Inside the training ground, the shockwaves from Yanagawa’s “Raikōhō” had not yet completely settled.
A more primitive, barbaric, and violent Reiatsu surged in from the entrance without warning, like a tangible, raging tide!
Every member of the Eleventh Division, from Third Seat Madarame to the most ordinary soldier, saw their expressions instantly shift from shock to a mix of reflexive awe and fanaticism.
They straightened their backs in unison, eyes fixed on the entrance.
Yanagawa’s perception was the sharpest; the “quality” of this Reiatsu was unlike any Shinigami he had ever known.
It was filled with the purest desire for battle and destruction, not something cultivated through training, but more like an instinct born with him and tempered through endless slaughter.
“Yaha~ Looks like something interesting is happening!
Look, Kenpachi!”
A sweet, crisp child’s voice rang out first.
A petite, pink-haired girl who looked like a doll was sitting leisurely on the shoulder of a tall man.
She dangled her legs, holding half a skewer of konpeitō in her hand, her large amber eyes scanning the field with great interest, lingering especially on the “new face,” Yanagawa.
The man carrying her—Zaraki Kenpachi, Captain of the Eleventh Division—walked in just like that, without a care in the world.
With his wild hair, the scar running across his eye, and his open Shihakushō revealing a sturdy chest, he exuded a lazy yet dangerous pressure that screamed, “I’m the best fighter in the world.”
His single eye didn’t even glance at his own subordinates; instead, like a beast that had smelled blood, he locked his gaze directly onto Yanagawa in the center of the arena, and Renji, who had just regained his footing and looked slightly disheveled opposite Yanagawa.
“Oh?”
Kenpachi’s lips curled, revealing white teeth in a smile of pure excitement at finding potential prey.
“Renji, who beat you into this state?”
Renji hurriedly stood straight.
Despite his disheveled appearance, he tried to maintain his composure before his captain.
“Reporting, Captain!
My former classmate, now a member of the Kido Corps!
We…
were sparring!”
“Sparring?
You got beaten like this?”
Kenpachi’s single eye swept over Yanagawa, his gaze as sharp as a blade, as if weighing whether Yanagawa’s bones were hard enough and worth cutting.
“To be able to beat you like this, that’s interesting.
Hey, you,”
he jerked his chin at Yanagawa,
“What’s your name?
Come on, fight me.”
The invitation was matter-of-fact, his fighting intent undisguised.
“Captain!
Yanagawa specializes in Kido!”
“Kido?”
The word was like a bucket of ice water, instantly extinguishing most of the burning light in Zaraki Kenpachi’s eyes.
His curled lips drooped, his brows furrowed impatiently, and the interest in his single eye faded at a visible speed, turning into undisguised disdain.
“Kido?”
He repeated, his tone full of “Is that it?”, as if he had heard something incredibly boring.
Carrying Yachiru, he stepped forward, approaching Yanagawa, but the oppressive fighting intent had dissipated significantly, replaced by a critical gaze that looked at a piece of trash.
“So after all that, you’re just playing with those lightning and fire tricks?”
He was clearly uninterested in Kido, which required incantations, technique, and control, rather than the pure collision of strength and swords; he was even quite contemptuous of it.
In his view, a battle should be a fight where every strike draws blood and fists meet flesh; any “tricky” method was utterly dull.
Yachiru tilted her head on his shoulder, looked at Yanagawa, then at Kenpachi, and whispered:
“But Kenpachi, that ‘trick’ earlier made quite a scene, Renji is even bleeding.”
“That only proves that Renji is too weak,”
Kenpachi commented bluntly, having completely lost interest in fighting Yanagawa.
He actually had a moment of doubt, but now, prompted by his captain, he couldn’t help but look at Yanagawa and ask the question that many Eleventh Division members present, including Madarame and Yumichika, were vaguely curious about:
“Yeah, Yanagawa!”
Renji asked directly.
“Where is your Zanpakutō?
