The burial was a quiet, grim job. It took them the rest of the day and into the night. They dug the graves behind the house, under the old oak tree. Tsuruji did not speak. He just worked, his movements steady and strong.
When the last bit of earth was patted down, Jin wiped his brow. "We need to go to town tomorrow," he said. "There is something you need."
The next morning, they walked down the mountain to the small town. The people there knew the Hatake family. They looked at Tsuruji with sad eyes. He did not look back.
Jin led him to a small, dark smithy. It was not like his family's forge. This place felt old and secret.
An old smith with soot-covered arms nodded at Jin. He did not ask questions. He brought out a long, thin object wrapped in cloth.
"This is for you, boy," Jin said. "Your Nichirin Blade. Every demon slayer has one."
Tsuruji unwrapped the cloth. The sword inside was simple. The handle was black. The blade... was also black. A pure, deep black that seemed to suck in the light.
The old smith grunted. "Black. Rare color. It does not change. It is a sign of a stubborn spirit. Or a broken one."
Tsuruji held the sword. It felt right in his hand. Heavy. Final.
Back in the forest clearing, Jin pointed to the black blade. "Now, we change the lesson. Do not try to make a blade from blood. Your blood will feed the sword."
He held out his own arm again. A small cut opened. But this time, the blood did not form a glove. It snaked through the air and wrapped around the blade of a practice sword he held. The metal turned a dark, shimmering red.
"Blood Breathing, First Form: Crimson Lotus," Jin said. He swung. The red blade cut through a tree trunk with a sharp crack. It was much stronger, much sharper.
"Your turn," Jin said.
Tsuruji held his black sword. He focused. He remembered the feeling from yesterday. The drop of blood on his finger. He pushed that feeling into the sword.
For a long time, nothing. The black blade stayed black.
Then, a faint red mist seemed to weep from his palm. It was not much. It crawled onto the black metal, coloring the edge a dull crimson.
He swung at a thick branch.
THWACK!
The branch split in two. The cut was clean. Smoother than any normal sword could make.
He looked at the red edge on his black blade. It was already fading, his blood drying and flaking away.
It was a small step. But it was a step forward. He had a weapon. And he had a way to make it stronger.
He looked at Jin, his eyes still empty, but now with a dark purpose.
"Again," Tsuruji said.