Help! I am bound to Aizen!-Chapter 324

Chapter 324

2-in-1 chapter:

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Seeing Aizen standing beside Kaelith, the assembled Captains froze.

They hardly knew this Vice‑Captain of the Fifth Division, save for the rumor that he was a mild‑mannered, “nice‑guy” type. To witness him now—aloof, commanding—was unprecedented.

Kensei let out a half‑laugh of disbelief.

“Aizen Sōsuke, you’re a vice‑captain. Where do you get the nerve? If the Captains can’t fix this mess, what makes you think you can?”

Aizen turned. An instant later, crushing spiritual pressure burst from him—

“Ugh—!”

Kensei was slammed to the floor before he could react. He flared his own Captain‑level reiatsu in reflex, yet it was swatted aside as if it were nothing. Eyes bulging, palms digging into the wood, he roared and tried to rise—only to be driven flat again in less than a heartbeat.

Feeling that weight, Rōjūrō gasped, “First‑class reiatsu…!”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Love Aikawa muttered, wiping cold sweat from his brow. In all Soul Society history, first‑class reiatsu was vanishingly rare—possessed only by Yamamoto and Kyōraku, as far as he knew. To see it radiating from a vice‑captain…

If Love was stunned, Shinji was outright rattled. He’d long suspected Aizen hid his true strength, but never this deep. First‑class? Was this man even human?

While effortlessly pinning Kensei, Aizen looked to Mayuri.

“Captain Kurotsuchi, have you nothing to add?”

Mayuri bared his teeth in annoyance, then turned to Yamamoto.

“Captain‑Commander, Aizen Sōsuke… possesses some talent. If he claims he can resolve this, he probably can.”

Even Yamamoto, ever composed, was surprised. Mayuri’s arrogance was legendary; for him to yield so readily spoke volumes.

Yamamoto studied Aizen in silence. A prodigy of vast ability who had chosen to remain quietly in a vice‑captain’s chair… not an ordinary man. Before every Captain present, he broke the stalemate with bold words, borrowed Mayuri’s authority to bolster credibility, and finally bared raw strength to drive the point home. No wonder his own troublesome protégé so often produced “mysterious” research—this man’s hand could not be far away.

The old Commander almost felt wistful; the younger generation overflowed with talent. Had Kaelith not been here, Yamamoto might have regarded Aizen with wary suspicion. Now, he felt little concern at all. He opened his mouth—

—but frowned, gaze sliding to a corner of the room. A shadow detached itself and stepped forward, chains of black iron jutting from chest and arms, links dangling as though tethered to some distant, unseen anchor.

“Well, well. All the Captains gathered—seems you understand the situation.” The newcomer smiled.

Chains aside, Kaelith recognized him at once.

“You again, Rensuke!”

“It’s Shinchira Renzosuke!” the man snapped—his dramatic entrance ruined.

He scowled at Kaelith. “So, you finally wear a haori? Eleventh Division suits a brute like you.”

“Excuse me?” Kaelith bristled. He’d only taken the Eleventh’s captaincy to fill a gap; its brawling culture had nothing to do with a refined gentleman such as himself. How dare Renzosuke slander him the moment he crawled out of Hell?

Yamamoto rested both hands atop his staff.

“Shinchira Renzosuke, state your purpose.”

“Simple.” Renzosuke lifted his chin. “I speak for Hell’s will. Surrender Kaelith to us, or the Soul Society will be annihilated.”

“Heh…” Yamamoto’s grin was almost nostalgic. How many centuries had passed since someone dared threaten him? The wooden staff shattered in his grip, revealing the zanpakutō within—but before he could draw, Kaelith moved.

With a righteous smile bordering on demonic, Kaelith flashed above Renzosuke and drove a fist straight down. Terrified, Renzosuke tried to draw his blade but he was too slow. The punch smashed into his skull, slamming him through the floorboards in a spray of blood.

Coughing crimson, he glared up in disbelief. “You bastard… how did you get this strong?”

“I didn’t. You just got weaker.”

“You—!” Rage twisted Renzosuke’s face—then abruptly shifted to a bloody grin. “It doesn’t matter. Kill me, Kaelith! Then you’ll taste true despair!”

