Competitive swordsmanship continuously accelerated his cultivation. At the same time, it shattered and redefined Moyu's understanding of kendo.
"Slashing, fists, footwork, and Kidō—none of them are weak."
Moyu shook his head and sighed.
Very few Shinigami in Seireitei could master all four disciplines. Most were limited by talent, unable to walk every path. They could only specialize in one or two and develop them in depth.
That's why distinct organizations like the Kidō Corps, Onmitsukidō, and the Gotei 13 existed.
But Moyu was different.
Compared to the so-called geniuses of the Spiritual Arts Academy—even the elite of Seireitei—his talent was worlds apart. One buried in the ground, the other born to the heavens.
He had once trained under Kuchiki Silver Bell and Byakuya Kuchiki at the Kuchiki estate.
Their collective verdict? Moyu lacked talent.
Some even questioned his lineage, suspecting that if not for blood ties, he wasn't truly a Kuchiki.
Moyu himself could only feel helpless.
Talent was innate. He hadn't chosen it, and he couldn't change it.
But the unlocking of his cheat-like system had given him a new path forward.
"Talent doesn't matter anymore."
He whispered to himself, "Kidō, Zanpakutō, even swordsmanship—all of it can support that unknown destiny."
...
Not long after Unohana Retsu left, several instructors from the Spiritual Arts Academy arrived to inspect the situation.
The wreckage she left behind raised many silent questions, but given Moyu's identity, they didn't probe further. They simply cleaned the site and left quietly.
Moyu returned to his dormitory, but rest was far from his mind.
He was still deeply curious about his Zanpakutō's earlier, automatic comprehension of Shikai.
"What kind of power does my Zanpakutō really hold?"
He sat cross-legged on his futon, laying the Zanpakutō across his knees and sinking into meditation.
Your Zanpakutō is pleased by your spiritual connection. Cultivation efficiency doubled.
As the system's notification echoed in his mind, Moyu's consciousness wavered.
You have entered the Zanpakutō space.
Sword Zen had little to do with talent. It was rooted in the bond between Shinigami and Zanpakutō.
The moment one's mind synced with the blade, their soul could step into its inner world.
A gray sky loomed above, like the prelude to the end of all things.
Below, a vast, cracked land stretched in all directions, glowing crimson as magma flowed beneath its wounds.
As Moyu stepped into Setsuna—the name he gave this space—everything froze.
Time itself seemed to halt.
He lifted his palm and felt the subtle shift in the air.
"Wind?"
As he spoke, a soft breeze stirred on the barren land.
The stillness shattered.
The sky churned. Magma bubbled and hissed. The breeze swelled.
The ground quaked.
A violent gust swept past Moyu's hand.
Whooosh—
The gray clouds churned with unrest, and the blood-red cracks in the earth began to glow brighter. The ground broke apart, revealing a massive ravine stretching endlessly before him.
Magma surged from the chasm, spiraling skyward like a molten tempest.
The wind roared into a storm, shredding the sky itself.
A wind that destroys worlds.
As if intent on erasing the very existence of this inner realm.
"So this is the power of my Zanpakutō..."
Moyu stood unmoved on the trembling land. Under his feet, the earth remained whole—a sliver of untouched ground in a world unraveling.
"But where is the spirit of the sword?"
In theory, the Zanpakutō's soul should manifest in some form—person, creature, reflection, even Moyu himself.
But here, he saw only devastation.
No form. No voice. Only raw destruction.
The sky grew darker, and the wind more frenzied, threatening to consume the world itself.
"Though I can't confirm anything else," Moyu murmured, "one thing is clear—my Zanpakutō commands the power of wind."
"And its development in kendo must be tied to this."
But with his current strength, he couldn't see the full scope of its potential.
Though he possessed captain-class Reiatsu now, within the Soul Society that was merely a starting point.
Too many monsters walked this world.
Let alone supreme beings like Aizen or Yhwach, even among the captains, many could crush him purely through Reiatsu.
"The road to power is still long…"
Moyu exhaled, watching as the world around him began to collapse.
The Zanpakutō space crumbled under the storm's rampage.
The ground split apart completely. Endless magma erupted upward, painting the heavens in crimson.
Amid the raging winds, molten rock twisted into a vortex, spiraling into the sky like a towering storm of fire—reaching beyond the clouds.
A crimson hurricane.
The wind that destroys the world.