A full month passed before the swords were finally finished.
For Kanetsugu, it had been a month of sleepless nights, aching hands, and a forge that rarely cooled. The shrine grounds had become his temporary workshop, Sadayuki allowing him to use a small clearing not far from the buildings where the smoke of a forge would not disturb the sacred space.
Even from the shrine steps, one could hear it some nights.
The steady rhythm of hammer striking steel.
Clang…
Clang…
Clang…
The sound echoed through the forest like a heartbeat.
Four swords were made.
Not two.
Four.
The reason for that had started with a surprisingly stubborn argument.
Kanetsugu had originally planned to forge two blades from the finest stone alone. It was an old tradition among smiths—when one discovered extraordinary ore, two blades were made from it so the smith could compare them. Subtle differences in folding, tempering, or structure would reveal which blade carried the stronger spirit.
To a smith, it was a sacred method.
Jinx, however, disagreed.
Entirely.
"You are diluting the sword," Jinx had said in his usual calm, monotone voice as he watched Kanetsugu prepare the ore.
Kanetsugu blinked.
"…Diluting it?"
"Yes."
The young blacksmith rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"My young master, with respect, this is a traditional forging method."
Jinx stared at him.
"Have you ever worked with ore like this before?"
Kanetsugu opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
"…No."
"Then how can you say your tradition applies to something you have never seen?"
Kanetsugu froze.
The forge crackled softly between them.
Jinx continued speaking with the exact same emotionless tone.
"If the material is unknown, applying standard methods is simply guessing."
Kanetsugu's shoulders slumped slightly.
He had just lost an argument about swordsmithing…
To a five-year-old child.
A five-year-old child who knew absolutely nothing about smithing.
It stung.
Quite a lot.
Seeing the poor man standing there looking like his soul had just left his body, Jinx tilted his head slightly.
Then he reached into the small cloth pouch he carried.
He pulled out another of the brightest stones.
And another lesser one.
Jinx placed both into Kanetsugu's hands.
"You may forge two more swords," he said calmly.
Kanetsugu blinked.
"The blade made from the brighter stone… I do not particularly care about."
He pointed at the other.
"But that one is for my sibling."
Kanetsugu froze.
Behind them, Kikyo and Sadayuki both went completely still.
Slowly…
Very slowly…
They turned toward their son.
Both of them were blushing.
"…Jinx," Kikyo said carefully. "How did you know that?"
Jinx looked up at them.
"The two of you are the least subtle people alive when it comes to nighttime activities."
Silence.
Kanetsugu choked on air.
Sadayuki's face turned red instantly.
Kikyo covered her mouth in shock.
Jinx continued speaking calmly, completely unaware that normal children did not say things like this.
"Also, I possess a sixth sense when it comes to my mother."
Kikyo blinked.
"I can always tell when she is thinking something," Jinx added.
He tilted his head slightly.
"Or when she is lying to me."
Kikyo slowly looked away.
Sadayuki coughed awkwardly.
Kanetsugu decided it would be very wise not to involve himself in this particular family discussion.
Instead he looked down at the stones in his hands.
Four blades.
Four chances to create something worthy of legend.
And for the first time in his life as a wandering smith, Gorō Nyūdō Kanetsugu felt something very strange stirring in his chest.
Excitement.
Not the loud kind he usually showed.
Something quieter.
Because the ore resting in his hands did not simply feel rare.
It felt…
Alive.
Jinx decided very early on that he would watch the entire forging process.
At first, Kanetsugu didn't particularly mind. In fact, he was almost pleased. Most children lost interest the moment sparks started flying or the hammering became repetitive, but Jinx stayed. He would sit nearby with Kon curled around his shoulders, his star-filled eyes quietly observing every movement the blacksmith made.
For the first few days, the silence was almost comfortable.
