The dying Ugly Demon no longer cursed; only a sense of liberation remained in its eyes.
It was a testament to how miserably Shiro had tortured it during his experiments.
The demon’s body dissolved bit by bit, vanishing like paper ignited by fire.
A translucent phantom, invisible to ordinary people, emerged from the spot where the body had disappeared.
Compared to its previous form, the phantom looked much cleaner—at least enough that Shiro no longer felt nauseous looking at it.
As a Soul Reaper, Shiro knew this phantom was the Ugly Demon’s soul.
A white light emerged from the ground, shining upon the soul as if to guide it to the place where spirits belong.
This world had no Soul Society, but it did have Hell.
Those who committed evil in the living world were drawn there.
Before the soul could vanish, Shiro’s hand snapped out and gripped its wrist.
“???”
The Ugly Demon’s soul stared at Shiro, its pupils trembling in disbelief.
“You…
you…
how can you touch me?
I’m clearly already dead!”
*I was tortured by you while alive; must I be tortured by you in death as well?
Did I die for nothing?*
“I am a Soul Reaper.
Did you really think you could just walk away after living as an evil demon?”
Shiro pulled the soul back, flashing what he intended to be a terrifying smile.
However, despite his mental age, his body was only ten years old; no matter how he smiled, it just looked cute.
But the Ugly Demon’s soul, having experienced Shiro’s “methods,” didn’t find it cute at all.
“Then what exactly will it take for you to let me go?”
The soul’s voice shook uncontrollably.
Even though spirits shouldn’t feel temperature, it felt as if it had fallen into a pit of ice.
“Can you still use your Blood Demon Art?”
Shiro curiously tugged at the spirit’s arm.
If a Blood Demon Art could still function in a spiritual state, then the technique wasn’t just tied to biology–it was linked to the soul.
The soul looked at him intensely.
“If I can still use it, will you let me go?”
“Depends on the situation,” Shiro said indifferently.
The soul’s hope was immediately dampened, but it stiffly controlled its essence, stretching its form into various shapes.
“So Blood Demon Arts can be used even as a spirit.
They aren’t as simple as I thought.
Muzan Kibutsuji truly sits on a mountain of treasure without knowing its worth.”
But how could he usurp the technique for himself?
If the “Shiro” in the Soul Reaper world belonged to the Department of Research and Development, he would definitely have a way.
Unfortunately, he was just a logistics officer with zero scientific expertise.
“It seems you’ve run into some trouble.
Why not try calling my name?
Perhaps you’ll find the solution you need.”
Just as Shiro was at a loss and considered returning to the Grey Fog Space to ask the Soul Reaper Shiro for help from the 12th Division, a raspy voice drifted into his ears.
*So, what is your name?*
Shiro asked silently in his heart.
The voice felt as though it came from the depths of his soul; he already knew who the owner was.
*My master, remember it well.
My name is…
and if you ever shove me into a demon’s mouth again, I’m never coming out.*
Shiro’s smile stiffened.
He hadn’t expected his Zanpakuto to initiate contact just because it felt insulted by his earlier actions.
But it was perfect timing; his sword was fully capable of solving the current problem.
“Arise, Death March (Shisha Kōgun)!”
[LanLi: Yatsufusa?
Akame ga Kill?]
As the words left his lips, Shiro’s Zanpakuto turned from white to black.
A strip of black cloth extended from the hilt.
The released Zanpakuto radiated an ominous aura.
“What a beautiful blade.”
Shiro gently stroked the blade, completely unfazed by the aura it emitted.
After all, a Zanpakuto is a derivative of a Soul Reaper’s own soul–who would find their own soul repulsive?
The ability of *Death March* was exceptionally powerful.
Any enemy killed by it, as long as a soul or a corpse remained, would become its puppet under Shiro’s control.
However, there was a limit.
In Shikai, he could control a maximum of four puppets simultaneously, with a storage capacity of fifty.
If he successfully achieved Bankai, he could command more and expand the capacity significantly.
“What’s wrong with that sword?
Why did it change?
Just looking at it makes me shiver.”
The Ugly Demon’s soul cowered on the ground, watching *Death March* with a racing heart.
In a sense, it had been killed by this blade, and thus, it was destined to be controlled by it.
Shiro pointed the tip of *Death March* at the soul and activated its ability.
A pitch–black vortex appeared at the tip, and the soul was sucked into the blade without any resistance.
Even if it had tried to fight back, it would have been a futile effort.
“Come forth, my puppet.”
Shiro raised the blade, and a ghost–like version of the Ugly Demon appeared before him.
After becoming a puppet of *Death March*, it regained a physical form and gained the ability to shift between a physical and spiritual state.
Shiro looked the demon in the eye and realized the light in its pupils was gone; its self–awareness had completely vanished.
It was now a puppet in the truest sense.
The sword vibrated slightly, transmitting information to Shiro.
With his permission, he could briefly return consciousness to a puppet, or Shiro could even project his own consciousness into the puppet to fight manually.
“It’s average.
I’ll make do with it for now and replace it when I find something better.”
Shiro retracted the demon with a hint of dissatisfaction.
Aesthetics aside, its strength was nothing to brag about.
Even with the power boost from becoming his puppet, it was nowhere near the level of the Twelve Kizuki.
It probably couldn’t even beat the demons under Rui, Lower Rank Five.
It would be embarrassing to show it off.
Following this, Shiro sank his consciousness into the Grey Fog Space.