No—one of them was the sun.
The other was an eternal flame that did not pale before the sun in the slightest, illuminating half the sky with spiritual pressure as its very foundation.
Whoosh—
Their hair stirred even without wind.
The Hashira of the former Demon Slayer Corps, led by Kagaya Ubuyashiki—now all of them having had their aura nodes opened by Roy and fully devoted themselves to the [Sun]—lifted their heads to the sky in unison. A thin "film of Nen" quietly coated their pupils as they instantly activated [Gyo]!
And then they saw it… they really saw it…
One of the figures was Lord Rōichirō.
The other was an old man with fierce scars carved into his face, a weathered expression, and a beard so long it nearly matched the white haori draped across his back. Beneath it he wore a black death robe dark as ink. His narrowed old eyes concealed emotions and intent too deep to read…
Kyojuro Rengoku, Gyomei Himejima, Giyu Tomioka, and the others all went still.
The moment they noticed the sword held level in the old man's hand, with its tip pointed directly at Roy, even though the distance between them and the heavens was still dozens of kilometers—
their hearts suddenly trembled.
It was as if the natural sharpness leaking from that sword tip had pierced straight through them, sending a chill down their spines!
"So strong!"
"Who is that?!"
"Giyu, do you know?"
On Mount Sagiri, Sakonji Urokodaki rolled up from his bedding and sprang to his feet. In the next moment he, Sabito, Makomo, and the others had gathered around Giyu, staring up at the sky in shock at the two figures facing each other from afar, swords drawn.
The old Water Hashira had practiced the blade his whole life, but this was the first time he had ever seen someone capable of driving away the night itself with nothing but sword intent and pressure, to the point of overturning heaven and earth.
"I don't know him." Giyu's cool eyes stayed locked on Genryusai Shigekuni Yamamoto. In that moment, he unconsciously gripped the Nichirin Blade at his waist. The four engraved characters at the join between hilt and blade—Destroy Demons—suddenly looked so pale…
And so powerless.
If…
if that man were a demon…
If…
if he meant to harm this world…
Without Rōichirō's help, could we really stand against him?
The red-yellow-white haori draped over his shoulders fluttered softly in the wind.
Giyu bit his lip.
Then a warm weight settled on his shoulder—Urokodaki had stepped up and gently patted him there.
Sensing his thoughts, the old man said warmly, "Don't overthink it. He doesn't carry any hostility. And besides…"
Urokodaki lifted his chin slightly, proud as he looked at Roy silently facing Yamamoto in the heavens.
"Trust Rōichirō. Doesn't he always bring everyone miracles?"
"Yeah… Giyu-senpai, Rōichirō's never been normal."
"He's basically a monster you can't judge by common sense at all."
"Hey, hey, hey! Watch your mouth."
A few little wooden dolls slid over with drunken wobbling.
Now that Fukuda had a "body," restraining Shinsuke had only gotten easier. He kicked Shinsuke flat to the ground, took the opportunity to pin him down, then smacked him a few times across the face.
"Quit talking nonsense! Speak irreverently about a god and you'll get struck by lightning!"
A god…
That was right. Rōichirō had already become a god.
The Sun God, praised and devoutly worshipped by the old men and women at the marketplace.
Sabito's wooden puppet still wore its small fox mask, and he lightly patted the little wooden sword hanging at his waist, looking up at the sky with endless emotion and memory in his eyes.
Beside him stood Makomo, fists clenched tight, unusually silent.
"Rōichirō…" the girl whispered.
Her amber eyes did not leave Roy for even an instant.
At the center of all eyes,
Roy tightened his grip on [Eclipse], unleashing powerful [Ren] to resist the crushing pressure of Yamamoto's spiritual force as he narrowed his eyes at the old man.
"Thank you for your mercy, Head Captain."
His flame-red hair streamed upside down in the air as he smiled.
"May I ask… how much of your strength are you actually using?"
The strongest Shinigami in a thousand years couldn't possibly amount to only this much.
In the original story, if it weren't for the fact that his own strength had simply been too overwhelming and overshadowed Ichigo Kurosaki, Roy would never have believed someone like this could so easily have his Bankai stolen—
only to die pointlessly under Yhwach's blade with so much of his power sealed away.
Whoosh—
Spiritual pressure and [Ren] collided, whipping up a storm of energy through the midnight sky…
Yamamoto's white beard swayed with it. As he narrowed his eyes, he felt the [Scorching True Intent] pouring out from Roy's [Ren], and for a moment it was like seeing his younger self again—the first time he unlocked his Zanpakutō, called Ryujin Jakka by its true name, and was stunned speechless by the splendor and ferocity of its flames.