Kanetsugu worked the forge, heating the strange ore slowly and carefully, folding and shaping the metal with patient precision. Each strike of the hammer echoed through the clearing while Jinx watched from a nearby stone, occasionally leaning his chin into his hand as if the whole thing were mildly entertaining.
But eventually…
Jinx started talking.
"Your hammer angle is slightly off."
Kanetsugu paused.
"…It is not."
"It is."
The smith ignored him and continued.
A few minutes later—
"You wasted that strike."
Kanetsugu's eyebrow twitched.
"Your folding pattern is uneven."
Another twitch.
"You are using more effort than necessary."
Kanetsugu stopped hammering.
Slowly, he turned his head toward the boy.
"Jinx-kun," he said carefully, "for how many years have you studied the craft of swordsmithing?"
"None."
Kanetsugu nodded slowly.
"Then perhaps—"
"The metal is unhappy."
Kanetsugu blinked.
"…Excuse me?"
Jinx pointed lazily at the heated steel.
"You are not being efficient."
The blacksmith clenched his jaw.
For the next hour, Jinx continued calmly pointing out every small inefficiency he noticed. None of his criticisms were particularly wrong—but they were coming from someone who had never touched a forge in his life.
Eventually Kanetsugu snapped.
"I am aware of my own process!" he barked, slamming the hammer down on the anvil.
Jinx blinked slowly.
Then Kanetsugu leaned forward, pointing the hammer accusingly.
"And for the record, young master, I take great pride in my craft!"
Jinx tilted his head.
"That is the problem."
Kanetsugu froze.
"…What?"
"You are not putting your heart into it."
The words landed like a thrown stone.
Kanetsugu's eyes widened in genuine offense.
"How dare you!" he shouted. "To accuse a smith of such a crime is an insult to my craft and an offense to the gods themselves!"
Jinx stared at him calmly.
Then he pointed toward the shrine buildings visible through the trees.
"You should remember where you are, Kanetsugu."
The blacksmith hesitated.
"This is a place of worship," Jinx continued. "Everything done here should honor the gods. That includes your forging."
Kanetsugu opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
For a moment the clearing was silent except for the crackling of the forge.
Jinx suddenly hummed softly.
"I have an idea."
Kanetsugu folded his arms.
"…I am listening."
Jinx looked at him.
"Can you sculpt?"
Kanetsugu straightened immediately, pride flaring again.
"Of course I can sculpt!" he said indignantly. "I am Kanetsugu! Anything related to craftsmanship falls within my domain!"
Jinx nodded.
"Good."
Then he pointed toward the shrine grounds.
"Recreate what you remember of the gods."
Kanetsugu frowned.
"…Why?"
Jinx shrugged lazily.
"You will see."
The request sounded strange.
But Kanetsugu had already been challenged once.
There was no way he was refusing now.
So he worked.
For three days.
Stone and wood replaced steel in his hands as he carved figure after figure beneath the trees. Chips scattered across the ground while Jinx occasionally wandered past to observe his progress with the same quiet attention he gave the forge.
By the end of the third day, more than a dozen sculptures stood around the clearing.
Statues of the kami.
Amaterasu.
Susanoo.
Inari with fox spirits gathered around the deity's feet.
Even darker figures appeared among them—Yamato no Orochi coiled in carved fury, Enma seated in judgment upon his throne of the underworld, and the primordial pair Izanagi and Izanami standing together as the creators of the world.
There were others as well.
Jinx was far too lazy to name them all.
Kanetsugu stepped back to admire his work, wiping sweat from his brow.
"…Well?" he asked.
Jinx studied the statues quietly.
Then he nodded once.
"A god's blessing would strengthen any weapon."
Kanetsugu tilted his head slightly.
"And?"
Jinx gestured toward the forge.
"This ore feels… divine."
Kanetsugu looked down at the strange metal resting beside the anvil.
"That it does."
"So if you forge with your entire heart… and do so beneath the eyes of the gods…"
The boy shrugged.
"…Perhaps they will bless your blades."
Kanetsugu fell silent.