“You mean you’ll resurrect in Hell and come back again?” Aizen asked, stepping beside Kaelith.

Renzosuke snorted; having his threat laid bare spoiled the drama. Aizen adjusted his glasses.

“If that’s your trump card, give it up.”

Renzosuke frowned—then jerked as a translucent barrier bloomed around him, sealing him in crystal light. The binding was impossibly strong.

“Since you revive endlessly, I won’t kill you,” Aizen said softly. “Rest easy—you’ll spend a very long time in my lab, helping us dissect the essence of Hell’s wardens and devise countermeasures. You were the perfect envoy.”

Renzosuke tried to shout, but the barrier’s pressure crushed even speech. A nagging déjà vu struck him—hadn’t this happened after Kaelith beat him the first time? Damn it… he couldn’t remember…

Moments later, Aizen had him neatly packaged. He turned to Kaelith.

“I’m bringing him back to the institute. Give me one day and I’ll produce something useful.”

Kaelith laughed. “Take three, five—whatever you need!”

Aizen’s smile mirrored old habits. The Captains exchanged looks: just how many times had these two run this routine?

When Aizen departed with his prize, Yamamoto spoke. “Hell has shown its hand. Now we decide our response. The Gotei 13 has stood unbowed a thousand years and will not bend today. Any objections?”

No one answered. Aizen’s brief display of power and plan, had shaken them all. If he truly could keep Hell in check, their path was clear.

Seeing unanimous resolve, Yamamoto nodded. “Then I proclaim it formally: War begins.”

***

Dong! Dong! Dong!

Alarm bells pealed through the Seireitei. Not since the rebellion had such a clarion sounded. In every street, squads of Shinigami rushed to posts.

Rōjūrō led Third Division troops toward their assigned sector, map in hand—and felt a chill. Third Division was to guard sectors C‑1 through C‑4 on the northern perimeter. Similar orders scattered the other Divisions: Fifth on the south, Sixth over the noble districts, Eighth defending vital stores and equipment…

Yet Eleventh Division stood out like a sore thumb.

Eleventh 1st Squad: sectors B‑1 through B‑7.

Eleventh 2nd Squad: B‑8 to C‑4.

Eleventh 3rd Squad: C‑5 to C‑10…

One Division covering more than half the entire Seireitei—and still fielding a reserve. To hold a sector, each squad needed a Captain‑class leader, and the scope depended on that leader’s strength. Rōjūrō, a Captain, had four minor sectors. Vice‑Captain Kenpachi Zaraki of the Eleventh commanded seven, many of higher importance.

Did the Captain‑Commander think Rōjūrō was inferior to a vice‑captain? It was hard not to feel slighted.

Once each Division reached its zone, they dug in—eating, sleeping, living on the line. The grim atmosphere left every resident soul on edge. Nobles shuttered estates, recalling guards and ronin from afar.

On the third day of this tense vigil, the upheaval came.

***

After a full day on watch, Madarame Ikkaku yawned. The enemy could strike anytime, but standing here forever was killing him. Maybe sneak off for a drink, then back on duty? The thought made his mouth water—then he imagined Captain Zaraki ripping off his scalp to decorate that monster chair of his. He shuddered, shoved the idea away, and looked up at the darkening sky. Almost dinner. Maybe he could sneak a sip or two then…

Huh?

Ikkaku looked up—and froze. The sky that had been merely dim seconds ago was now awash in blood‑red light. High overhead, a colossal crimson gate had materialised. Two immense skull reliefs on its surface slowly hauled the doors apart.

Murky red miasma poured out. Silhouettes stepped through, and—

Boom!

Spirit Pressure crashed over the Seireitei like a falling sea and a plummeting sky combined. Ikkaku’s eyes bulged.

“What the hell… is this pressure?!”

He flung an arm before his face. His shihakushō snapped and cracked in the gale, ready to tear.

“So this is today’s Seireitei, eh? Doesn’t look so different from back in the day.” The speaker was a bald, powerfully built man in glasses, peering down from the newly opened Gate of Hell.

