away.
This world was dark and cold, wrapped in black aura as far as he could see, stretching endlessly.
Ashido stared at the fear-made silhouette. It seemed to wear a black robe, with a massive scythe at its side… yet he couldn't make out its exact form.
"S-So… who are you?" Ashido asked, taking a step back despite himself.
He'd thought the Labyrinth of Death was simply a killing maze.
He never expected someone to be inside.
"I don't intend to appear before everyone," the figure said, emotionless, as if stating a fact.
"You may call me Death. Welcome… to my world."
"Death?" Ashido blurted. "Which division are you from? Why are you here, in the Labyrinth of Death left behind by the King of Hueco Mundo?"
Hearing "Death," he instinctively assumed it meant a Shinigami from the Seireitei.
Death spoke calmly:
"The most amusing sight I have seen since coming to this world… is a group of living beings dwelling under the name of 'death.' Foolish, amusing—and unaware."
"As a sketch, no performance surpasses yours."
Ashido frowned, anger stirring.
But another detail struck him.
"Since coming to this world…?"
Confused, he asked, "You… aren't from this world?"
The figure sounded like it laughed, but the sound brought no warmth—only cold mockery.
"Among those I have met, your reaction is quick."
"At least… far stronger than that so-called King of the Hollow."
Ashido's pupils contracted.
A being outside the three realms?
It sounded absurd—but what reason would it have to lie like that?
If it wanted to deceive him, there were countless easier lies than claiming to stand outside the worlds.
That identity was too exaggerated to be a plausible bluff.
"What do you want?" Ashido stepped back again.
When he first entered, he'd only walked two steps.
If he retraced them, he should've reached the dark vortex entrance.
But now… the vortex was gone.
He had been teleported somewhere inside the Labyrinth of Death.
There was no returning to the start.
Some people kept walking until they found an exit.
"I won't kill you," Death said lightly. "You are a rare capable powerhouse."
"As my legion… guard the sixth floor of the Tower of Death."
In the next instant, the world changed.
Darkness drifted and seeped into everything.
Death's body slowly vanished—like everything before had been an illusion.
As if Death had never existed at all.
But when Ashido looked again at the Labyrinth of Death, something felt profoundly wrong.
"Whatever. I need to escape first!"
Ashido didn't want to think about that mysterious being.
The correct move was to get out—fast.
But that escape…
Lasted seven hundred years.
Yes.
Inside the Labyrinth of Death, Ashido spent a full seven hundred years searching for an exit.
The Labyrinth wasn't even that large—its function was simply to connect the Tres Cifrass to the Palace.
Even considering its complex structure, the straight-line distance couldn't be more than twenty kilometers. Walking every path might total hundreds—perhaps thousands—of kilometers.
But even tens of thousands of kilometers meant nothing compared to seven hundred years.
With Ashido's speed, even a brute-force method should have exhausted every route.
Yet he still found no way out.
Seven hundred years later, Ashido teetered on the brink of madness, still trapped in this sunless world—alone in a cold prison.
The black soil beneath his feet had no end. Each step felt like walking atop heavy history and deep despair.
Seven hundred years was an absurd span—whether for humans or Shinigami.
Ashido had once survived alone in Hueco Mundo for two hundred years because he had conviction and honor.
He had led a death squad into Hueco Mundo, prepared to die in battle.
He wasn't afraid of dying.
His comrades who followed him felt the same: if they died, there would be no regrets.
And the more people died, the more Ashido carried.
He believed his war in Hueco Mundo was noble—because every Hollow he killed there was one less threat to the living world.
So he didn't feel loneliness or despair.
His actions were righteous, and his belief was firm.
But that had been only two hundred years.
Now?
He wasn't fighting for faith, honor, or battle.
He was trapped in a maze with no end.
A maze?
No—this was plainly a prison.
Ashido felt like a walking corpse.
The light in his soul had gone out.
His only obsession was escaping the Labyrinth of Death.
For seven hundred years he had been here, and no second person ever entered to search beside him.
No voice.
No shadow.
Only silence.
Even someone with Ashido's mental strength would have crashed into the forbidden walls long ago, letting death erase him into dust…
If not for the last thing still holding him up:
The pride and dignity of being a Shinigami.
Even so, his memory was thinning rapidly.
Seven hundred years ago had become a blur.
This place didn't just kill life—its corrupt aura seemed to erode wisdom, reason… even memory.
If "Shinigami" honor hadn't supported him, he might have forgotten everything long ago—forgotten he was even a Shinigami.
And then…
One day, as he walked mechanically, a thought finally surfaced.
He had traversed every corner of the Labyrinth.
So if there was still no exit—
Then the exit was not inside the maze.
So where was it?
Ashido dredged up a faint, nearly dissolved memory: the Death he had seen when he first arrived.
He barely remembered what it said, but one line remained:
Welcome to the land of death.
Then another thought surfaced:
If in that being's view, the "Shinigami" of this world were merely living beings playing at death…
Then how did the living enter the land of death?
Ashido finally understood.
…He had to die.
But he was already a soul.
How could a soul die?
