Compared to Unohana Retsu's surprise, Akira's side was equally perilous.
After all, as the origin of the title Kenpachi, Unohana Retsu was far more than just a name!
"Ching!"
Blades clashed once more, sending violent shockwaves rippling through the battlefield. The stone bridge beneath them groaned under the pressure, cracks spreading as their overwhelming force threatened to shatter it entirely. The sheer impact of their confrontation, combined with the chaotic wind of their sword strikes, nearly reduced the bridge leading to the Palace of Penance to rubble.
"Incredible…" Unohana murmured, a rare glint of exhilaration in her eyes. "Aside from the Captain, you may be the finest swordsman I've ever crossed blades with."
A thrill coursed through her veins—a sensation she had long since abandoned. The kind of battle where her opponent was truly formidable. Not to the extent of Zaraki Kenpachi, but neither was it insignificant.
"How unfortunate," she continued, her tone calm but laced with menace. "In the end, I am still better than you."
Shing!
The flash of her blade was near imperceptible, but the result was clear—a corner of Akira's sleeve fluttered to the ground, severed cleanly.
So close…
His Three Tomoe Sharingan spun rapidly, deciphering Unohana's every move. That strike had been precise, nearly unavoidable. The fact that it had missed his flesh only deepened Unohana's intrigue.
"It seems your skill in close combat doesn't rely solely on swordsmanship," she observed.
Akira snorted, swinging his blade to create distance. "You talk too much during battle."
"This is no mere chatter."
Unohana's blade wove an intricate web of slashes, forcing Akira to parry as she continued. "By speaking to you mid-battle, I guide your thoughts… and as long as you remain engaged, I can perceive your true self within the clash of our swords."
Her words made Akira falter for just a fraction of a second.
He had heard of this—how a battle between true masters could transcend mere technique. Similar to how, in the future, Kurosaki Ichigo would come to understand Aizen's loneliness through the clash of their swords. A sword to the heart…
"Even if that's true, so what?"
Akira's blade cut through the air, its sheer force severing a chunk of the bridge as Unohana dodged.
"It isn't meaningless." She stepped lightly over the crumbling stone. "If nothing else, I now understand… Even you, who nearly shattered the Gotei 13, are someone with whom dialogue is necessary."
Her blade struck his mid-air, the resounding clang of metal on metal deafening.
"I'll cooperate with the Captain's strategy," she admitted, her voice even. "But there is another reason… I'm uncertain whether I can suppress you without killing you."
"Heh." Akira's smirk was sharp. "You make it sound like you could suppress me if you were trying to kill me."
"Perhaps," Unohana mused, "but now, it no longer seems possible—no matter my choice."
She met his next strike head-on, but as their blades connected, her arm trembled slightly, her bones straining under the force.
"However… under the effects of the Captain Mayuri's poison mist…" Unohana's gaze darkened. "Things have just become much simpler. Now, I can take my time getting answers from you."
The moment her words fell, an overwhelming sword aura erupted from Akira. A blinding slash tore through the air, brushing past Unohana's head.
What?!
A few strands of her hair drifted to the ground, severed. If not for her honed instincts and immediate reaction, it wouldn't have been just her hair.
"…I don't know if you've noticed."
Akira's gaze bore into hers, his Sharingan reflecting her form.
"But while you were busy talking—I have begun to surpass you."
The corner of Akira's mouth twitched before another sword light flashed.
Swish!
Unohana Retsu abruptly retreated over ten meters, her expression calm yet wary. In front of her, a severed sleeve drifted slowly to the ground.
"This is my return gift from earlier," Akira said, raising his arm, revealing that a matching portion of his sleeve was also missing.
It was only then that Unohana noticed the tear in her own sleeve—at the exact same spot.
A flicker of recognition flashed through her eyes before something deeper surfaced—an emotion she had not felt in centuries. Fear.
For the first time in ages, she recalled the dread she once felt in battle against Zaraki Kenpachi.
She knew precisely what this meant.
If Akira could cut her sleeve with such precision, then he could have just as easily severed something far more vital.
The balance of their swordsmanship had unknowingly tilted.
"Is he improving mid-battle? Or is it something else?"
For the first time in centuries, doubt clouded Unohana's mind. A swordsman capable of landing a precise strike at will was proof of an overwhelming superiority in technique.
A talent that transcends battle itself…
"Unfortunately," Akira said lightly, "my talent is not limited to swordsmanship."
—Peak-Level Fusion Talent.
This was the reward he had obtained after his battle with Aizen. It did not seem overwhelming at first, yet its effects revealed themselves subtly, shaping every battle he engaged in.
From the moment he had crossed blades with Yamamoto Genryūsai, he had been unconsciously refining his abilities—merging the perceptive insights of the Three Tomoe Sharingan with the premonitory instincts of Observation Haki.
Now, under the perfect control of his Reiatsu-enhanced spiritual sense, these abilities wove together seamlessly—forming an absolute field around him.
Within this domain, no movement, no trick, no attack could escape his awareness.
Even before an enemy struck, his swordsmanship had already analyzed, predicted, and countered the move.
This fusion extended beyond mere kenjutsu. Shunpo, Hakuda—everything was blending into his blade. Under the Peak-Level Fusion Talent, his combat instincts advanced exponentially, pushing his mastery to new heights.
Most crucially, he had Unohana before him—a master of battle, constantly sharpening his edge.
"It's just a minor gap," Unohana murmured, her grip tightening around her zanpakutō. "I can close it."
She refused to acknowledge defeat after only a handful of exchanged blows. She advanced. Her blade thrust forward in a precise strike—
—Only for Akira to step forward and slash her back effortlessly.
"Before me, even the thought of counterattacking is delusional," Akira declared.
Unohana's silver teeth clenched. She shifted her stance, cycling through different attack patterns—but no matter what ryuha she employed, she could not break through Akira's defensive sphere.
Instead, she was the one being pushed back.
Each strike forced her into retreat. Step by step. Slash by slash. Blood stained her robes.
"If I'm still able to exchange blows, then his swordsmanship hasn't completely surpassed mine… This must be another ability augmenting him. But—"
Her thoughts ceased.
Because at that moment, Akira's blade was already at her throat.
Slash!
A sword fell. Blood sprayed.
Unohana staggered backward, her breath steady, yet her body screaming in protest.
She lifted her gaze to meet Akira's—cold, piercing, unwavering.
"Now," Akira said flatly, lowering his blade slightly, "I'll allow you to continue."
Visit patreon.com/shirokendama for more chapters.