The idea slowly sank in.
Then his eyes lit up.
"…That…"
He looked at the statues again.
"…that might actually work."
Jinx opened his mouth to say something else.
Then suddenly—
He tipped sideways.
And collapsed onto the ground.
Kanetsugu panicked instantly.
"Jinx-kun!"
He rushed forward, kneeling beside the boy.
"Are you injured?!"
At that moment Kikyo happened to walk past the clearing.
She glanced down once.
"Oh, that."
Kanetsugu stared at her.
"…That?"
"Yes," Kikyo said calmly. "He does that."
Kanetsugu looked back at Jinx, who was now lying on his back staring lazily at the sky.
"…Does what?"
Kikyo waved a hand dismissively.
"When he uses too much energy, he becomes tired."
Kanetsugu blinked.
"But he has been sitting still!"
Kikyo shrugged.
"He is very lazy."
Jinx raised one hand weakly.
"…Talking too much counts."
Kanetsugu stared at him in disbelief.
"You collapsed… from talking?"
"Yes."
Jinx closed his eyes.
"…Wake me when the swords are finished."
Kon curled up beside him.
Kikyo sighed softly.
"See?" she said to Kanetsugu. "Lazy."
While Jinx slept beneath the shade of the trees, Kanetsugu sat beside the cooling forge with his arms resting across his knees, staring quietly into the coals. The steady crackling of the fire and the distant rustle of leaves were the only sounds in the clearing. Normally the forge was a place where his thoughts felt sharp and focused, but today his mind wandered in circles.
In the span of a single week, the boy had shaken the foundations of everything Kanetsugu believed about the world.
He had grown up in the mountains under the tutelage of a stubborn old smith who believed only in steel, sweat, and skill. The world, his teacher had always said, was simple: metal had properties, fire had rules, and a sword's spirit came only from the craftsman who forged it.
Jujutsu sorcerers were just stories told by traveling merchants. Yokai were superstition meant to scare children.
At least… that was what Kanetsugu had believed.
Then he had watched a five-year-old child casually part a pond with a flick of his hand.
Kanetsugu exhaled slowly.
If that boy's power was real… then the rest of the world might be as well.
His gaze drifted toward the statues he had carved over the past few days. The figures of the kami stood quietly around the clearing now, their forms lit softly by the forge's fading glow. Izanagi and Izanami stood side by side near the edge of the trees. Enma sat upon his carved throne with stern authority. Yamata no Orochi coiled in frozen fury behind them.
Kanetsugu studied them carefully.
Jinx's suggestion had merit.
A shrine was a place where the presence of the gods was strongest. Offerings, prayers, reverence—these places were built so that the kami might look down upon the mortal world more closely.
If blessings from the divine truly existed, then forging the blades beneath their gaze might change everything.
But that thought led Kanetsugu to a deeper problem.
Which gods should bless the swords?
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
Normally a sword was made for a specific person. A good craftsman studied the future wielder's personality, temperament, and spirit. The blade would then be shaped in a way that resonated with that person.
But Kanetsugu knew something most warriors never considered.
A sword rarely belonged to one person forever.
Even the greatest warriors eventually died. Sometimes in battle. Sometimes in old age. Sometimes the blade was passed down to children or sold to strangers. A sword that existed long enough would pass through many hands.
Kanetsugu had a strong feeling that these blades—whatever they became—would not be ordinary weapons.
If the spirit of the sword did not align with its wielder…
The blade might reject them.
He glanced toward the forge again.
The designs Jinx had requested still baffled him.
Two of the blades lacked guards entirely—no protection for the wielder's hands. In any other situation Kanetsugu would have refused to make such a weapon outright, but something about the boy's strange instincts had convinced him to try.
Jinx's mind worked in ways Kanetsugu still didn't understand.
He chuckled quietly to himself.
"If that boy were not so divinely lazy," he muttered, "he might conquer the world."
