"The following is the Captain-Commander's order—"
As Akira's sword clashed, Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni released a surge of spiritual pressure, his voice resonating across the battlefield.
"From this moment on, all Gotei 13 Shinigami are to retreat immediately! Get as far away from this battlefield as possible!"
The declaration left everyone stunned.
What does this mean?
Was the Captain-Commander implying that staying here would mean certain death, caught in the crossfire of his battle with Akira?
"That guy… is he already this strong?"
Abarai Renji, supporting himself on his Zanpakutō, turned back. Just moments ago, Akira had been besieged by the Shinigami, yet he had emerged unscathed while his attackers had fallen in an instant.
"It's insane… Just the residual force of his attacks is enough to kill us?"
Renji gave a wry smile, still reeling from Akira's overwhelming defeat of Chōjirō Sasakibe. And yet, that shock was nothing compared to what he was witnessing now.
Back when Akira had appeared on the execution platform to rescue Rukia, Renji had felt a fleeting desire—what if he had been the one standing there instead?
Now, he understood how foolish that thought was.
The gap between them was insurmountable.
"Fall back! Quickly!"
Kotetsu Isane, vice-captain of the Fourth Division, shouted, her voice carrying authority in Unohana Retsu's absence. Without hesitation, the vice-captains took command, abandoning the chase for Rukia and instead leading their forces in a desperate retreat.
Just as Akira had predicted.
"So, you're finally getting serious," he said.
Yamamoto snorted, eyes burning with resolve. "Of course. You escaped last time, but I will not make the same mistake again."
"I see. So that's why you held back earlier… You were waiting for the right moment, using Sasakibe to distract me and lower my guard," Akira sneered. "But do you really think sealing one of my abilities will leave me helpless?"
"You'll find out soon enough."
Yamamoto's voice turned grave, and in an instant, an overwhelming tide of Reiatsu flooded the battlefield, vast and suffocating like an endless sea of stars.
The fleeing Shinigami instantly understood why he had ordered them to run.
If they had stayed, they would have been crushed unconscious under this pressure alone.
"That's terrifying… Even as a vice-captain, I can barely withstand it!"
Ise Nanao trembled, her mind racing as she thought of Akira—someone who dared to stand against this monstrous force.
But Yamamoto Genryūsai was far from done.
"Bankai—Zanka no Tachi."
The temperature in the area plummeted for an instant, as if every ounce of heat had been drawn into his blade. Then, in the next moment—
"The sword of the end…"
Raising his charred, flame-clad Zanpakutō, Yamamoto swung downward.
The air itself ignited.
The sealed flames of his blade erupted all at once, a concentrated inferno that turned the very ground to ash.
BOOM!
A single swing carried the force of his Bankai's ultimate technique.
"Ahhh!"
The flames' violent shockwave spread outward, sending even those who had already fled scrambling for their lives.
No way. A sword strike that powerful—no one could survive it!
"Akira must have been incinerated… He has to be!"
Among them, only the lieutenant of the Fifth Division, Hinamori Momo, still looked back with hatred.
Her eyes were filled with resentment—because Akira had killed the captain she revered the most: Aizen Sōsuke.
But reality was far crueler than what Hinamori had hoped for.
"Hah… is that so?"
Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni stood before a towering inferno, his eyes flashing with grim determination.
This was the blade that had once impressed Yhwach himself. Once unleashed, it would reduce everything in its path to nothing but smoldering ashes.
—That was how it was supposed to be.
Yet, to Yamamoto's astonishment, the overwhelming flames suddenly shrank, spiraling inward—only to be completely devoured by Akira.
And when he looked again, Akira stood there, completely unscathed.
"You knew I could consume flames… and yet you still gave me such a feast?"
Akira smirked. "Thanks to you, the spiritual pressure I just spent on your lieutenant has been fully restored."
Yamamoto snorted coldly. "That meager amount of reiatsu you replenished is nothing to this old man."
"I simply wanted to test something—whether you could withstand flames at a Bankai level."
"Oh?" Akira raised an eyebrow. "And? What's your conclusion?"
Yamamoto did not respond. Instead, he suddenly vanished and reappeared right in front of Akira, slashing down with his blade!
"It's useless!"
Akira swiftly raised his sword to block Ryūjin Jakka's strike—only for his pupils to contract in shock.
The moment the two swords clashed, the contact point instantly glowed bright crimson, radiating an unbearable heat—like molten iron.
"Hot…!"
Akira instinctively swung his sword to disperse the flames and leaped back dozens of meters.
Even so, the Sword of Promised Victory was still searing hot, and he could feel the burning pain in his hands.
"That's my conclusion."
Yamamoto's voice remained indifferent. "If you're struggling just against the ordinary flames of my Zanka no Tachi, then you have no hope of withstanding my true Bankai."
Only then did Akira fully grasp the reason for the sudden surge in temperature.
Yamamoto's entire body was now enveloped in flames, radiating an intense golden glow. The inferno didn't just surround him—it fused with him, igniting both his body and blade.
Zanka no Tachi, Kita: Tenchi Kaijin.
"No wonder even my holy sword couldn't withstand it… At this level, no metal in existence could directly touch you."
Akira narrowed his eyes. He could now feel it—Yamamoto's temperature had already surpassed the point of igniting anything and everything in the world.
Fifteen million degrees. The temperature at the core of the sun.
If anyone dared to approach him without absolute protection, they would be reduced to nothing in an instant.
Visit patreon.com/shirokendama for more chapters.