Chapter 2: I'm in Charge
After running several hundred meters, the four men were panting heavily, their breaths ragged and uneven, but Nakatomi Ling was still three or four meters ahead, his steps unsteady yet persistent.
Ling, who had been running the whole way, had fear in his eyes. He was, after all, just an ordinary soul in the outer districts of Rukongai, afraid of death too, but…
'Kill them! Kill them! Kill them…'
Deep within Nakatomi Ling's soul, a discordant voice echoed. It wasn't his own; it seemed to be the lingering resentment of the boy who had been hacked to death simply for stealing persimmons.
His consciousness had long since faded, but fragments of will and hatred remained, fusing with Nakatomi Ling's own spirit. And Ling grew angrier the more he thought about it; those three bastards had not only chased him—they even tried to strip him of his Shihakushō.
'That's right… why should I be afraid of these three trash who only prey on the weak? I even have a blade—an Asauchi…'
Affected by that resentment, Nakatomi Ling suddenly stopped, turned, and unleashed a horizontal slash using the standard Shinigami weapon, the Asauchi. The three men chasing him never expected that this seemingly cowardly brat would dare to fight back.
"Aaaaah! You wretched brat!"
The man with the wooden stick failed to react in time and was slashed across the chest, the dull blade tearing into his flesh. He screamed in agony, stumbling backward, while the other two looked on in disbelief.
Nakatomi Ling pulled out a paper-wrapped, foul-smelling rice ball from his pocket—the last of what he had looted—and swallowed it whole without hesitation. His eyes turned fierce as he roared, "Then come on!"
The three men's expressions twisted. This kid really did have food on him—and he dared to eat it right in front of them.
"You bastard! You said you had no food, and now you eat it in front of us… Kill him!"
The man with the stick suppressed his pain, his face contorting with killing intent. Though crude, a faint trace of Reiatsu began to leak from his body. After a signal, he thrust his long wooden spear forward. The other two, their eyes bloodshot from hunger, lunged together.
Nakatomi Ling raised his Asauchi, using the instinctive movements inherited from his merged soul to deflect the incoming strike, then swung toward the skinny man's neck. The man ducked in panic, narrowly avoiding decapitation.
At the same time, the man on the left seized the opening and stabbed forward with his dagger, but Nakatomi Ling twisted his body and slashed outward, forcing the attacker to retreat.
However, the third man—the one wielding a broken blade—was more experienced. Taking advantage of Nakatomi Ling's exposed back, he swung his damaged weapon, which still carried a trace of Reiryoku.
"Ugh!!!"
The broken blade cut into Nakatomi Ling's back, causing him to cry out in pain. He spun around instantly and retaliated with two rapid slashes, but the attacker had already retreated, maintaining distance.
"Hehehehe…"
"You're finished, brat."
"At least twenty wandering souls with awakened spiritual power have died at the hands of the Three Heroes of Tianxiong!"
The three skinny men regrouped, standing side by side, sneering. In this remote region of Rukongai, they had dominated a village of fewer than a hundred souls for months.
When they encountered lone souls with awakened Reiryoku, they would kill them and seize their food. When facing groups or stronger opponents, they hid like rats until danger passed.
"The Skinny Three Heroes? Enough of that nonsense! Today I'll send you three fake heroes back into the cycle of reincarnation!"
Nakatomi Ling, clutching his bleeding back, felt something change within him. A faint crimson glow flickered across his body, his spiritual energy surging uncontrollably as his anger peaked.
"Damn it… this feeling…"
"Is this… Reiatsu?"
"How can this brat release such pressure?!"
The sudden burst of Reiatsu caused the three men to stiffen in shock. Though weak compared to true Shinigami, it was overwhelming for them.
"So fast!"
Before they could react, Nakatomi Ling moved.
Driven by instinct and rage, his speed far exceeded before. He closed the distance instantly and slashed the man with the wooden stick across the throat. Before the man could even scream, Nakatomi Ling pivoted and drove his blade into the abdomen of the dagger wielder.
"Damn it!"
The last man, gripping his broken sword, roared as he gathered all his remaining Reiryoku into his weapon. Among the three, his spiritual power was the strongest—otherwise, he wouldn't have survived this long in Rukongai.
