A year of special training—Shimo was eager to see just how much of a surprise the Sixth Relief Unit could give him.

Though he had a good grasp of their abilities from frequent sparring sessions, sparring was still just sparring. Shimo never went all out, and neither did they.

Besides, the gap between his strength and theirs was simply too vast for those mock battles to truly reveal the results of their training.

"Yes, Liutenant!"

Rokushima Yusuke and the others roared in unison, their momentum no less intense than that of Eleventh Division.

Clang!

Under their vice-leader's command, the Sixth Relief Unit drew their Zanpakutō in perfect unison and leapt into the fray.

The Eleventh Division members stared, wide-jawed—their swings faltering for a beat.

"Is… is this really Fourth Division?"

"Weren't they supposed to stay in the rear, patch us up when we got screwed?"

"Why… why am I seeing fighting like this from them?!"

The Eleventh lunatics was known for its ruthless fighting style—but compared to this Fourth Division unit, they seemed almost tame.

These medics ignored injury, ignored pain. In their eyes there was only one goal: crush the enemy in front of them.

"With my wound, I take your life!"

Rokushima Yusuke's voice rang out as he flashed through the Gillian ranks, severing heads in rapid succession.

His squad followed with bloodshot eyes, maintaining formation at his back.

"Shimo, is it really safe for them to fight like this?"

With fewer enemies pressing him, Ikkaku found himself with a moment to breathe. For a man who prided himself on his own ferocity, there was an unsettling twinge of fear watching the Fourth Division fight this way.

At this rate, they'd all die in the jaws of the Menos horde.

Shimo only smiled.

"It's fine."

"The real show's just getting started."

After dozens of minutes of fighting, Eleventh Division members bore only superficial wounds, and their spiritual power consumption was still within manageable limits.

Before departing, the Twelfth Division had even supplied them with spiritual pressure recovery agents—potent stimulants that could restore large amounts of reiryoku(spiritual power) in a short time. They couldn't be used consecutively without side effects, but they were excellent supplies nonetheless.

Shimo didn't pay them much mind—he knew Urahara's shop in the Human World stocked even better recovery medicine, ones that could heal the body as well as restore spiritual power. Unfortunately, there hadn't been enough time to make a supply run before this mission.

The addition of Fourth Division's fighters greatly eased the pressure on the lunatics of Eleventh. Their near-maniacal fighting style even stirred the battle spirit of the Eleventh Division.

The Adjuchas watching from above the quartz trees noticed something was wrong.

"Tch… the Gillians' replenishment rate can't keep up with the Shinigami's kill rate."

"They must be an elite Gotei 13 unit—ordinary Shinigami wouldn't have this level of combat ability."

"We can't let them keep this up. It's time we joined the battle."

"Change formation!"

Rokushima Yusuke's face was smeared with blood, all traces of his earlier meek demeanor gone.

Multiple injuries made his body look battered, barely upright, as if he could fall at any moment.

At his command, Fourth Division shifted instantly—footwork weaving, bodies turning.

Those with lighter injuries stepped to the front to absorb the Menos' attacks.

"What the hell are they doing now?"

Ikkaku scratched his head, bewildered.

Shimo's lips curled in satisfaction.

"This is a Fourth Division combat style I designed myself."

"You'll see in a moment."

Under Rokushima's lead, several Shinigami raised their left hands and called out softly:

"Mass Healing Barrier!"

A brilliant green light burst forth, forming a protective dome that instantly enveloped every Shinigami present—including the members of Eleventh Division.

"What?! Impossible!"

Yumichika's reaction was even more dramatic than Ikkaku's. His eyes went wide, staring as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"Using Kaidō… in the middle of battle?

Has Fourth Division's healing skill really reached this level?!"

As one of the few in Eleventh Division versed in Kidō, Yumichika understood better than anyone the difficulty of pulling this off in the chaos of combat.

The green light faded—and every Shinigami inside was restored to full strength, as if they'd never been injured. Their spiritual power and stamina surged, giving them the sense they could fight for days.

Meanwhile, Rokushima and several others took out reiryoku recovery injectors, administering them under the cover of their comrades. Within seconds, their spiritual pressure was back, and they rejoined the fight.

At last, the Adjuchas could no longer hold back. They leapt from the quartz trees and plunged into the battle.

Ikkaku swung Hōzukimaru up onto his shoulder, grinning at the new challengers.

But Shimo remained where he was, his deep gaze fixed on the darkness deeper in the forest.

"Your comrades are all fighting with everything they've got.

Why aren't you joining them?"

From the shadows came a voice dripping with arrogance.

A tall figure stepped into the light—his circular collar accentuating his long, lean frame.

A cruel face half-covered by an eyepatch that hid his Hollow hole. Resting on his shoulder was a bizarre, oversized scythe-shaped Zanpakutō.

5th Espada, Nnoitra Gilga grinned wickedly, eyes locked on Shimo as his deep voice rolled out:

"Hnh?"

"Shinigami."

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