His gaze turned to the forbidden walls—the death barriers.
They were the maze's taboo zones. Anyone who touched them would be erased.
Could it be…
The real exit was inside the wall?
Ashido's heart pounded.
If he tried, it would cost his life.
But whether it succeeded or failed…
He would be freed from this world.
He reached out slowly, fingertips inching toward the black aura.
Before he even touched it, the death-energy flowed outward.
His arm turned to bone in an instant, corroded by overwhelming power.
Pain.
But Ashido had already decided.
He wasn't afraid of death.
He pushed forward.
Even as his entire arm became bone, he forced it onward.
Then death surged as if enraged.
Black aura pierced through his body.
His whole existence began to fade.
In the pain of his soul being devoured, the numbness finally cracked into waves.
Whatever the result—
At least he would escape this hell.
His consciousness blurred as his body disappeared, until—
Complete darkness.
The Labyrinth had once had faint light.
Now there was nothing. Absolute void.
Was this what death felt like?
Had he guessed wrong?
Was death not the exit?
That was Ashido's final thought.
He didn't know how long passed.
Then, suddenly, a thread of light appeared in his consciousness—like it belonged to the void itself.
The moment it appeared, darkness seemed to split apart.
Ashido snapped awake.
The black-robed Death stood there again, scythe in hand.
"Dea—" Ashido tried to speak, but his language had decayed too much; after one word, he couldn't even remember what to say next.
This was his core memory—the only thing that had kept him going for seven hundred years.
"You are a qualified warrior," Death said.
The voice hadn't changed.
Perhaps it had never changed, across countless ages.
Ashido had countless questions.
Death didn't answer them.
In the next moment, the world shifted again.
Death vanished.
And a palace appeared—like a noble hall, gloomy yet refined.
Black flooring.
A chandelier glowing overhead.
Red sofas arranged in the room.
And on one sofa sat a man, reclining lazily, picking up strawberries from a table as if this were an idle afternoon.
Ashido froze.
After seven hundred years of darkness, even seeing light made his eyes ache.
But this was beyond discomfort.
His mind itself went on alert—like something new had been forcefully dragged out from the depths of his soul.
He stood there, unable to speak.
The man sensed him, stood, and turned around—surprised.
"There's actually someone on the third floor?" the man said. "Are you the gatekeeper of the third floor?"
Third floor?
Gatekeeper?
What did that even mean?
Ashido's reaction was sluggish. After a long moment, he turned his head and looked at the man.
The man looked gentle and scholarly. His surprise faded quickly.
"Y-You…" Ashido's voice was hoarse. "Who… are you?"
"I see. You completed the Path of Death," the man said softly. "I don't even remember how long it's been since I last saw someone walk that path and arrive here."
"Call me Number Four. In this place, we're codenamed by the floor we guard—unless we're dealing with a monster that can't understand language at all."
"…In theory," Number Four continued, "you are Number Three. The gatekeeper of the floor below."
Gatekeeper…
Locked in…
Ashido looked lost.
"Yes, but in the end, this is a test for the strong of other worlds," Number Four explained. "If the intruder is strong, they become the next gatekeeper… and fight for Death."
"…Fight for Death?"
Ashido's tone wavered. "If they kill us?"
"Don't worry. We won't truly die." Number Four smiled. "We are 'kin of Death.' We were granted the ability to die."
"Even if a challenger kills us, we revive. True immortality."
Ashido went still.
"If you're immortal… then what about the previous Number Three?"
"He committed suicide."
"Suicide?!" Ashido's voice cracked.
"Yes. Every gatekeeper has an immortal body, but immortality cannot save those who choose suicide… nor those who don't need saving."
"That is why you were not revived sooner."
"Why would someone commit suicide?"
"Loneliness," Number Four said plainly. "Boredom. There are many reasons. When people want to die, they can always find reasons."
"One rule here: once you enter the Tower of Death, you can never leave."
"Your range is limited to this level, plus the floors above and below."
In a low voice, Number Four added, "I can only move between floors three, four, and five. In a world this narrow… people's minds don't hold up well."
"But at least we gain eternal life."
"Your predecessor couldn't endure the loneliness and eternity—so he chose suicide."
Eternal…
Never leave?
Ashido stared at the space.
It wasn't small at all—if anything, it was too large to be called a single palace room, like two plazas fused together.
After seven hundred years in the Labyrinth, it looked beautiful.
"But…" Ashido said after a long silence, "I never said I wanted to be a gatekeeper."
Even though his past memories were mostly gone, he still remembered he had a name… a profession… things he wanted to do.
He was not "Number Three."
Not a gatekeeper.
Not Death's subordinate.
"Your wishes don't matter," Number Four said with a faint smile. "This is the will of a god. None of us can resist."
Ashido fell silent.
He had seen Death's power.
It had trapped him in the Labyrinth for seven hundred years with ease.
"Don't be angry," Number Four said, coming closer and patting his shoulder as if comforting him.
"We're all in this tower now. But sooner or later, Death will release us."
"Because right now, he's only hiding his subordinates."
