Hearing Asano Kiyoshi's words, Yamano Yajiro immediately nodded and said:
"It's alright, sir, it's alri—AAHH!"
His bold words were cut short by a sharp cry of agony as the searing pain dragged him back to reality.
Asano Kiyoshi had cleanly severed both of his legs with a single swing of his blade. Then, stripping the clothing from the severed limbs, he used it to wrap up Yajiro's torso—creating a grotesque "handbag" of flesh and fabric.
Yamano Yajiro lay within this makeshift bag, howling in anguish as blood dripped steadily from it, spattering the ground and forming a blossoming flower of gore.
Watching this, Asano Kiyoshi felt a wave of revulsion rise in his chest. He was never truly a cruel person—and Old Man Yamamoto had always known that.
That's why, before assigning him this mission, the old man took Kiyoshi to the Twelfth Division's surveillance chamber. There, Kiyoshi saw what these beasts had done—saw the crimes, the sins, the blood that stained the streets of Rukongai beyond redemption.
He vomited after watching only a fraction of the recordings. Violently. Tears streamed down his face.
The old man stood silently by. When Kiyoshi had finished retching, Yamamoto simply said:
"A heart of iron forged in decisive bloodshed is the mark of a noble soul. Often, killing is the greatest form of protection. I hope you understand that."
With that, he left.
Kiyoshi stood pale and trembling for a long time before returning to the monitors. He watched for the entire night, needing hours to finish even a two-hour compilation.
He vomited, and vomited, until he had nothing left. Only dry heaving and the metallic tang of blood remained in his throat. Yet he endured.
When dawn broke, under Mayuri Kurotsuchi's barely concealed disdain, it was Nemu who helped Kiyoshi out of the Twelfth Division.
After that, the Captain-Commander personally took him to the Maggot's Nest—where he was made to execute several inmates...
A traumatic memory, no doubt—but it steeled the gentle soul Kiyoshi brought from his past life with a much-needed edge.
Kindness without sharpness cannot protect anyone.
Asano Kiyoshi stepped forward, lifting the "handbag" that contained Yamano Yajiro. His expression was cold, like ice that would never melt.
"Lead the way," he said flatly.
Despite the searing pain that made him feel his teeth might shatter, Yamano Yajiro forced himself to remain lucid. In a trembling voice, he replied:
"Sir... head to the 1 o'clock direction. There are two hidden sentries—one behind two stacked stones, another in the crown of a tree marked with an 'X.' Neither is particularly strong... you can take them out instantly. After that is the visible guard, stationed at..."
As Kiyoshi listened, he closed his eyes, visualizing the surrounding spiritual network. It largely matched Yajiro's intel. He nodded slightly.
"Thank you for your cooperation. I'll let you go when this is over. You have my word."
Yamano Yajiro, drenched in cold sweat from the pain, managed a smile—a smile that came from the depths of his soul.
"Thank you, sir... thank you!"
He didn't know if he'd survive this ordeal. Maybe he'd die tomorrow. But so what?
All that mattered was surviving today. Even if only for one more second—he wanted to live!
District 79 – Kusaka District
A lawless land by all accounts, but after a criminal escaped from the Maggot's Nest and arrived here, it transformed into the seat of an organized force.
This group called itself the Yingkou Gang, led by Yingkou Akira—reportedly a low-ranking former Seated Officer. In this area, where Shinigami were rarely seen, that made him almost invincible.
As a result, the Yingkou Gang ruled Kusaka District like tyrants.
Murder contests, rape and pillage, robbery and dismemberment—these were daily amusements to them. For the lowborn, such brutality—learned from the nobility they once served—was now their twisted sense of "refined entertainment."
Now, Musashi Kasa of the Yingkou Gang grinned as he hacked at a family's worn-down wooden door.
The reason? Simple.
The family's daughter was beautiful—and hidden so well that no one else in the gang had found her. She was untouched. A rare gem.
Such a prize, and so easy to claim. How could he possibly let her go?
Inside the house, an elderly man used his body to brace the door. Most of Musashi's strikes pierced through the flimsy wood and slashed into the man's back, which had already become a gory mess of torn flesh and blood.
Yet the old man refused to leave.
He had propped up a table to reinforce the door and now used it to support himself as he continued to shield the entrance with everything he had.
Musashi Kasa, lips frothing with mad glee, kept swinging. Every strike vented his long-simmering rage—the humiliation he had endured from the elite. It all poured out now.
The blood-stained blade excited him beyond control. His entire body trembled with anticipation.
Around them, the neighborhood watched in silence. No one moved.
They knew—if they drove this man away, everyone on this street would soon be hanging from tree branches...
Anger. Grief. Helplessness.
This was the torment that consumed them all. A shadow of death through which no light could ever pass—a darkness cultivated over a thousand years.
Musashi hacked.The old man held firm, weeping blood.The girl sobbed behind him.She bled from her eyes as she whispered a desperate prayer:
"If there really is a god...Please, merciful god—save us! Save us! We've done nothing wrong! Please! I beg of you! Merciful god—save us...!"
Laughter, screams, weeping, and rage wove together into a tragic symphony that enveloped the sky above the Soul Society.
And then, as if in answer to that desperate plea—
A boy appeared.
He stepped into view, left hand holding a blood-soaked bag. Tied to that bundle were five or six freshly severed heads—each wearing a look of horror frozen in death.
He looked like a devil from Hell—and yet also, perhaps, a merciful god from Heaven.
T/N: For up to 20 chapters ahead on all my translations, become a p@tron at [email protected]/LordHipposApostle
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