Even the Nobles Have Their Own Skills
Shiraishi might appear docile and easygoing, but at heart, he was a man of action. He never procrastinated—if something needed doing, he did it immediately.
After filling his stomach and prying information from Kūkaku about the Tsunayashiro branch's estate, he headed straight for it, using his "E-stepping Slash" technique to close the distance.
Half an hour later, he crouched outside the branch family's lands.
From his vantage point, the entire residence came into view. Unlike the single mansion he had imagined, it was a sprawling estate—more like a small city encircled by wheat fields, stretching over dozens of square kilometers.
It wasn't just the Tsunayashiro branch that lived here. Retainers, guards, and farming families all made their homes within the estate's boundaries. The hierarchy was obvious at a glance: thatched huts along the outer ring, tiled houses and pavilions in the mid-section, and towers rising toward the noble core.
At the center stood a six-story compound. Its golden roof tiles caught the moonlight, each floor blazing with lamps—unlike the periphery, where farmers slept soundly and only starlight illuminated their huts.
That gilded tower could only belong to the branch head.
According to Kūkaku, however, things weren't so simple. The former head of this branch, Tsunayashiro Takehiko, had once dabbled in forbidden arts—seeking Hollow power. When discovered, he was stripped of his position and sentenced to the Maggot's Nest. Though later freed, his disgrace barred him from returning as head. His son had inherited the title, but the true authority still lay with Takehiko.
Which meant that sixth floor most likely housed him.
Shiraishi decided to start there.
He leapt from the cliffside, slashing downward to accelerate like a gust of wind, landing lightly and vaulting the outer wall. Instead of running across rooftops, he clung to the shadows beneath the eaves, mindful of the watchtowers dotting the inner rings.
He ghosted past the thatched huts, into the tiled sector where security tightened. Expanding his spiritual perception, he mapped out the guards' patrols in his head.
"The fun's gone," he muttered. "Feels like I'm just following waypoints on a map."
Still—better boredom than being surprised.
Scaling the wall between the mid and inner sectors, Shiraishi crept along the shadows.
Click.
He froze. Blue light erupted beneath his feet, forming a glowing square frame.
"A spirit particle trap…" he realized. He'd never seen one up close before.
When he tried to lift his foot, the ground clung to him like glue.
A bell tolled, and voices shouted through the compound:
"Thieves in the inner sector! Thieves in the inner sector!"
Reiatsu signatures surged from all directions.
Of course a noble family this powerful would maintain its own army. The Tsunayashiro branch trained loyal retainers as assassins and guards—fighters skilled in Zankensoki who, if not for their lack of Zanpakutō, could have served as officers in the Gotei 13.
From a watchtower, Kidō-wielding guards leveled their hands.
"Hadō no. 31: Shakkahō!"
"Hadō no. 33: Sōkatsui!"
Twin blasts of red and blue hurtled toward him.
"That's not fire at all," Shiraishi grumbled, recognizing the attacks as pure reiryoku constructs rather than elemental flame.
But arguing semantics wouldn't save him. He stomped, bursting the ground with reiatsu, and propelled himself forward in a flash. If he could break free of this perimeter, his ability to conceal reiatsu would hide him again.
Bang!
He slammed into an invisible wall. The air solidified around him, heavy, sluggish—slowing his movements.
"A barrier," he realized grimly. Four reiryoku signatures anchored it at the corners. Stronger than average foot soldiers, weaker than Fifth Seats.
Figures flitted toward him, unaffected by the barrier's weight. Their presence barely registered.
"One strike, one kill," Shiraishi muttered. "And disappear again."
But then a crushing reiatsu burst from the central compound—captain-class, unmistakable.
A chant rang out:
"Beast bones scattered everywhere! Crimson crystal and steel wheels! The wind roars, the sky still, the sound of spears striking fills the city! Hadō no. 63: Raikōhō!"
Golden lightning split the night, drowning stars and moon alike.
Shiraishi swung his sword. Wind roared up, forming a broad wall. The lightning struck—and dispersed like water into a river, vanishing harmlessly.
He used Steel Flash, his body flowing with the blade. In a blur, he pierced the kidney of the nearest guard and swatted him aside. No hesitation, no wasted movement.
But his goal wasn't slaughter. He had no intention of toppling the Tsunayashiro branch—not yet. Not until he understood Takehiko's connection to Aizen.
Best to retreat. Lose the glowing frame above his head. Sneak back later.
"After him! Don't let the intruder escape!"
"Bind him—Bakudō no. 30: Shitotsu Sansen!"
The shouts grew fainter as Shiraishi melted toward the periphery.
Meanwhile, within the golden tower, Tsunayashiro Takehiko leaned against the railing of the sixth floor balcony, watching the disturbance fade into the night.
"The actors haven't even arrived," he murmured. "No need to rush."