Death God: Starting from Refining Essence into Qi

The shattered spiritual particles drifted slowly through the air like ashes, mingling with a strong stench of blood.

The ground of Seireitei was covered with crisscrossing cracks, with broken Zanpakuto and twisted Quincy crossbows scattered among them, and still-fresh blood pooling in the cracks to form winding streams.

Two figures faced each other from a distance.

Yamamoto Genryusai Shigekuni stood amidst the Grim Reapers, wielding Ryujin Jakka. The cross-shaped scar across his forehead, running diagonally across his eyebrow, appeared even more menacing amidst the smoke and fire.

The spiritual pressure emanating from him was like a volcano about to erupt, suppressed to the extreme, making even the surrounding air scorching and distorted, as if a raging inferno would sweep across the entire battlefield in the next second.

Yamamoto Genryusai did not make a move.

His Zanpakuto is terrifyingly powerful; even in its Shikai form, it reaches a temperature of 6,000 degrees Celsius, enough to collapse any surrounding stone structures. The Shinigami soldiers closer to Yamamoto Genryusai will undoubtedly be more affected than the Quincy.

Moreover, Yamamoto Genryusai could sense that the spiritual pressure of the enemy leader Yhwach was not to be underestimated. The best-case scenario was that neither of them would make a move, and the Shinigami's high-level combat forces would eliminate the Quincy, allowing them to fight outnumbered. Therefore, Yamamoto Genryusai was happy to maintain the current situation.

Dozens of feet away, Yhwach stood quietly in the center of the Quincy army. His face was calm and expressionless, his eyes as deep as an ancient well, as if the life-and-death battle of tens of thousands of people before him had nothing to do with him. Behind him, four members of his personal guard stood in a row, emanating a chilling spiritual pressure, like four cold statues.

It's unclear what Yhwach was thinking; perhaps he believed the Quincy had the advantage in numbers and attack range, which is why he didn't make a move.

Time ticked by as the two sides fought fiercely. Soldiers on both sides gripped their weapons tightly, fighting to their last breath.

Just then, a cold blade of light suddenly flashed across the battlefield, accompanied by the flying head of a Quincy.

The blade's light wasn't dazzling; in fact, it was somewhat dim, yet it carried a chilling aura capable of freezing the soul. Like a shooting star flashing through the night, it instantly drew the attention of everyone on the battlefield.

Unohana Yachiru stepped out of the Grim Reaper formation.

She wore the captain's haori of the 11th Division, her long black hair flowing down her back, billowing in the wind like a vengeful ghost. The Zanpakuto she held in her hand was not unleashed, appearing ordinary, but the sword light just now originated from it.

Unohana Yachiru walked expressionlessly across the ground covered in rubble and blood, passing the Shinigami soldiers around her and heading towards the white-clad Quincy army opposite her.

Death itself made way for her; no one spoke, and no one dared to stop her from marching toward the enemy.

Only then did the Quincy in the front row react. They roared and raised their spirit bows, unleashing a barrage of silver-white spirit arrows at Unohana like a torrential rain.

The piercing whistling sound of the spirit arrow cutting through the air was extremely shrill.

The next second, Unohana Yachiru's figure suddenly disappeared.

When she reappeared, she was already standing at the very front of the Quincy formation.

The Zanpakuto drew a graceful arc in the air.

"Pfft—"

The Quincy standing at the front didn't even have time to see the other's movements before his throat was slashed open by a sharp blade.

Unohana Yachiru neither dodged nor avoided, continuing to walk towards the direction where Yhwach and the others were.

Warm blood gushed out, splattering onto Unohana's face and the white captain's haori, staining her with a bright red hue.

The unknown Quincy stared wide-eyed, clutching his throat tightly with both hands, trying to make a sound, but could only let out a hissing sound before collapsing straight down.

This is just the beginning.

Unohana's figure weaved through the Quincy's formation. Her movements were light and graceful, like performing a meticulously choreographed dance. Each swing of her sword carried an almost artistic beauty.

With each flash of the blade, there was not a single superfluous movement; every strike precisely hit the enemy's vital points—throat, heart, and eyes.

A Quincy swung his rapier at her, the blade wreathed in pale blue spiritual pressure. Unohana dodged to the side, and with a flick of her wrist, her Asahana thrust out from an unbelievable angle, piercing the Quincy's heart. The Quincy's狰狞 (zhengning, meaning ferocious or hideous) expression froze instantly, and his rapier clattered to the ground.

