On the day the blade was finished, rain fell over the entire village.
Rain fell over the entire world.
The Demon Blade, the Amabuki family's anguished wish of a thousand years, was an accursed thing said to cut down any living being, inflict wounds that could never heal, and prevent its enemies from using cursed energy.
"Well? Is this blade to your liking?"
The young bladesmith asked.
"It's wonderful."
Isshin accepted the blade with both hands, then unfastened the old sword at his waist and handed it to Xia Xia.
"Here's your deposit. Keep it safe. From today on, you owe me nothing. I'm the one who still owes you for forging this blade."
"If I come back alive tomorrow, I'll take you to see Kyoto, to see the city under the shogunate's rule."
"Amabuki. That's the home we share."
Xia Xia said nothing. He stood there like a block of wood. The forge had gone cold, but he felt an ache in his heart, and even his breathing seemed to come up half a breath short.
He seemed to be talking to himself:
"Do you have to go find that man?"
"Even if you'll probably die?"
The words sounded weak, unlike anything Xia Xia would normally say, with a childish naïveté to them.
"I have no choice-it's a swordsman's fate."
Isshin shook his head and rested a hand on his shoulder.
Jujutsu sorcerers had no rule that demanded they march to their deaths, but swordsmen, samurai, and ronin did. If they never tried to scale the summit, even the finest blades would grow dull with time.
Fearing death was only human, but it would leave a man unable to advance another inch.
Isshin pointed at the maple tree outside the window.
"Look. A human life is like a maple leaf. It's most brilliant when it turns orange-red. If you don't seek meaning then, all that remains is decay and withering."
"The maple leaves have turned red. It's time for me to go, too."
"Xia Xia, does this blade have a name?"
The swordsman could hardly bear to let go of his newly acquired masterpiece.
"It does. Isshin. Its name is Isshin, too."
Xia Xia turned his back on him and said nothing more. In the shadows, the swordsman couldn't make out the boy's expression.
"Really? Naming a blade after its wielder is a terrible omen among swordsmen. It sounds like a relic of the dead, however you look at it."
Isshin was always serious about the strangest things, but none of those words stuck with Xia Xia.
"Is that so? Then try not to die."
The boy merely added those words in a flat voice.
Later, Xia Xia realized those might be the words he most regretted saying in his entire life.
He should have hurled some vicious curses instead, cursed that damned fool for being so stubborn, cursed the bastard who ate and drank at his house for free and forced him to practice swordsmanship and forging every day.
Pah. Wouldn't it be a good thing if that bastard died?
Kyoto? To hell with their shared hometown. He, Xia Xia, had no desire to go. If he really got the chance, though, he wouldn't mind taking a blade there and making some shocking headlines, calling over those useless, fat-bellied shogunate lords and bleeding those exalted figures like pigs slaughtered for New Year's.
As for Isshin, that idiot had better not expect Xia Xia to collect his corpse. He'd better hope Hajime Kashimo showed enough mercy tomorrow to leave his body intact, instead of smashing him into minced flesh and bloody mist and leaving Xia Xia to piece him back together...
The swordsman couldn't hear what Xia Xia was thinking.
He simply took every scrap of silver from the belongings he had brought, set them on the table, counted them carefully, and packed them into a cloth pouch, leaving it all for the boy.
Isshin left the room and headed outside.
What was he going to do?
Travel far away to a duel before the shogun that would surely end in his death.
He looked back several times, but kept walking, as though he had made up his mind about something.
He didn't believe he would lose, yet he had prepared for every possibility of defeat. Never mind. A ronin needed no last words.
Xia Xia, if we're friends, if you're really willing to call an idiot like me your big brother, don't follow me tomorrow.
That man isn't someone you can face yet.
Don't worry. The Thunder God has always been an honorable man. He has a warrior's pride and mercy. If I should lose and there's still a body left, he'll have someone bring me home-just like your father, Amabuki Dōkō.