He let out a low, suppressed laugh.
"How much?" Yamamoto ran two fingers lightly along Ryujin Jakka's blade. "Did you hear it?"
Riiing—
A sword cry even sharper than [Eclipse] shot straight into the heavens!
Ryujin Jakka rang as it left its sheath. Sword light spilled outward.
It was as if the blade itself were enraged—perhaps rebuking the carelessness in Roy's words. The instant its tip leveled toward Roy's brow, an indescribable rhythm spread outward in a wide ripple.
That rhythm was mysterious beyond words—formless, colorless, scentless.
Like ripples on water, it expanded in waves.
Then—
another sword cry rose faintly from the earth below.
That one belonged to Giyu Tomioka's Nichirin Blade, a sword that had once slain countless demons!
"Giyu—your sword!"
The trembling Nichirin Blade flashed into everyone's vision. Before Giyu could clamp it down—
Sabito's sword.
Makomo's sword.
Kyojuro Rengoku's… Gyomei Himejima's… Obanai Iguro's…
Even the carving knife Urokodaki kept tucked in his robes for carving masks began trembling violently at the same moment.
It was as if they had all answered the summons of a king among swords!
And the fiercest reaction of all came from the "flame-type" swords, led by Kyojuro Rengoku's—those blades that had long accompanied the practice of Flame Breathing. They nearly tore free from their owners' hands, dragging Kyojuro himself toward the sky, toward Ryujin Jakka in Yamamoto's hand!
"Brother!"
At the Rengoku estate, Senjuro—who had only just woken because the day-night order had been overturned—came running over in sandals, clutching the sword he normally used to practice Flame Breathing.
The moment he heard Ryujin Jakka's cry, his sword suddenly went mad and tried to carry him into the sky with it!
He lacked talent and was timid by nature. He refused to let go of the sword, and started shrieking in terror—luckily, Shinjuro Rengoku, who had already broken his drinking habit and regained himself, arrived a moment later, leapt up, caught him by the collar, and hauled him back down.
Only after Shinjuro forced the sword under control did the boy finally break free, panting in fear.
"Idiot! Why didn't you let go?"
"Brother said Lord Rōichirō once told us a sword is a swordsman's life! So I couldn't let go!"
A furious father and a stubborn younger brother played out their scene right there at his side.
Kyojuro's golden hair with its red-dipped ends swayed in the wind. He opened the aura nodes in his palm, immediately covering his blade in Nen and forming [Ten] to pin it down completely.
Then, in silence, he lifted his eyes to the true culprit trying to steal his beloved sword.
For the first time in his life, he felt it—
a sword had emotions too.
Like a person… it possessed the rhythm of life.
"Father. Senjuro. Watch carefully—don't blink."
Wrapped in his white haori, the young man fixed his flame-like eyes on the heavens and took a deep breath.
"My instincts are telling me…"
"This is a duel of swords—one we may never see again in our entire lives."
That was right.
"It is the sword calling—not the man calling…"
At an inconspicuous temple in western Kyoto, a giant monk sat upon the stone steps of the temple gate, so broad he nearly filled the entire entrance all by himself. Tears streamed from his eyes as he gazed up at the sky and quietly murmured:
"Praise the Sun."
The chains beneath him rattled violently.
They belonged to his own weapon—the Nichirin Blade connected by chain from axe to flail—that Gyomei Himejima had always controlled through sheer physical force alone.
And yet today, his old companion… had become disloyal.
Gyomei did not blame it.
If anyone was at fault, it was only because his blade, like he himself, lacked the knowledge—it had never before seen a sword and a man as terrifyingly extraordinary as Ryujin Jakka and Yamamoto Genryusai Shigekuni.
A person cannot imagine someone or something beyond the limits of their own understanding.
And naturally, they cannot comprehend the true magnitude of what exists beyond their comprehension.
At that moment, with Ryujin Jakka's single cry—
the phrase "a sword is a swordsman's life" had been completely made real.
On Mount Sagiri, Urokodaki held his carving knife tight and swept his gaze around. He saw Sabito, Makomo, Shinsuke, Fukuda, and the others. After the first flash of shock, they had all rapidly calmed down, imitating Giyu by forcing their swords down with brute strength and compelling themselves to stay steady.