“Idiot,” snorted a pink‑haired Shinigami with twin tails and an eyepatch, strolling up beside him. “How long do you think we’ve been dead? A few hundred—maybe a thousand—years is nothing to a Shinigami. Especially one as mighty as me.”

“Heh‑heh… I’d say things have changed plenty.”

A wizened old man leaned on his cane, squinting toward the ground. “If I’m not mistaken, that over there is young Yamamoto. Once so full of vigor, and now he’s as wrinkled as I am—that’s change enough, wouldn’t you say?”

“Who cares about you old geezers?” the twin‑tailed woman snapped.

A heavyset Shinigami with orange markings on his cheeks came forward, rubbing his chin. “Speaking of changes… Lady Yachiru looks exactly the same.”

“…True,” the woman admitted.

The old man’s face stiffened. “In‑indeed…”

The group exchanged glances and wisely dropped the subject.

A broad‑shouldered man with short brown curls and blue hand‑guards sauntered up. “Beautiful… I thought the modern Gotei had lost all artistry, but such splendid Spirit Pressure! Seems coming back wasn’t pointless after all.”

“Captain Obana, if you’re wanting surprises,” said a bespectacled, youthful‑looking woman as she adjusted her glasses, her gaze drifting to the distant figure seated upon a fur‑covered throne, “you won’t be disappointed.”

Obana followed Katori Batsu’unsai’s eyes. The man on the throne—Kaelith—grinned right back.

“Oho… a sharp little fellow,” Obana chuckled.

A grey‑haired man wandered over, looking half‑asleep. “You’re all lively… I’m not. After muddling through centuries, I can barely remember who I am.”

The twin‑tailed woman snorted, hands on hips. “Speak for yourself. Even after thousands—tens of thousands—of years, I’d never lose myself.” fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm

“That does sound like you,” the grey‑haired man sighed.

On the ground below, Yamamoto planted both hands on his cane and stared upward as the figures emerged. Beside him, Chōjirō could not help whispering, “They really are the ones, Genryūsai‑sama.”

Yamamoto exhaled. “Meeting old comrades… complicated feelings.”

“You needn’t burden yourself,” Chōjirō said quietly. “I’ve watched you every step of the way, sir. You owe no one a thing. Though we must cross blades, that’s Hell’s will, not anyone’s personal wish.”

Yamamoto glanced at his normally taciturn lieutenant—since when had Chōjirō grown so eloquent? Guessing the thought, Chōjirō straightened his uniform and smiled. “I learned it watching you and Kaelith, sir.”

“Hmph.” Yamamoto looked away. One by one, everyone was catching that fool’s contagion.

A silver‑haired, dark‑skinned man wrapped in an orange scarf strode from the gate, amplifying his voice with reiatsu. “Ahem—can everyone hear me? I am Shihōin Chika, Captain of the Second Division! Since Yamamoto of First Division is absent, I’ll act as leader!”

Yamamoto’s brow twitched. Absent, am I? He was the living one here; the rabble above were all dead—yet they spoke as though he were the ghost.

Chaos erupted overhead.

“Idiot Chika, who made you leader?!”

“Right! Genryūsai may be gone, but I’m still here!”

“Heh‑heh. When you pups were still wetting the streets, this old man had already mastered Bankai—the leader is clearly me!”

“Nonsense—the leader’s me!”

The seemingly united front verged on collapse—until a new voice rang out: “Friends! With a formidable enemy before us, now is no time for infighting. How about this? We battle each other, and whoever’s left standing becomes the boss. Agreed?”

Chika nodded. “Works for me.”

Twin‑tails grinned. “Sounds fun!”

Obana opened his mouth—then froze. Wait… whose voice was that? He turned toward the sound—and found someone had dragged a chair over and seated himself among them.

“What that's—Kaelith!”

Seated on his fur‑draped throne, foot propped on a platform of solid reishi, Kaelith crossed one leg over the other.

“Kaelith?”

“No, no—address me properly.” He flashed a dazzling smile at the stunned First‑Generation Captains. “I am the peerless prodigy, beacon of beauty, brilliance incarnate, and the mightiest Captain the Soul Society has ever seen—Kaelith Yurei!"

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