I thought I could rest. I truly believed that once I finished this, I'd finally be able to take a break. That there was only a little bit left to go.
But I was wrong. It wasn't over yet.
It's that same feeling of hollow frustration and anger you get when you've been studying your heart out and just as you're about to relax, someone bursts through the door and shouts, 'Are you playing games again?!'
I'm pissed, but I can't even blow off steam.
Since I'm the one who told them, 'Clean up your own shit,' back in the day, getting angry now would just make me a hypocrite with a double standard.
And I refuse to look like that. If I do, I'll lose the moral high ground to rag on those brats of disciples I have.
I let out a sigh that felt like it could sink the floor and rubbed my weary face.
"Swords... Swords..."
I definitely won't find any in Hell. Hell doesn't have iron. I mean, for fuck's sake, it has everything else—why is iron the one thing missing?
Handing over a piece of trash land with zero resources like iron or copper... Jomon, you absolute bastard.
'The more I think about it, the madder I get.'
I'm going to give him so much shit when I get back.
With that thought, I picked up a piece of obsidian from the ground and crushed it.
It looked incredibly sharp; if I just attached a handle, I could probably use it like a knife.
For a split second, I considered just mass-producing these obsidian blades and calling it a day. But then I remembered how much I had chewed out my disciples for doing things in a half-assed, makeshift way, so I abandoned the idea.
"Phew... Fine. I'll just close my eyes, finish this one job properly, and then I'm resting..."
I tore through the boundary and stepped into the Soul Society.
I didn't even look toward the World of the Living. Humans are still in their primitive 'unga-bunga' phase down there; there's nothing for me to find.
Wait, does that mean Kagaya was out there preaching to cavemen?
...Could they even understand him?
Lost in thought, I wandered aimlessly.
Plenty of Soul Reapers and souls were passing by, but none of them bumped into me.
If I couldn't manage that much, I would have stayed dead a long time ago.
Eventually, I arrived at the main gate of the Shiba estate.
"Ah."
Since I always get what I need here, my subconscious must have guided me back.
I scratched my head and was about to turn back when a spark of an idea hit me.
'Usually, every Great Noble House has at least one swordsmith...'
Tsk. No, that's not right.
It's not my family. Even if Shiryu was happy to help, being a parasite to his descendants is crossing a line.
It would be different if I could pay them back somehow, but the only 'reward' I can offer is a bit of preferential treatment after they die...
'Forget it.'
I let out a deep sigh and turned my back.
I couldn't just walk forever, so I expanded my spiritual senses to find a place where a swordsmith or a blacksmith might be located.
I focused on isolated areas where not many people lived.
However, despite my search, all I found were blacksmiths making farm tools or wood-cutting axes. I couldn't find a single swordsmith.
To be precise, they'd welcome me as a customer at first, but the moment I mentioned forging a sword or a blade, they'd freak out and refuse me flat out.
It was as if the very concept was taboo. They reacted with horror, as if they'd heard something forbidden, and hurried to see me out.
I was certain something was wrong when I saw one of them throwing salt behind me as I left.
Whatever happened, it must have been a major disaster.
"Fuck's sake, at least tell me why..."
Unable to contain my frustration, I decided to demand an answer from the next forge I entered.
Inside the seventh forge, I found an old blacksmith with hair as white as frost, smoking a long pipe.
Good. A veteran like him should know something.
"Excuse me. I have something to ask."
"Hmm...?"
The old man turned around with a look that said, 'Where did this disrespectful brat come from?' But after blinking a few times and really looking at me, he suddenly scrambled to his feet in a panic and performed a deep, formal bow.
"O-Oh my! What brings a Great Noble Lord to such a humble place as this?!"
Are you kidding me? Is this guy cut from the same cloth as Shiryu?
Seeing an elder kneeling before me made me uncomfortable, so I immediately hauled the old smith back to his feet.
I might actually be older than him, but it's still unpleasant to see an old man with bad knees groveling like that.
"Yeah, yeah, that's enough. Drop the formalities and just sit down. I don't like that stuff."
"Eh? Ah, yes, yes... I understand."
Still processing the situation, the old man sat down while nervously glancing at me. I leaned my back against the wall.
"It's nothing major. I just want to ask a question."
"If it is something I know, I will answer anything."
"I'm in need of some swords and blades. But every blacksmith I've met today freaks out and tells me 'no' the second I mention it. If someone would just give me a reason, I'd understand, but they just kick me out without a word. It's frustrating."
"That... Do you perhaps not know of 'that incident'...?"
"I asked because I don't know."