With a quiet sigh, Kanetsugu rose to his feet. If he wanted answers, there were only two people who might have them.
A short walk later he found Sadayuki and Kikyo sitting together near the veranda of the shrine's main building. Evening lanterns glowed softly around them as the forest settled into the calm of night.
Kanetsugu bowed politely.
"Sadayuki-dono. Kikyo."
Sadayuki returned the nod calmly.
"Kanetsugu. Is something troubling you?"
The blacksmith scratched the back of his head slightly.
"I was hoping to ask a question about Jinx-kun."
Kikyo looked up with mild curiosity.
"What about him?"
Kanetsugu explained his dilemma. The idea of divine blessings, the statues, and the problem of choosing the right kami for each blade.
When he finished, Sadayuki leaned back slightly.
"That is… difficult," he admitted. "I cannot say I know much about which gods Jinx favors."
Kanetsugu blinked.
"You do not?"
Sadayuki shook his head with a small laugh.
"I am a merchant, Kanetsugu. Most days I travel between villages a few ri from here selling goods. Kikyo is the one who spends the most time with him."
Kanetsugu turned toward her.
Kikyo rested her chin against her hand, thinking.
"…To be honest," she said slowly, "most kami do not interest Jinx very much."
Kanetsugu frowned slightly.
"…Really?"
Kikyo nodded.
"He thinks many of them are simply petty people with too much power."
High above the shrine, hidden among the drifting clouds of the spirit world, a certain fox deity paused mid-step.
Inari raised an eyebrow.
"…Well," she murmured to herself, amused, "the boy is not entirely wrong."
Somewhere far away, Susanoo sneezed violently for no apparent reason.
Back in the mortal world, Kikyo continued speaking.
"Many gods simply do not hold his attention," she said. "But there are a few he finds… interesting."
Kanetsugu leaned forward slightly.
"Which ones?"
Kikyo held up two fingers.
"Izanami."
She paused.
"And Enma."
Kanetsugu nodded slowly. Both figures ruled over death and judgment in their own way. For a boy as strange as Jinx, the fascination made a certain amount of sense.
Then Kikyo hesitated slightly.
"…There is one more."
Kanetsugu waited.
She sighed quietly.
"Inari."
Kanetsugu blinked.
"The fox goddess?"
Kikyo nodded.
"…Mostly because of the stories about her beauty."
Kanetsugu chuckled lightly.
"That sounds like a child's reason."
Kikyo's cheeks turned faintly red.
"And her trickery," she added quickly.
Kanetsugu noticed the blush.
"…Is there something else?"
Kikyo looked away slightly.
"…Jinx once said my personality reminded him of Inari."
Kanetsugu stared.
Sadayuki burst out laughing.
Sadayuki's laughter burst out before he could stop it.
It came loud and sudden, the kind that forced him to lean back against the wooden pillar of the veranda while he wiped the corner of his eye. The sound startled a few birds from the shrine trees, their wings fluttering into the night as they escaped the disturbance.
Kikyo slowly turned her head toward him.
"…And what, exactly, is so amusing?"
Sadayuki coughed, trying to pull himself back together, though the smile still tugged stubbornly at his face.
"I apologize," he said, though the apology sounded half-hearted. "It's simply… that sounds exactly like something Jinx would say."
Kikyo crossed her arms, her fox-like eyes narrowing slightly.
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
"Our son," Sadayuki said, still chuckling, "has an unfortunate habit of saying things that are painfully accurate."
Kanetsugu watched the two of them with quiet interest. He had only known this family for a short time, yet it already felt like he had stepped into a world where every conversation danced between absurdity and profound insight.
Still, the matter of the swords lingered in his mind.
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully before speaking again.
"So Jinx favors Izanami, Enma… and Inari."
Kikyo nodded.
"When he bothers to care about such things," she replied. "Most of the time he finds the gods either boring or irresponsible."
High above the shrine, unseen among drifting clouds of the spirit world, a certain fox deity paused mid-step.