Another Quincy circled around to the rear, his spirit bow fully drawn, the arrow aimed directly at Unohana's head. Unohana didn't turn her head, but with a backhand slash, she lifted the rapier from the corpse on the ground and plunged it into the Quincy's eye, the blade piercing through the back of his head until the tip was exposed.

Blood splattered continuously, staining her white haori and the ground beneath her feet. Her face, hands, and hair were covered in blood, making her look like a demon emerging from hell. Yet her eyes remained calm, as if the corpses and flowing blood at her feet were merely an insignificant backdrop.

No Quincy could withstand a single strike from her.

Neither the dense barrage of spirit arrows fired from the spirit bow nor the sharp slashes of the rapier could touch the hem of her clothes. She was too fast, so fast that the Quincy's eyes couldn't even catch a glimpse of her. They could only see a blur of blood darting through the crowd, and then their companions would fall one by one.

The corpses piled higher and higher at her feet, soon forming a small mountain of corpses. Blood flowed down the cracks in the mountain of corpses, pooling on the ground into a dark red puddle.

The Quincy army, which had been advancing fiercely, was momentarily halted by Unohana Yachiru's single-handed slaughter. The Quincy in the front ranks retreated, their eyes filled with undisguised terror, and dared not take another step forward.

Their hands, gripping their weapons, trembled slightly as they instinctively made way for Unohana. They had never seen such a terrifying being. Under her blade, life was as fragile as grass.

Unohana stopped in her tracks.

Standing atop the mountain of corpses, she gazed beyond the layers of Quincy, toward Yhwach and his four personal guards in the distance.

Her target was never these ordinary Quincy.

She's going to fight a true powerhouse.

For this, she was willing to fight her way out.

Yhwach stood at a distance, calmly watching Unohana Yachiru. His eyes were devoid of any emotion, as if the one-sided massacre before him was merely an insignificant performance.

Behind him, Hubbard Alexander Claych had already placed his hand on the rapier at his waist, and his spiritual pressure began to slowly rise. Clearly, the scene of the Quincy army being utterly humiliated greatly displeased him.

"Your Majesty, please allow me to kill her."

Hubbard Alexander Kleich stepped forward, bowed slightly, and spoke respectfully. His light ice-blue eyes were fixed on Unohana in the distance, flashing with a cold light.

"Go, Hubbard."

Yhwach's voice was calm and majestic, like a divine oracle.

"Let her see the strength of the Royal Guard."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Hubert's lips were flat and downturned, his eyes indifferent, exuding a condescending scrutiny. He adjusted his white military cap, then brushed off non-existent dust from his cloak, his movements elegant and composed. He slowly drew his rapier from his waist; the blade was as smooth as a mirror, reflecting the somber light of the sky.

His figure flashed and instantly appeared not far from the mountain of corpses.

"Crazy woman."

Huber looked at Unohana standing at the foot of the mountain of corpses, his tone full of arrogance and disdain.

"You think killing a few grunts makes you so great? In front of a true powerhouse like me, your random hacking and slashing is nothing but child's play."

He slowly raised his rapier, the tip pointing directly at the flower.

"Your Majesty is merciful; let me teach you a lesson. Hurry up and unleash your Zanpakuto, or this battle will be over soon. I don't want to waste any more time on someone like you."

Unohana looked at Hubelt in front of her, slowly raised the Asagi in her hand, and pointed the tip of the knife at Hubelt's heart.

Her figure suddenly disappeared from the top of the mountain of corpses.

Hubbard's pupils contracted sharply, and he almost instinctively raised his sword to parry.

"clang!"

A clear, metallic clang rang out.

The immense impact caused Hubbard to stagger back two steps, his boots carving deep marks on the blood-stained stone slab.

His expression changed slightly.

The power of that attack just now far exceeded his expectations.

But Hubbard quickly reverted to his arrogant demeanor.

"Just brute force. Is that all you're relying on?"

Hubbard flexed his wrists and said in a relaxed tone.

"Looks like you're not completely useless. But that's about it."

His figure flashed, and he launched an attack on Unohana.

The rapier traced a silver arc through the air, whistling sharply as it aimed for Unohana's throat. His speed was incredible; the tip of the sword left a trail of afterimages in the air. This strike was precise and deadly, devoid of any superfluous movements—a swordsmanship designed solely for killing.

Unohana blocked the sword with her horizontal blade.

The shockwave from the clash of swords sent surrounding rocks flying, and a ring of fine cracks appeared on the ground.