The old smith glanced around warily, let out a pained groan, and sighed deeply before starting his story.
"It was 50 years... Yes, a bit more than 50 years ago. A man who called himself a 'samurai' asked for a sword to be forged. A blacksmith's duty is to strike iron. Naturally, the smith forged the blade, but..."
A specific figure suddenly flashed through my mind at the old man's description.
The self-proclaimed samurai who fell to Hell. One of the sinners who's had his head bashed in the most over the last 50 years.
"Let me guess. The moment he got the sword, he went on a mindless killing spree?"
"Yes... First, he slaughtered the swordsmith who made the blade. Then he went out into the streets and butchered everyone in sight. Because of what happened then, blacksmiths who aren't part of a noble house..."
"They stopped making swords. That's the gist of it, huh?"
"Yes... That's part of it, but after seeing that samurai get dragged down to Hell... we feared that the blacksmith who made the sword might have been dragged down as well. We worry that if such a thing happens again, we too will be caught up in it and fall into Hell..."
Oh, for fuck's sake, that 'Samurai' bastard. He really is useless in every way.
His reasoning wasn't illogical, so I let out a long sigh and scratched my head.
Do I really have to swallow my pride and go beg a swordsmith from the Shiba, Shihoin, Kuchiki, or Tsunayashiro clans?
As I sat there brooding with a scowl, the old smith spoke up hesitantly.
"If... if you absolutely must have a sword... there is one very peculiar fellow..."
"There is one? Is he skilled?"
"Yes. Without a doubt, his skill is exceptional. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to call him the greatest in the Soul Society."
"Then that's fine. What's the problem?"
"Well, he's a bit... no, he's a very peculiar lad. I hesitated to even mention him..."
"It's not for personal use; I just need it for 'decoration.' I don't care how weird he is. If he exists, I want to meet him. Tell me where he is."
The old man groaned as if in genuine conflict, looking at me nervously before finally letting out a small sigh.
"If you keep heading west from here, you'll find a cliff that people usually avoid. There's a brat there who spends his time forging swords..."
"What kind of person is he?"
"It's hard to put into words. However, he won't make anything for someone who doesn't meet his standards. Even if you find him, whether he'll actually forge a blade for you is..."
"What kind of standards? Requirements for ability? Money? There must be something."
"If it were as simple as that, I wouldn't have hesitated. That boy..."
"I think I get the vibe. Right. Thanks for the tip."
I didn't need the full explanation; I could already guess the type. I waved a hand and stepped outside.
Anywhere else would be a waste of time, so I ignored everything else and headed west as instructed.
"This must be the place."
Eventually, a dilapidated hut with smoke rising from it appeared in the distance.
At a glance, it looked like an abandoned shack on the verge of collapse, but the sounds and the heat radiating from within signaled that someone was working inside.
*Clang! Clang!*
Even if I hadn't seen the smoke, the intense, ear-piercing ringing of metal was presence enough.
Looks like he's hard at work. I grinned with satisfaction and strode toward the hut.
The heat had been palpable from afar, but as I stood before the door, a wave of heat rivaling Hell itself washed over me.
Most people wouldn't even be able to step over the threshold.
"Is this why they called him 'peculiar'?"
I smirked and entered. Inside, I saw a man swinging a hammer with intense focus.
He sensed someone coming in and glanced my way for a moment, but he didn't stop his hands.
I have plenty of time, so I might as well enjoy the show.
Knowing that craftsmen hate being interrupted, I found a corner and sat down to watch intently.
It was a repetitive, simple process—putting the iron into the furnace and striking the glowing metal with a hammer. Yet, with just a few strikes, the iron's form shifted and its shape was carved out.
'His skill is truly something.'
I don't know the first thing about smithing, but I know how difficult it is to change the shape of iron so freely with just a hammer.
It was entirely different from when I used brute force to crush or warp things into shape.
Strike after strike, heating and hammering.
After repeating the process, the man ground the cooled steel, applied clay, heated it again, and finally plunged it into a water vat.
*Hiss—!!*
When the boiling sounds ceased and he pulled the steel from the water, a masterpiece that could only be called a sword revealed its form.
A blade that was perfectly straight without a single curve, an edge that glinted sharply in the light of the furnace, and a hamon pattern that looked like rolling waves.
Even as an amateur, I could tell it was a masterfully crafted katana. However, after examining it from several angles, the man let out a heavy sigh and placed it back on the anvil.
"Failed again-maaan..."
With those words, he brought his hammer down and snapped the sword in two.
...What is with this guy's speech pattern?