When that time comes...
"When that time comes..."
Xia Xia reached down and picked up the broken blade.
He lifted the corpse that still held a trace of warmth.
The blade had broken, and its wielder had died.
Death wiped the debt clean.
How could this happen? Weren't idiots like him supposed to be lucky? How could someone so lucky just die like this?
He could use Domain Expansion and Reverse Cursed Technique. How could he have been utterly helpless, killed by Hajime Kashimo like a stray dog in just a few exchanges?
Right. He'd known all along that bastard was boasting.
Grade 1 Jujutsu Sorcerer, a genius capable of Domain Expansion, a swordsman renowned even in Kyoto-it was all a lie, all meaningless titles. The man was just an ordinary mediocrity.
One fight with Hajime Kashimo, and the truth came out.
He'd died so abruptly, with not an ounce more dignity than a stray dog.
But... why...
Hajime Kashimo.
You killed my father, destroyed my family, and left my mother to waste away in grief. None of that matters.
You killed Isshin and broke the first blade I ever forged, the blade I treasured like my own child, then dumped them in the courtyard like garbage. That's fine, too.
But, Hajime Kashimo...
How does someone as empty as you, someone with nothing but overwhelming strength, who understands nothing of love or dreams, get to live so carelessly?
I'll never understand you after all.
Xia Xia had come prepared.
Two blades were already strapped to his back, two Amabuki Demon Blades forged from the remains of jujutsu sorcerers.
Those two blades were named Amabuki Dōkō and Yusheng Tan, after Xia Xia's father and mother. His parents were keeping him company-literally. This most filial of sons had dug up both their graves.
The filial devotion of an Amabuki bladesmith moved heaven and earth.
The Demon Blade Same Light granted Xia Xia speed as swift as the wind. That had been his father's innate cursed technique.
The Demon Blade Clouded allowed his body to remain partially invisible while releasing cursed energy. That had been his mother's innate cursed technique.
Soon, Xia Xia would have a third blade.
The ronin's old sword, the broken Demon Blade Isshin lying on the ground, and the still-warm corpse of a Grade 1 Jujutsu Sorcerer-all these things, steeped in residual cursed energy, would make materials far superior to those of the first two Demon Blades.
Innate Cursed Technique: Demon-Repelling Edge.
They were melting, boiling, condensing in the air, thirsting for blood-the blood of their creator, the blood of an Amabuki bladesmith.
Xia Xia slit his wrist and let his blood nourish the blade blank as it slowly cooled and took shape. His movements were practiced; forging the first two Demon Blades had already given him experience.
The blade was complete. The broken sword had been reforged, yet it still retained the patterns of its fracture. Blood-red cursed energy flowed over it, eerily sinister.
"Welcome back, Isshin."
Xia Xia put away the third blade. He had already prepared a scabbard for it. How amusing. He had actually expected Isshin to die all along, making every preparation to inherit everything he left behind. Had even he believed Isshin couldn't win?
It doesn't matter. Forget it.
Xia Xia, who used people as materials and forged blades from corpses, certainly deserved to die. But here and now, someone else deserved death. Wouldn't you agree, Hajime Kashimo?
In the courtyard, the tea in the cup was still warm.
Drink it, Hajime Kashimo. After a fight that didn't even qualify as a warm-up, you must be irritated enough to have worked up a thirst.
There was no poison, no substance the world could call poisonous, so he couldn't detect a thing. The victorious hero sat down without a care, having slain his feeble challenger before the tea had even cooled.
He drank it, drank it all. Finding it insufficient, he picked up the teapot and poured another cup.
What a shame, Hajime Kashimo.
You should have been a little more careful, a little more cautious, and abandoned that boring warrior's pride and dignity. A challenge might honor a code, but revenge killing won't. And a shameless, despicable bastard like me certainly won't.
Do you think I'm despicable?
Those words can serve as your epitaph.
Before you continue