Without pausing, Hubert twisted his wrist, and his rapier, like a venomous snake, coiled around Unohana's katana, sliding down the blade towards her wrist. Unohana flicked her wrist, dodging the fatal blow, and simultaneously swung her rapier in a backhand strike towards Hubert's shoulder. Hubert sidestepped, the blade grazing his cloak, tearing a long gash in the thick white garment.

The two exchanged dozens of blows in an instant.

The clash of swords was deafening, sparks flying between the two fighters. The silvery-white sword light intertwined with the pale blue blade light, forming an impenetrable net of light. The surrounding Quincy retreated hastily, fearing the aftershocks of the battle.

Huber's swordsmanship was exquisite and elegant, every movement textbook perfect. His rapier was sometimes like a viper's tongue, cunning and ruthless; at other times, it was like a raging storm, relentless and unstoppable.

Although his technique was far inferior to Unohana's, he maintained his dominance over Unohana by relying on his faster speed and greater strength.

Unohana, on the other hand, is completely different. Her movements seem casual, yet she always manages to block Hubbard's attacks at the most opportune moment and launch a fatal counterattack.

The Zanpakuto seemed to come alive in her hands; it appeared that Hubelt's enemy was not Unohana, but the sword in her hand.

For a time, the two fought fiercely, neither gaining the upper hand.

"What's wrong? Is this all the power you have?"

Hubert swung his sword fiercely while loudly mocking the attacker.

"I thought this old woman, who's lived for who knows how many years, would have some formidable swordsmanship, but it turns out she's nothing special. Hurry up and unleash your Zanpakuto! Otherwise, in three minutes, your head will be hanging on my hilt, becoming my first trophy of this war!"

"Oh dear, I was underestimated."

"Unohana's attack has shaken retired Bert," she said. A faint smile played on her lips, a smile that was cold and cruel, like a red spider lily blooming in a pool of blood.

"What are you saying...?"

Hubert's words were interrupted as Unohana attacked again, and this time the speed of the battle left Hubert with no energy to speak.

Unohana held her sword at an angle in front of her, ceasing her attack: "Kid, the testing period is over. Let's begin officially. I hope you can change your mind before you die."

The woman in front of her now is completely different from the one just now.

Her spiritual pressure erupted like a tsunami, its crimson radiance soaring into the sky and staining the surrounding air with a pungent stench—whether it was an illusion perceived by her spiritual power or the bloody stench of the battlefield was unclear. A drop of Hypert's blood slid down the Zanpakuto in her hand.

Before Hubelt could react, Unohana's second slash had already arrived.

The blade was aimed directly at his heart.

"clang!"

The immense impact caused Hubbard to stagger back two steps, his boots carving deep marks on the blood-stained stone slab.

In his haste, Hubbard deflected the blow with his rapier, the blade slicing across his left shoulder with the sound of tearing fabric.

The sharp blade easily sliced ​​through his uniform, and Hubbard barely managed to activate his Bloodlust Armor, which possessed powerful defensive capabilities.

He looked down at his left shoulder, where a three-inch-long gash had been cut into his white military uniform by a blade, the edges of which were already soaked in blood, spreading out in a glaring dark red.

He gently touched the edge of the wound with the fingertips of his right hand, clad in a snow-white silk glove, his brow furrowing almost imperceptibly—not from pain, but from pure displeasure. This military uniform, custom-made by the Empire of Light's finest tailor, with every stitch perfectly placed, had been soiled by this madwoman.

He slowly raised his head, and the condescending look in his light ice-blue eyes finally faded, replaced by a cold anger of being offended, yet he still suppressed it under aristocratic restraint.

His black hair lay perfectly straight across his forehead, and his white military cap sat upright on his head. Even after a dangerous confrontation, his bearing remained impeccable. His lips remained perfectly straight, without the slightest curve, and only when his thin lips parted did the words he utter carry an icy arrogance:

"As expected, the captain does have some strength, but it's nothing compared to the power belonging to the Quincy and His Majesty! I'll say it again, hurry up and release your Zanpakuto, or you won't have another chance."

The moment he finished speaking, Hubert channeled his spiritual power into his arteries, which then spread throughout his body, causing his spiritual pressure to surge dramatically.

Bloodstained outfit.

Hubert gently rotated his wrist, the blade drawing a perfect arc in the air, the resulting gust of wind scattering the blood droplets on the ground.

The anger in his eyes had subsided, leaving only the cold indifference one would show to a dead man.

"I didn't want to end this battle this way; this is His Majesty's power." Hubert's voice was lower and colder than before. "But since you insist on forcing me, then I'll show you what a Quincy is."

The two figures collided violently in the center of the battlefield.