"As long as you don't kill yourself before the final scene… he will definitely let you out of the Tower of Death, and you'll help him find what he seeks."
"If we find it, our people will be free… and leave with eternal life."
Ashido inhaled, slow and deep.
"…Thank you."
Number Four's lips lifted. "It's nothing. It's lonely here. Before you arrived, I could only communicate with the fifth floor."
"And the fifth-floor gatekeeper is a big dumb brute who can't talk. You coming here is basically saving me."
Lonely.
Ashido heard the loneliness in his words. Number Four sounded cheerful and brisk, but the emptiness underneath couldn't be hidden.
Ashido understood that feeling better than anyone.
He had been alone for seven hundred years.
"The people in this tower…" Ashido murmured. "They're like me."
"Where is Death?" Ashido asked. "Can I meet him?"
Number Four shook his head. "Death is everywhere. This tower is filled with his will… but he will not answer your calls."
Ashido fell silent again.
After a while, he asked, "What is the world outside the three realms like?"
"I don't know," Number Four said. "But besides Death, other gods have come to the three realms too."
"They all have the same goal—finding that existence."
Ashido's heart sank. "So Death isn't the only one recruiting…"
"That means a harsh fight is coming."
Number Four sighed. "I don't know what they're searching for."
"Do you miss the outside world?" Number Four asked. "What did you do before?"
"…Death," Ashido said quietly. "I only remember that I was a Shinigami."
"Shinigami…" Number Four frowned. "Sounds like a job in this world. I think I've heard of it…"
"Right—now I remember!"
Number Four's eyes widened. "I heard the sixth-floor gatekeeper mention that the eighth-floor gatekeeper also seems like a Shinigami."
Ashido was shocked.
His memories were a paste now. He only remembered he was a Shinigami, and vaguely that he came from the Eleventh Division—but everything else was blurred and frozen.
"The eighth-floor gatekeeper…" Ashido asked. "Who is he?"
"How would I know?" Number Four smiled. "That's someone on the eighth floor. I'm only on the fourth."
"If you want news, you'll only get it from the fifth—unless the sixth comes down."
"In that case… how do I learn about the eighth?"
"If you want to know," Number Four said, "you can climb up yourself."
Ashido blinked. "You can change floors?"
"Yes. If you defeat the gatekeeper on the previous floor, you can move to the floor they guard."
He looked at Ashido with interest. "What? Do you want to fight me?"
Fight…
Ashido had almost forgotten what battle felt like.
But in that moment, the warrior's blood that had been silent for centuries started to boil again.
He stared at Number Four. His hand pressed to his Zanpakutō.
He hadn't fought in seven hundred years.
Yet when he touched the hilt again, something familiar returned.
"I…" Ashido said in a low voice. "I want to try."
Number Four smiled. "Then come. Attack."
Ashido drew and slashed instantly.
This wasn't memory—it was bodily instinct. Like eating when hungry, he remembered how to fight the moment he drew the blade.
But his slash cut through empty air.
Number Four wasn't there.
He didn't know when Number Four had appeared behind him. Number Four spoke lightly, back turned.
"You're strong enough… but too slow."
Ashido's pupils shrank. He spun and slashed again.
Number Four vanished again—then appeared behind him once more, now facing him.
He reached out and patted Ashido's shoulder.
"If you're not faster, you can't beat me."
What…?!
Only one floor apart, and the gap was this huge?
Ashido slashed again in shock.
This time, Number Four moved like a feather, turning behind Ashido in an instant. His lips curved, and he formed a hand-blade—
Tap.
A gentle strike to Ashido's neck.
In that instant, Ashido felt a terrifying force hit his soul.
His eyes widened—
And his whole body lost strength.
Number Four's movements were smooth and effortless. With one blow, Ashido lost all combat capability.
"You're not used to the Tower of Death yet," Number Four chuckled. "I believe you'll grow stronger."
"When you regain your senses… come find me on the fourth floor."
Ashido couldn't even respond.
He couldn't speak.
Number Four waved and walked up the staircase to the fourth floor.
Footsteps echoed through the empty silence, then faded away.
After reaching the fourth floor…
Number Four—Yoshio—smiled.
As expected.
This really was much easier.
First, use time and the Labyrinth of Death to grind Ashido's mind down, make him taste loneliness—then, when he's about to break into madness and despair, appear in front of him.
At that moment, earning goodwill was simple.
Just from those words earlier, Ashido's favorability toward Yoshio had already exceeded 60, and it was about to reach 70.
How could someone like Ashido be won over so easily?
He had fought alone for over two hundred years in Hueco Mundo. His toughness was no less than a Captain's.
That was why Yoshio needed to first break his will and endurance—then appear when his heart was at its weakest.
Everything would fall perfectly into place.
Of course, Yoshio couldn't truly let him remain in the Labyrinth for seven hundred real years.
He had merely used the ability—Loneliness Hell.
When he reincarnated as the Goddess of Death, he used Loneliness Hell to make Ashido live through seven hundred years in that dark era, while also using the Goddess of Death's power to erode Ashido's wisdom and memory.
...