"Lord Yamamoto Genryūsai!"
The first group to break into the underground, Chōjirō Sasakibe, straightened his body, wiped the blood from his cheeks, and bowed slightly towards Old Man Yama.
Behind Sasakibe, forty-six corpses were neatly placed in the center of the conference room.
Not a single one had escaped.
Only Kunitsuna Masato's corpse maintained a sitting posture, his head placed on the side of the corpse.
He had committed suicide.
Although he didn't have the courage to fight to the death with the enemy, Kunitsuna Masato didn't seem as cowardly as his father thought.
At this moment, the heads of the Genryū enemy had all been beheaded.
Seeing this scene, even though his face didn't show any expression, Genryūsai secretly breathed a sigh of relief in his heart.
With the Seireitei without a leader, the remaining clans would only have to fight on their own.
What Genryū needed to do next was to spend some time, constantly rushing to various places, and clean up these nobles who had been broken into scattered sand.
In this way, the Soul Society could be returned to a state of purity.
As if thinking of such a scene, or perhaps this moment didn't come as difficult as he had imagined.
Yamamoto Genryūsai Shigekuni couldn't help but feel a little moved.
As long as he could do this...
The good times should come, right?
"Is this enough to vent your anger?"
However, just as Old Man Yama was imagining a free future for the wandering souls without the shackles of nobles.
He suddenly heard a strange voice in his ear.
Yamamoto's whole body suddenly trembled, and his hair stood on end.
Who could approach this distance under his senses?
"Who is it?!"
Yamamoto suddenly turned his head, his eyes like a tiger.
Not only him, Sasakibe also widened his eyes.
One has to know that he killed all of the Central 46 Chambers, how could he not have noticed this person's existence just now?
However, when the two turned their heads, they saw a monk wearing a plain robe, a messy beard, a string of thick red Buddhist beads around his neck, holding a gourd of wine in one hand, and a thick writing brush in the other, stepping on tall wooden clogs.
He looked round-headed and round-eared, and his entire person appeared cheerful and sincere.
Facing Yamamoto's fierce gaze, the monk didn't waver at all, and was still that hearty look, not annoyed at all:
"I'm asking you, is killing just these few parasites really enough to vent your anger?"
"If you want, how about killing some more?"
"Yamamoto."
Yamamoto looked at him, his entire person frowning subconsciously, completely unable to feel the familiar spiritual pressure from this fat monk.
But the next second, observing the other party's appearance, Yamamoto seemed to think of some rumors, and suddenly widened his eyes.
"You, could you be..."
The monk grinned, looking very sincere:
"My name is Hyōsube Ichibe'e, you should have heard of me, right?"
"You can call me Monk Who Calls the Real Name."
"Or the Eyeball Monk."
The moment he heard this name, Yamamoto's face suddenly fell.
He first raised his hand, stopping Sasakibe's small action of preparing to attack, and looked calmly at the fat monk in front of him, and asked quietly:
"What does this mean?"
Hyōsube Ichibe'e poured a mouthful of wine into his mouth, and said gently: "It's very simple, these Central 46 Chambers, the 82 Sages or whatever, you can kill them all you want."
"I've also disliked them for a long time."
"But the five great noble clans can't be wiped out."
"The remaining number of noble Shinigami must also be retained by more than 60%."
He said with persuasion, like a teacher assigning homework to children: "Listen carefully, I'm not discussing with you—but, informing you of this bottom line."
Yamamoto listened to his words without saying a word.
He just quietly stared at the bald monk, and asked back in an equally calm tone:
"What if I don't listen?"
"Alas, you'd better listen."
Hyōsube Ichibe'e seemed a little distressed, using that negotiating tone, saying words that did not allow rebuttal:
"If you refuse to listen, then it will be troublesome."
"Then... wouldn't I have to kill you?"
Yamamoto's pupils suddenly shrank.
But before him, Sasakibe could no longer endure it, and roared with an expression that was strained to the extreme:
"How dare you insult Yamamoto-sama!?"
Almost at the moment the words fell, the roaring thunderbolt exploded in the center of the narrow conference room, and the brilliant lightning, wrapped in the ultimate penetrating power, shot towards Monk Who Calls the Real Name.
Bankai—Kōkō Gonryō Rikyū!
However, facing the Bankai attack of the strongest thunder-type Zanpakutō, Hyōsube Ichibe'e only glanced at it, and waved his hand in his direction as if swatting a fly.
With a 'bang', Sasakibe was already rolling and falling in the center of the ruins, instantly losing consciousness.
As expected of you!
Sasakibe-kun, who only played high-end games!
Yamamoto's expression didn't even move when his chief disciple was knocked over in front of him. He still looked quietly at Hyōsube Ichibe'e.
"So, you... or the Spirit King, don't care who manages the Soul Society."
"Right?"
"Then why do you have to be my enemy?"
Yamamoto asked in a calm tone, looking directly into the other party's eyes.
Hyōsube scratched his bald head:
"This matter is a bit troublesome to talk about."
"Oh, right."
"Do you want to join the Spirit King's Palace too?"