Shaking his head at the futility of the thought, Tsunayashiro Shōgo dismissed it.
"Father, give me one more chance!" Tsunayashiro Makoto suddenly pleaded. "The Ryū invaders are still some distance from Seireitei. At the very least, we can hold out underground!"
"That bastard Nimaiya said he could forge a Zanpakutō capable of reaching the pinnacle of Shinigami power!"
"If we obtain such a weapon, even Yamamoto that bastard would—"
"Fool."
Tsunayashiro Shōgo cut him off with a single word.
His voice was calm.
"No blade, no matter how strong, can ever match the one who wields it."
As he spoke, he raised his head.
Above the underground chamber hung heavy curtains displaying scenes of the four "Nimaiya" clones being defeated by different Ryū Shinigami.
The first fell to Unohana's blood-red blade.
The second was bisected by Genwaraku's spatial slash.
The third had his eye impaled by a blood-soaked Katori's naginata.
And the last...
Tsunayashiro Shōgo silently watched the final scene.
A tsunami of flames, carrying the force of a mountain, crushed all resistance like a joke.
The so-called Sayafushi, capable of slicing high-density reishi, was swallowed instantly by the sun-like inferno, vanishing like a speck of sand in a tidal wave.
Then, even the body forged from the "blade" was reduced to char in an instant.
No resistance at all.
Tsunayashiro Shōgo stared at the black-clad figure at the heart of the flames—a middle-aged man with a shaved forehead.
"Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni."
Everything standing in his path had turned to ash.
For a moment, Tsunayashiro Shōgo's gaze grew distant.
This was the opponent he would give his life to defeat.
"Ha... Hahaha... HAHAHAHA!"
Suddenly, Tsunayashiro Shōgo burst into laughter—wild, unrestrained.
"Not bad."
Yet, watching this, Tsunayashiro Makoto could only stand by, his face etched with grief.
This was a gamble.
A gamble with the clan's fate, with lives, with everything.
Tsunayashiro Shōgo strode toward the door.
His son could only watch from behind.
At the threshold, he paused and looked back.
"Makoto."
"The rest is up to you."
For the first time in centuries, Tsunayashiro Makoto heard his father speak to him in such a tone—almost pleading.
With those final words, Tsunayashiro Shōgo stepped through the door.
---
The various divisions of the Ryū forces converged in the northern 20th district of the Rukongai, forming a massive serpentine column that surged toward Seireitei.
Along the way, nobles, commoners, even the beasts of the forest fled in terror.
The oppressive weight of hundreds of powerful spiritual pressures gathered in one place was indescribable.
And at the forefront of the procession—
Leading them was Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni.
Behind him followed the blood-soaked instructors and trainees.
Though Nimaiya Ōetsu had spoken lightly of his four blades and guards, the pressure and casualties they had inflicted were undeniable.
Nearly every member of the Ryū forces bore injuries, yet they marched forward unshaken.
All of them knew—
This was the final battle.
Breach Seireitei.
Seize control of the Soul Society.
And they would be the victors.
With this conviction, their fighting spirit burned fiercely.
Third district.
Second district.
Finally, the first district—Junrinan.
By the time they arrived, what was once the most prosperous area of the Rukongai stood empty.
The massive Sekkiseki walls, the final barrier protecting Seireitei, loomed overhead, forming an immense fortress around the vast capital.
An invisible barrier rippled across the pale stone, shielding Seireitei—a defense so sturdy that even mid-level Kidō (numbered 30 and above) would barely scratch it.
"Defend Seireitei to the death!"
"Death to the Ryū invaders!"
"Offer your lives to the Soul King!"
Shouts erupted from behind the walls, grating on the ears.
Many in the Ryū ranks craned their necks, staring up at the colossal barrier that seemed to blot out the sky.
For most, this was their first time seeing it.
Yet, they all felt an indescribable yearning for the world beyond.
For millennia, was this single wall all that separated nobles from commoners?
An unnamed fire ignited in their hearts—a heat that seemed to spread to Yamamoto's own chest, setting him ablaze.
Fujimiya Kiyoshi stood among the ranks, watching as the old man stepped forward, past them all, toward the towering gate.
The colossal doors, dwarfing the less-than-six-foot-tall man, created a staggering contrast—like an ant challenging a mountain.
Yet everyone knew the terrifying power hidden within that lean frame.
Yamamoto drew his blade and approached the White Road Gate.
The sword in his hand silently transformed, igniting.
Ryūjin Jakka.
He raised the blade high, like a torch capable of setting hearts aflame.
And then—brought it down.
"Ennetsu Jigoku!"
With his gravelly roar, a flood of crimson fire erupted from his body, fiercer than any tsunami.
The flames swallowed the walls, devoured the barrier, and even set the reishi-dissolving Sekkiseki ablaze.
A single man, burning down a city.
The White Road Gate, standing in his path, was nothing.
By the time he stepped past, the Sekkiseki gate had already melted like water under the inferno.
Effortlessly breached.
The nobles, execution forces, and private armies stationed on the walls screamed as they turned to charcoal.
Meanwhile, the Ryū forces poured through the gate like a tidal wave, charging in all directions.
Yet, as they flooded into Seireitei—
Yamamoto stopped.
He looked up.
At the top of the Central Great Hall's steps, an old man in plain robes descended slowly, a sword in hand.
Tsunayashiro Shōgo met his gaze, his voice calm but questioning:
"That Four Elements boy must have already told you about our trump card."
"Even so, you still chose to invade Seireitei?"
"Yamamoto."
Yamamoto knew exactly what the other's presence meant.
But...
"If I don't slaughter every last one of you, I will never know peace."
His voice was heavy.
Tsunayashiro Shōgo smiled faintly.
"I see."
"You've always been the most ruthless of all."
"That's why you are Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni."
Hearing this, Fujimiya Kiyoshi lowered his eyes.
Then—
With a sudden motion, Tsunayashiro Shōgo swung his scabbard through the air like a drumstick striking an invisible surface, sending out a deep, resonant pulse.
In an instant—
The world before everyone's eyes shifted.
The grand halls of the Central Great Hall vanished.
In their place stretched an endless expanse of lush green plains.
Tsunayashiro Shōgo's voice echoed solemnly:
"This... is the burial ground I have chosen."
"For myself... and for all of you."
This was—
The Tsunayashiro clan's sacred realm, held for ten thousand years.
The Valley of Screams.