The head on the ground began to disintegrate.
But instead of turning to ash as before, it rapidly melted into a pool of black, viscous liquid, reeking of a pungent chemical reaction.
There was no smell of sorrow.
Only a nauseating, artificial stench.
"Huff...huff...huff..."
Only then, the adrenaline subsided, and excruciating pain surged forth like a tidal wave.
Murata's legs buckled, and he knelt on one knee, barely supporting himself with the scabbard of his sword. That attack had almost drained all the strength from Murata's old bones.
"Grandpa!!" The door behind him was flung open, and his daughter-in-law rushed out, carrying her grandson and a kitchen knife, her face filled with terror.
"Don't come any closer! Danger!" Murata shouted sharply, his voice hoarse. "Don't go near that pool of black liquid! It's poisonous!"
Murata leaned against the wall, struggling to his feet. A long-unseen determination and ruthlessness flashed in his eyes. "I think... I need to contact young master Ubuyashiki Teruya."
(Narration/Recollection Perspective) The deep blue blade that saved Murata's life was not a miracle that appeared out of thin air. It was the crystallization of a long history colliding with a new era.
After the demon-hunting legends of the Taisho era came to an end, with the rapid development of technology and the strict enforcement of the sword-abolition edict, the "sword-forging village" that had been hidden away for a hundred years ultimately could not withstand the tide of the times and was eventually dissolved. The craftsmen scattered to the ends of the earth; some went into hiding as ordinary blacksmiths, while others tried to integrate their ancient skills into the modern industrial wave.
A rough, large hand (belonging to young Sato) removed one of the masks, revealing a young face covered in sweat and coal dust. His eyes were filled with confusion and reluctance. With the rapid development of technology and the strict enforcement of the sword-abolition order, the "sword-forging village," which had been hidden for a century, ultimately could not withstand the tide of the times and was disbanded. The craftsmen scattered to the ends of the earth; some became ordinary blacksmiths in hiding, while others tried to integrate their ancient skills into the modern industrial wave. Several years later, at Sato's blacksmith shop. This place was not like a traditional sword-forging room, but more like a strange laboratory. The floor was piled with modern metal ingots (marked with alloy numbers), but next to them still sat the ancestral piece of sapphire iron ore that had absorbed sunlight. Complex chemical equation diagrams hung on the wall, but next to them was a tablet of the god of forging. The elderly Sato (wearing goggles) was operating a high-speed pneumatic hammer. As Sato stared at the furnace fire, he seemed to see young Murata (or another ordinary team member) holding a broken sword, his face full of grief. "Don't cry! It's not only breathing techniques that can slay demons! As long as the steel is hard enough, hard enough to cut through even the laws of physics..." That sword was Sato's work before his death. Because of the ban on swords, it had been sealed in his warehouse until his death a few years ago. By chance, it was obtained by Mr. Murata, who slew the demon and brought it back to the light of day.