Dark red powder trickled between his fingers, pattering onto the stone slabs.
Tetsuji Kawahara swallowed with difficulty.
His mouth hung open, refusing to close. His grandfather's generation had dug that ore from a thousand meters underground, and three generations had revered it. Even the village's finest swordsmith could hammer it all day with a sledgehammer and leave only a shallow mark on its surface.
Yaha casually dusted off his palms.
Dark red dust scattered in the sunlight.
"Got anything harder?"
It wasn't a question. It was an order.
Tetsuji Kawahara's knees buckled, and he nearly dropped to the ground.
He clenched his back teeth and forced his spine straight, his voice trembling. "Yes... one piece. In the forbidden vault at the deepest level. Meteoric iron sealed away three hundred years ago. No one has ever managed to leave a mark on it."
"Lead the way."
Yaha strode forward.
At a bend in the corridor, a figure abruptly ducked back.
The movement was too hurried. Her shoulder struck a wooden pillar with a dull thud.
Mitsuri Kanroji clutched her shoulder, pressing herself behind the pillar. Her blush stretched from her ears all the way down her neck.
Her breathing had fallen into complete disarray.
The scene she had just witnessed replayed in her mind. His black haori hung half open, revealing the firm contours of his chest below his collarbones. Dark gray cursed markings spread along the side of his neck like some dangerous totem.
Two fingers had pinched the piece of god iron that hadn't budged even under her strongest slashes, then gently closed.
It shattered.
More casually than crushing a stale, crumbly biscuit.
Mitsuri Kanroji covered her face with both hands, a pair of overly bright pale green eyes peeking between her fingers.
So strong.
Her instincts as a