NOTAKING
patreon
Ble@ch: Chapter 63
🕑 Added 2025-05-08 09:33:49 +0000 UTCThe world around them was silent — as if holding its breath.
Ichigo and Kenpachi stood across from each other, swords poised, bodies ragged and battered beyond recognition. Their uniforms were torn to shreds, their skin a canvas of deep cuts, bruises, and blood.
Both men smiled.
Not out of arrogance. Not out of cruelty.
But out of a deep, mutual respect that only warriors could understand.
‘One more strike, Zangetsu.’
‘One more.’
"Then let us finish this," Zangetsu answered.
Ichigo inhaled deeply, feeling the weight of the blade in his hands, feeling the surge of energy pooling in his legs and shoulders.
Kenpachi chuckled low in his throat, gripping his sword tightly with both hands, his muscles tensing.
Without a word — they moved.
BOOM.
Both of them vanished in a blur of raw speed.
The moment their blades met, the sky cracked.
A monstrous shockwave ripped outward, flattening the ruins around them even further. The ground beneath their feet shattered like glass under the pressure.
Steel ground against steel, sparks erupting like tiny stars.
Kenpachi roared, pouring every last ounce of strength into his final swing — a wild, explosive strike that could split a mountain.
Ichigo met it head-on — not with brute force, but with precision.
Guided by Zangetsu’s steady voice, Ichigo angled his blade perfectly, turning Kenpachi’s strength against him.
CLANG—SKRRAKKK!
Ichigo’s blade slid along Kenpachi’s, slicing down and across in a brutal arc that tore through Kenpachi’s shoulder, slicing deep into flesh and forcing his massive body to jerk backward.
Kenpachi staggered. He took one step. Then another. And then —
THUD.
He dropped to one knee, sword plunging into the ground to hold himself up. Blood poured freely from the wound, painting the broken stones beneath him a dark crimson.
For a moment, he stayed there, breathing heavily, his head bowed. Then he lifted his head — and grinned. A wide, bloody grin filled with unbroken pride and satisfaction.
"You... win... Ryoka..." he rasped, voice thick with blood and laughter.
Ichigo stood across from him, chest heaving, blood dripping from a gash above his eye, his left arm hanging limp at his side.
But he was still standing. Barely, but standing. Zangetsu rested at his side, bloodstained and battered, yet gleaming with silent pride.
Ichigo stepped forward, his shadow falling across Kenpachi.
Kenpachi looked up at him with that same feral smile and laughed weakly. "Heh... you really... got me good, kid. Now kill me. "
Ichigo said nothing at first, just tightened his grip on Zangetsu, feeling the exhaustion weighing down his entire body. Then, finally, he spoke, his voice hoarse but steady:
" If I wanted to kill you, I would've done it. You're not the only one who likes to battle" Ichigo said with a smirk.
Kenpachi's head tipped back slightly as he chuckled.
"Good," he muttered. "Would’ve been boring otherwise."
His strength finally gave out, and he slumped fully onto his back, staring up at the sky with a strange look of peace on his bloodied face.
Ichigo stood over him, the wind tugging at his torn robes, the ruins of their battlefield smoldering in the background.
Above them, the sky began to clear, beams of soft sunlight piercing through the heavy clouds of dust.
Ichigo lifted Zangetsu to rest against his shoulder, casting one final look at the fallen Kenpachi.
Then he turned away, walking forward — still bleeding, still breathing, still unbroken.
The road ahead was still long.
But for now, he had won. The battlefield was silent again. Only the low whistle of the wind moved through the shattered stone and blood-soaked ground.
Kenpachi lay sprawled in the wreckage, staring up at the open sky, his chest rising and falling heavily.
For the first time in a long time...
he felt weak.
But more than that, he felt something stirring inside him — something raw and restless.
He grunted and shifted slightly, his hand clenching around the hilt of his zanpakutō, still impaled into the broken ground beside him.
He stared at it.
A weapon he'd always treated like a mere tool for battle. A weapon he'd never once tried to truly hear.
Yet now, after facing Ichigo — after feeling the thrill of a real fight — he realized how hollow that bond was.
Slowly, painfully, he lifted the sword in front of his face.
"...Tch..." he muttered, blood dripping from his lips.
"Oi..." he rasped out, feeling ridiculous for even talking to it.
"What's your damn name?"
The sword said nothing. The wind howled past.
Kenpachi squeezed his eyes shut in frustration, teeth grinding together. His knuckles whitened around the hilt.
He felt it. Somewhere, deep in the edges of his mind — a voice. Faint. But there
A small, strange warmth touched his side.
He cracked one bloodshot eye open — and found Yachiru standing beside him, crouched down, her tiny hand resting lightly against his battered ribs.
"Ken-chan..." she said softly, voice playful and tender all at once.
"You’re trying to talk to your sword, huh?"
Kenpachi grunted, embarrassed, almost scowling — but too tired to put any real anger behind it.
"Tch... stupid thing’s been quiet for too damn long," he growled.
Yachiru giggled, swinging her legs back and forth like a child.
"It’s not that it’s quiet," she said, tapping his forehead gently. "You just never listened before."
Kenpachi blinked at her.
For all her innocence, there was something ancient behind Yachiru’s smile. Something that saw deeper than anyone else.
"Maybe now," she continued, her voice almost a whisper, "you’re finally ready to hear it."
Kenpachi let out a soft, broken laugh, coughing blood into the dirt.
"Ready, huh..." he murmured. "Didn't think I'd live long enough to hear that."
TO BE CONTINUED 