Their blades clashed repeatedly. Though Nakatomi Ling lacked technique, his raw spiritual power now surpassed his opponent's.
"Die!"
Seeing an opening, the man with the broken sword thrust forward viciously, aiming straight for Nakatomi Ling's chest.
"Ugh!"
Nakatomi Ling screamed, but in that instant, he realized the strike had missed his heart and only pierced his ribs. Gritting his teeth, he ignored the pain and swung his blade with all his strength toward the man's neck.
The strike landed.
Huff… huff… huff…
"Ah, you bastard… it hurts so much!"
As soon as the battle ended, Nakatomi Ling collapsed to the ground, panting heavily and clutching his wounds. He didn't dare lie down; the injury on his back still bled, and his chest throbbed with every breath.
He looked at the three corpses before him, his expression a mix of fear, anger, and exhilaration. These three had preyed on the weak for months—this outcome was only fitting.
Perhaps due to witnessing multiple deaths already, combined with the lingering influence of the original Ling's memories, Nakatomi Ling didn't feel repulsed by killing. Instead, he felt an unsettling sense of relief.
Yes… relief.
The resentment that had lingered within him was gone.
At that moment, the final fragments of the original soul fully merged into Nakatomi Ling's being, no longer resisting. Two souls became one, strengthening his spiritual foundation.
With an already awakened Reiryoku now amplified, his potential had increased significantly.
"Really tired… so this is what it feels like to release spiritual power… I need to treat my wounds first…"
Nakatomi Ling forced himself to stand. Though not fatal, his injuries could worsen if left untreated. In Soul Society, even souls could die from accumulated damage or spiritual exhaustion.
From the inherited memories, Nakatomi Ling knew that countless thugs like these existed throughout Rukongai, occupying villages far from the Seireitei. Shinigami patrols rarely reached these remote districts.
So, Nakatomi Ling made a decision.
He would take control of this village.
When the battle had started, every resident had shut their doors and hidden, proving that there were no stronger individuals nearby—only weak souls and survivors.
And from today onward…
He would be the one in charge.
Nakatomi Ling, carrying his bloodstained Asauchi, staggered into the nameless village. The once plain blade now carried traces of dried spiritual blood, and his torn Shihakushō clung tightly to his wounded body. He decided to rest here before leaving. Seeing him return, many villagers cautiously peeked out from broken windows and cracked doors to observe the situation.
The young man who had fled earlier had returned, his blade stained with blood and his body covered in wounds. According to some elderly souls who had lived in this part of Rukongai for over a decade, the three tyrants who ruled this place were probably dead.
However, curiosity still drove a few bold individuals. They secretly followed the path Nakatomi Ling had come from to confirm the situation. When they saw the three corpses lying cold on the ground, their faces turned pale, and they immediately fled back in terror…
"From today onwards, this village is mine to call the shots!"
The pale-faced Nakatomi Ling roared at the villagers who had poked their heads out, his voice carrying a faint trace of Reiatsu that made ordinary souls instinctively tremble. Then, in a cold tone, he continued, "Where did those three guys live before? That place belongs to me now."
"M-Sir, this way please!"
A young man dressed in worn blue cloth, with a long, horse-like face, stepped forward nervously. His body showed almost no fluctuation of Reiryoku, marking him as one of the countless powerless souls. He bowed repeatedly as he spoke, hoping to curry favor with Nakatomi Ling so that he would not harm his family—and perhaps even provide protection.
He had always survived like this; not only himself, but he had also encouraged other villagers to do the same.
For these small-time rulers in the outer districts, as long as they didn't cross certain lines, no villager ever dared to rebel. Mainly because they couldn't resist—there were too many variables. One tyrant might die today, and another wandering soul with awakened spiritual power could arrive tomorrow.
The only option was submission—appeasing whoever held power, hoping they would one day grow tired of the barren village and leave on their own.
…
A locked wooden hut served as the residence of the three dead men. The structure was crude, barely able to withstand wind and rain. Inside were only two broken beds, some scattered belongings, a hanging iron pot, and a few sets of worn bowls and chopsticks.
"You can go now!"
"Uh, yes… sir, my name is Zaojian. If you need anything, just call me."