Inari raised an amused eyebrow.
"…That child certainly has opinions."
Far away, somewhere in the heavenly realms, Susanoo sneezed violently for no apparent reason.
Back on the veranda, Kanetsugu exhaled slowly.
"I believe I know what must be done with the swords."
Kikyo looked up at him.
"You do?"
Kanetsugu nodded.
"Yes."
He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees as he spoke.
"The two blades Jinx asked for himself… the ones forged from the brightest stones."
Sadayuki listened carefully.
"One of those will be dedicated to Izanami," Kanetsugu said quietly. "The greater blade."
He raised a finger.
"The lesser of the two will carry the judgment of Enma."
Kikyo tilted her head slightly.
"And Inari?"
Kanetsugu smiled faintly.
"If I am fortunate… both blades will carry a trace of her blessing as well. Trickery and cunning often favor those who respect them."
Kikyo nodded slowly. That arrangement actually suited Jinx rather well.
"But what of the other swords?" she asked.
Kanetsugu straightened slightly.
"The blade Jinx chose for his sibling… he already named it."
Sadayuki's brow lifted.
"He did?"
Kanetsugu nodded.
"Ame no Habakiri."
Kikyo's eyes widened faintly.
"The sword Susanoo used to slay Yamata no Orochi…"
Kanetsugu smiled.
"Exactly."
He folded his arms.
"So it seems only fitting that blade be dedicated to Susanoo himself."
Sadayuki chuckled quietly.
"Let us hope the storm god does not take offense to the boy calling him petty."
Kanetsugu laughed.
"If he does, the sword will likely reflect that temperament."
Kikyo shook her head softly, though there was amusement in her expression now.
"And the final blade?"
Kanetsugu's gaze drifted toward the dark forest beyond the shrine.
"That one was the hardest decision."
He paused briefly.
"The last sword will be dedicated to Izanagi."
Kikyo blinked.
"…Izanagi?"
Kanetsugu nodded.
"The blade dedicated to Izanami will exist as one half of a pair."
He gestured with his hand as if balancing two objects.
"Creation and death. Beginning and end."
Sadayuki's expression shifted slightly as he understood the reasoning.
"So the blades will mirror the divine couple."
Kanetsugu smiled faintly.
"It seemed appropriate."
For a moment, the three adults sat quietly beneath the lantern light, the forest around them whispering with the sounds of night.
Then a small voice drifted from the doorway behind them.
"…You are talking too loudly."
All three turned.
Jinx stood there, half-asleep, Kon still draped around his shoulders like a living scarf. His hair stuck out slightly from sleep, and his star-filled eyes looked barely open.
Kikyo blinked.
"Jinx? I thought you were asleep."
"I was," he said calmly.
He walked over and sat beside them without ceremony.
"You woke me."
Kanetsugu scratched the back of his head awkwardly.
"…My apologies."
Jinx yawned quietly.
Then he looked up at the blacksmith.
"You decided the gods for the swords."
Kanetsugu froze.
"…How did you know that?"
Jinx shrugged lazily.
"You think loudly."
Kanetsugu laughed.
"That may be true."
Jinx rested his chin in his palm.
"So which ones?"
Kanetsugu listed them.
"Izanami. Enma. Susanoo. Izanagi."
Jinx thought about it for a moment.
"…Acceptable."
Then he leaned back slightly and looked up toward the stars between the trees.
After a long pause, he spoke again.
"…If you are going to dedicate my blade to Izanami…"
Kanetsugu leaned forward.
"Yes?"
Jinx closed his eyes.
"…Make it beautiful."
A moment later, his head tilted slightly.
And he fell asleep sitting upright.
Kon yawned and curled around his neck.
Sadayuki chuckled softly.
Kikyo sighed in quiet affection.
Kanetsugu simply looked toward the forge in the distance.
"…Beautiful," he murmured.
Then he stood.
Tomorrow, the final work would begin.