CHAPTER 363: CHAPTER 363: THE BATTLE OF KENPACHI, ZARAKI VS. AZASHIRO

"Hey, is this fate? By the way, can you beat Zaraki Kenpachi now?"

Urazakuro’s figure suddenly manifested beside Kenpachi Azashiro. Yet strangely, only he could perceive her presence—only he could hear her voice, tinged with that ever-familiar mocking tone.

The ghostly woman sneered, tilting her head. "If you follow the legacy of Kenpachi, it’s simple. The newcomer defeats the predecessor and inherits the name. You’re the Eighth Kenpachi. Zaraki is the Eleventh. By logic alone... he must be stronger!"

Her tone was smug, relentless. "Even if you took that recovery serum from that weirdo in Twelfth Division before you left the Seireitei and healed your wounds from that last fight... Reiatsu doesn’t come back so easily, does it? Will you suffer two defeats in one day?"

Kenpachi Azashiro remained silent. He allowed her to speak freely, letting her words echo without resistance.

But indeed, his wounds had already healed.

Across the long annals of Soul Society’s history, there had been few minds as brilliant as Urahara Kisuke’s. Even during his long incarceration, Kenpachi Azashiro had paid attention to the names that rose within Seireitei. After Urahara’s exile, his successor—Kurotsuchi Mayuri—though pathetic in direct combat, possessed a genius intellect worthy of recognition.

Before departing the Seireitei, Kenpachi Azashiro had quietly infiltrated the Twelfth Division’s facilities and obtained one of their most advanced healing concoctions. At the time, he’d taken it as a precaution. But after his clash with Mazuru, it had proven essential.

Zaraki Kenpachi, of course, knew none of this.

The moment his eyes locked with the arriving Kenpachi Azashiro, his blood surged.

Pointing his blade forward, Zaraki grinned wildly. "Since you’re also a Kenpachi... Let’s fight like one!"

The air trembled with his unrestrained fighting spirit.

For a while, the older Kenpachi remained motionless. Then he finally spoke, voice calm yet edged with sharpness. "If that’s your wish... I’ll gladly fulfill it."

There was no visible movement, but a Zanpakutō suddenly materialized in his hand, glinting ominously in the light.

Ashido’s breath caught in his throat.

He had always harbored curiosity about this man—the Kenpachi who had defeated Kuruyashiki, the one whispered about with dread and awe. Though he had long desired to test himself against such a warrior, he knew that today, the battle belonged to Zaraki Kenpachi alone. This was a confrontation between two bearers of the same brutal title.

In quiet resignation, Ashido moved Roka out of the way and created space for the coming clash.

Without warning, Zaraki lunged forward with a savage swing of his blade. No pleasantries. No hesitation. Just pure, unfiltered bloodlust.

Kenpachi Azashiro scoffed at the reckless move.

’No technique whatsoever...’ he thought.

Still, he had to admit—Zaraki Kenpachi was not the same as before. With his Zanpakutō now awakened, the brute’s power had grown immensely. It would be foolish to take him lightly.

Reiatsu gathered thickly around the older Kenpachi’s blade. The pressure alone felt heavier than Sōkyoku.

When he swung, the slash ripped the air apart.

Zaraki dodged, but the force behind the attack shattered the ground beneath him. Dust exploded into the air, followed by a deafening boom.

From the sidelines, Ashido clicked his tongue. "That’s the power of Kenpachi Azashiro..."

Just a single swing had produced such devastation. Ashido’s wariness deepened. This wasn’t hype. This man had earned the title.

But Zaraki wasn’t far behind.

He countered with a slash of his own. A wave of golden energy tore through the battlefield, equally devastating.

As the fight escalated, Kenpachi Azashiro’s amusement gave way to mild frustration.

’This one too... like Kyo Mazuru, his reiatsu was too dense.’

Even if Zaraki lacked the regeneration abilities of the latter, his body seemed to act like a wall of iron, making every strike frustratingly inefficient.

After a series of blade clashes, Kenpachi Azashiro vanished suddenly, only to reappear at another angle.

Then he raised his hand and began to chant.

Kidō.

Streams of incantations erupted from his lips as multiple Kidō spells surged into existence, forming a radiant cage of magical attacks that surged toward Zaraki.

It was a breathtakingly complex spellwork, one that Mazuru himself had once praised.

Ashido’s eyes widened in disbelief.

"This... This isn’t fair!" he muttered, frustrated. "You called it a Kenpachi duel, and now you’re throwing Kidō at him?!"

Zaraki was quickly engulfed in layers of spiritual energy. Explosions erupted around him, light flickering violently. The sheer volume of magic was enough to rattle the desert floor.

Ashido stepped forward, hand on his blade, ready to intervene.

But a voice stopped him cold.

"It’s better if you don’t get involved in their fight."

The words were calm, but the pressure behind them made his skin crawl.

Turning, Ashido’s eyes met the figure now standing beside him—blade drawn, expression unreadable.

Kyo Mazuru.

’When did he get here?’ The implication was immediate—if he was here, what had happened to Shunsui?

Ashido didn’t hesitate. He tossed Roka to the side and slashed at Mazuru with his full strength.

But Mazuru merely lifted a finger.

A blast—not a Cero, but a Bala—burst forth and intercepted Ashido, sending him flying backward. Before he could recover, threads of blood wove through the air and coiled around him, binding his limbs in mid-air.

"I’m not here to fight you." Mazuru said coldly. "So stay quiet."

And just like that, Ashido was immobilized.

With him neutralized, Mazuru turned his attention back to the duel.

Across the battlefield, the dust was still swirling.

Then, a guttural voice broke through.

"Drink! Nozarashi!"

Golden reiatsu exploded outward like a tsunami.

The oppressive layers of Kidō that had bound Zaraki shattered all at once. The sky trembled. The ground beneath him cracked. His energy surged to the heavens.

Zaraki Kenpachi had released his Zanpakutō.

And now... the real fight would begin.

*****

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