"Bring me some clean water!"
"Yes!"
Nakatomi Ling glanced at the bowing Zaojian and issued orders without hesitation. In this lawless part of Rukongai, politeness meant nothing—strength alone defined authority. Zaojian hurried off immediately.
Enduring both exhaustion and pain, Nakatomi Ling boiled water in the iron pot. He tore several strips from old cloth, boiled them to sterilize them using the hot water, then dried them before wrapping his wounds carefully. Among the scattered belongings, he found a few small bottles of crude medicinal powder—likely stolen from other wandering souls—and applied them to his injuries.
After treating himself, he warned Zaojian not to disturb him under any circumstances, then collapsed onto the rough bed and fell into a deep sleep.
…
The next morning, Nakatomi Ling woke up with a gnawing hunger.
His Reiryoku had recovered somewhat after rest, but his wounds were far from healed. In the world of souls, injuries to the spirit body directly affected one's spiritual power.
As long as the wounds remained open, his Reiryoku would instinctively circulate around the damaged areas, forming a weak layer of Reiatsu to suppress bleeding and stabilize his condition.
Spiritual power released externally becomes Reiatsu, which can exert pressure or be used offensively. The stronger the Reiatsu, the denser the Reiryoku within the body. When the soul body is damaged, both Reiryoku and Reiatsu are weakened.
Only after complete recovery would the suppressed energy return to circulation, allowing his strength to fully recover.
Nakatomi Ling called Zaojian and asked about food. This immediately stumped him; as a soul without spiritual power, Zaojian did not require food and had no idea where to find any.
With no other choice, Nakatomi Ling ordered Zaojian to gather a few younger villagers and search the surrounding area. Meanwhile, Nakatomi Ling decided to act himself.
After asking about the nearest water source, he grabbed the iron pot and headed out.
Less than two hundred meters from the village, a narrow stream flowed quietly through the land, its depth barely reaching ten centimeters. The water was clear enough to reveal small fish and shrimp darting within.
Nakatomi Ling's eyes lit up instantly.
Without hesitation, he began using mud and stones to block part of the stream, carving out a narrow channel several meters long to redirect the flow of water. As the water level dropped in one section, the trapped fish and shrimp became easy to catch…
An hour later, Nakatomi Ling had gathered all the fish into the pot.
"Haha, at least two bowls' worth… enough for a proper meal."
A rare smile appeared on his face. Memories surfaced faintly—before his sudden death in his previous life, he had often caught fish in small streams like this, frying them into simple but delicious meals.
"Hey, you brat, it was you who muddied the water!"
Just as Nakatomi Ling was savoring the thought of food, a bald, burly man approached from downstream, his expression filled with anger.
"This stream isn't yours to do whatever you want with."
Nakatomi Ling glanced at the man without any friendliness. Instead, he lazily tilted his head upward, then looked down at him with cold indifference.
"You dare to act so arrogantly alone?"
The bald man's eyes shifted left and right, scanning the surroundings. Clearly, he was checking whether Nakatomi Ling had companions nearby.
In truth, he had already noticed the fish and shrimp in Nakatomi Ling's pot and intended to seize them. However, seeing the blade at Nakatomi Ling's waist—an Asauchi—he hesitated slightly.
If there were others hiding nearby, he might not win alone.
As the burly man observed his surroundings, Nakatomi Ling also sized him up carefully. His gaze quickly landed on several round bulges hanging from the man's waist pouch…
Fruit.
Real, edible fruit.
'Food… should I take it… or take it?'
Nakatomi Ling said nothing. But the moment he confirmed it was food, his eyes changed—cold, sharp, and filled with desire.
The bald man, having confirmed no one else was present, also revealed a sinister smile. He pulled out a small sickle from his waist, gripping it tightly.
'Those fish are mine!'
Nakatomi Ling suddenly chuckled, then casually tossed the pot toward the man.
Instinctively, the bald man's attention shifted to the flying pot—
And that single moment sealed his fate.
Nakatomi Ling's body moved instantly, his Reiryoku surging through his limbs. Drawing his blade in one smooth motion, he closed the distance in a heartbeat and struck.
The clash between two lone wolves ended almost instantly.
Nakatomi Ling had won.