Then Urokodaki lifted his eyes to Yamamoto across from Roy, the old man carrying his white beard like a banner.
The tides in his heart crashed endlessly.
"What an incredible man…"
"The sword has yet to move, but the sword intent has already arrived."
Staring deeply at Yamamoto, Urokodaki whispered, "For someone like you… just how far has your understanding of the sword reached?"
Curiosity. Shock.
Both surged to a fever pitch.
All across the world, swords and blades shook, raged, and flew into turmoil, shaking the land.
And yet, as one looked up—
it seemed that only the young man standing in the heavens, facing Yamamoto from afar, and the blazing sword in his hand remained completely unmoved.
In fact… they were almost too calm.
"You aren't afraid?"
"Should I be?"
"Your sword won't submit?"
"Should it?"
"No. It shouldn't…"
Yamamoto's old eyes opened and closed as he looked at the boy in calm silence. Deep within them flashed a trace of admiration.
Then he said in a low voice, "Have you seen enough?"
Whoosh—
Two suns ignited and rose from Roy's pupils, spreading immeasurable divine radiance as they locked onto Yamamoto.
Roy smiled faintly, maintaining [True Eye] without pause.
"Should I… have seen enough?"
A panel slowly appeared, its information feeding back into his mind through [True Eye].
[Name: Genryusai Shigekuni Yamamoto]
[Species: Shinigami]
[Physique: S?]
[Displayed Spiritual Pressure: S?]
[Potential Spiritual Pressure: S?]
[Rating: S?]
[Note: Extremely dangerous individual. Not recommended as an enemy.]
Roy drew in a slow breath.
He looked at Yamamoto again, narrowed his eyes, and shifted from one-handed grip to a two-handed grip on [Eclipse], as though only that could offer him even the slightest bit of reassurance.
"Come!"
The shout burst from the boy's mouth.
Then it exploded across the heavens!
Kagaya Ubuyashiki, Giyu Tomioka, Kyojuro Rengoku, Gyomei Himejima, and all of Roy's followers seemed, in that unseen place within, to see a sun slowly rising from the center of their hearts. Blood surged through them, and the cry thundered in their ears!
Not to mention the countless ordinary people across the land, standing everywhere and staring blankly upward—
their cheeks abruptly flushed red, their organs shuddered, and an indescribable exhilaration and heat swept through them!
Courage?
This is the courage humans possess!
With spiritual pressure spread across the world, Yamamoto noticed the same blood-hot will appearing in so many thinking, living beings below.
In his silence, he suddenly remembered something that child of the Shiba clan—who had willingly cast aside his identity as a Shinigami just to save a human woman—once said to him:
"You absolutely cannot underestimate humans, Head Captain."
"They possess the courage to move toward the unknown—and for that, they will throw themselves into sacrifice again and again."
"Even if it means becoming wandering souls, or falling into Hollows… they would still do it."
When Yamamoto came back to himself, he stared at Roy blankly.
And believed.
The boy's heart had not wavered.
The boy's fighting spirit, like the blade in his hand, had not weakened.
The boy's refusal to yield—to draw his sword in defiance even while knowing he was outmatched—that was courage.
"Indeed… human foolishness and human courage are both things that force one to look again…"
Boom!
Spiritual pressure and [Ren] crashed together once more, exploding into Nen-light like fireworks.
Yamamoto slowly raised his hand.
"Good."
He lifted Ryujin Jakka high—
and brought it down heavily.
An ordinary vertical slash.
Straight toward Roy's brow.
The wind stopped. The clouds stilled.
In an instant, heaven and earth lost all their color.
Only a single black vertical line came on slowly—yet with no way to escape, no way to dodge. It was fast and slow at once, slow and fast at once, impossible to make sense of…
"Didn't you want to know how much strength I was using?"
"Then watch for yourself."
Pssht—
The black line passed through a bird—the bird split in two.
It passed through a cloud—the cloud split in two.
It passed through wind, moonlight, a leaf swept up by accident on the breeze—and all of them divided cleanly in half.
Even the countless gazes turned toward the sky were not spared.
The line brushed across them lightly, and at once endless cries of pain erupted below.
"Ah—my eyes!"
"It hurts—hurts—hurts—so much!"
Men and women, old and young alike, as though rehearsed beforehand, all clutched their eyes the moment they saw that black thread.
And among them—
even the Hashira,
who had already activated [Gyo] and protected their eyes with Nen!
What the hell does this mean?
Is this old man saying I'm not even qualified to watch the fight?
~~~
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