You didn’t draw your sword from start to finish!
Even if your Kido is powerful, the Zanpakutō is the other half of a Shinigami, right?
Your sword…
it hasn’t rusted away in the Kido Corps, has it?”
This question hit the nail on the head.
In Soul Society, the Zanpakutō is the symbol of a Shinigami’s power, status, and even soul; the vast majority of Shinigami regard cultivating the Zanpakutō as fundamental.
Someone like Yanagawa, who was clearly quite strong yet didn’t even draw his sword while sparring with a seated officer-level opponent, was truly an anomaly.
For a moment, everyone’s gaze focused on Yanagawa again.
Even Zaraki Kenpachi, who had lost interest, looked over with a hint of amusement, wanting to hear what this “Kido-user” had to say.
Facing everyone’s gaze, Yanagawa remained calm and answered candidly:
“I do have a Zanpakutō, of course, but it has indeed been a long time since I used it.”
He paused, seemingly organizing his words, but what he said left those familiar with the Shinigami combat system stunned:
“To me, Kido is ‘understanding,’ it is ‘construction,’ it is the exploration and application of the essence of spiritual power. Find the original chapter at g.com.
Whereas the Zanpakutō leans more towards ‘endowment’ and ‘resonance.’ I prefer the former.”
He glanced at his empty waist.
“As for the Zanpakutō, it is strong; it is an extension of the soul and an amplifier of power.”
“But relying on it, to some extent, also limits you to its ‘form’ and ‘nature.’ I prefer to directly control spiritual power itself, utilizing it in the way most suitable for the situation, rather than having my combat mode defined by a fixed ‘Zanpakutō ability.'”
To Shinigami who worship the power of the Zanpakutō, and for many who view Shikai and Bankai as their life’s pursuit, these remarks were simply “heretical.”
Even Third Seat Madarame couldn’t help but mutter:
“This kid, he’s got nerve…
looking down on the Zanpakutō?”
After hearing this, Zaraki Kenpachi snorted through his nose, completely losing the last bit of interest; even that hint of amusement vanished.
He turned around, carrying Yachiru, and walked towards the barracks, his lazy voice drifting back:
“A fight where you can’t slash to your heart’s content is pointless.
Renji, if you lost, go get extra training; don’t embarrass yourself here.”
He couldn’t even be bothered to look back, just waving his hand.
Yachiru lay on Kenpachi’s shoulder, waved her little hand at Yanagawa, and said with a smile:
“Bye-bye, big brother who can make electricity~”
Then she was carried away by Kenpachi, disappearing into the shadows deep within the training ground.
With Kenpachi’s departure, that suffocating, terrifying Reiatsu receded like the tide.
The atmosphere in the training ground suddenly relaxed, but the looks everyone gave Yanagawa became even more complex.
There was wariness of his strength in defeating Renji, and also a hint of imperceptible, strange “admiration” for his audacity to say such things in front of Captain Zaraki.
Renji didn’t think that much.
He walked over to Yanagawa and slapped his shoulder hard:
“You guy, you’re still the same as before, your head filled with theories that no one else can understand!”
The Zanpakutō…
he didn’t truly abandon it entirely.
It was just that his past life as a Mage gave him a deep-seated preference for “directly manipulating energy through his own cognition and calculation.”
The power system of the Zanpakutō was more like a “convenient interface” and a “power multiplier” granted by the rules of this world; while undoubtedly powerful, the tendency for its power forms to be relatively fixed left him somewhat unenthusiastic.
He invested more energy into the essence of spiritual power, the principles of Kido, and attempting to research the integration of certain energy theories from his past life with the rules of this world.
The Zanpakutō was more like a backup, a “sample of a special spiritual phenomenon” worth researching.
Actually, the most critical point was that Yanagawa’s own Zanpakutō was a bit irritable, not very easy to communicate with, and its activity and destructive power were a bit too high when used.
So, in the vast majority of cases, it could only be left in the corner of the room to gather dust.