Wolf Fang (Nanga) (2)
Ugliness and beauty.
Those two opposing concepts blended in perfect harmony within this katana, a true masterpiece without equal.
From the moment it was drawn from its scabbard, the red blade gleamed with ferocious demonic energy, as if thirsting for blood—an ugliness beyond compare.
Yet the patterns along its edge, fierce as roaring flames, were less a sword's mark and more the mark of fine art, boasting a beauty beyond words.
"A masterpiece."
The thought had slipped unbidden from my mind to my lips, and Hardi, standing beside me, nodded in agreement.
I don't toss around words like "masterpiece" or "chef-d'oeuvre" lightly.
I know full well that the more casually you use them, the less value they hold.
But right now, I couldn't hold back the words even if I'd tried.
How could I not praise this katana—the most beautiful one I'd ever forged, perhaps the most beautiful in all the world?
"Sir... it's truly a beautiful katana...! It would've been even better if we could announce to the world that we made it..."
Hardi slumped her shoulders as she spoke. I understood her feelings all too well—it was heartbreaking.
To create something this magnificent and not be able to claim it as your own.
It was like a parent unable to call their beloved child their own—or perhaps even worse.
"Who knows... maybe the day will come soon when we can announce that we made this katana."
"Pardon?"
Every year, swordsmen who worship Pier flock to that village for memorial rites.
After smashing their statue and causing a ruckus, word would surely reach the Pier family around what must be his death anniversary.
"When that happens, he'll reveal the truth without hesitation, and nine times out of ten, it'll spark a duel or all-out war."
From the moment Robo fell, the winner of that fight was obvious as daylight.
Piles of corpses would reach the sky, rivers of blood would flow—a hellish scene for sure.
And in that carnage, no sword would claim more lives than this katana.
"Then, like it or not, the world will know we made it."
"That sounds... joyful? No, I guess it can't be joyful... people will die."
"Be joyful if you want. Weapons are made to kill—people or otherwise. Fulfilling its purpose is all a creator could ask for. But..."
It might sound callous after saying I don't care who dies, but if that guy wields this katana... who knows what might happen.
"...Truth be told, from the moment I held it, I've been dying to test its legendary sharpness."
Not on iron or straw dummies, of course. No, I wanted to test it on something I'd never dream of otherwise—a living human.
Hardi took a step back at my words, forcing an awkward smile.
"Pardon? What... what kind of joke is that, sir?"
"...Sadly, no joke. You haven't held the finished katana yet, have you? Want to give it a try?"
I turned the katana hilt-first toward her, but she waved her hands frantically.
"...N-No thank you. But if you're serious, doesn't that make this less a katana and more a demon sword—or a cursed blade?"
"Without a doubt."
Not every sword made from monster parts becomes one, but this nameless katana qualified as a demon sword through and through.
The relentless demonic aura seeping from its blade, like a living beast.
The unnatural urge to cleave flesh just by holding it.
No room for doubt.
This was a devil's blade. A cursed sword unfit for human hands.
"...So what happens if that person grabs it?"
In this context, Hardi's "that person" could only mean one man.
I tried picturing him wielding it, but no clear image came to mind.
He could succumb to its bloodlust, eyes mad with craving... or master its aura with flawless control. Both seemed plausible.
"...Can't even imagine it."
If he were just some weak-willed lunatic, I'd say the former in a heartbeat.
But he's no mere madman. At his age, self-taught, he felled Robo—a swordsman of true talent.
Maybe he'd wield this katana without a hitch.
"Worst-case scenario awaits... but you never know till it happens."
Still, better safe than sorry.
"Just in case, check urgently if the academy or nearby territories have any condemned prisoners. If things go south, a few kills might calm it down."
"...Got it. If none, I'll make some."
"...Right."
Words that would've sounded like a joke any other day felt utterly serious today.
"...!!"
In agony too excruciating for even a scream, I held my stance unflinchingly.
Right foot forward, hands poised—one on the scabbard, one on the hilt—ready for the draw at any instant. A stance ingrained beyond habit, one I instinctively took even in sleep.
It never faltered amid this hellish torment.
Enduring the thunderous pain rippling through me with every twitch of my fingers, I drew the sword.
'Battōjutsu!!!'
No voice escaped, so I roared it in my mind. The slash flew slow enough for even Jessica to dodge—but it was a flawless Battōjutsu.
True to its in-story legend of silencing the mute, Poscotamin's pain defied imagination.
Yet after days of enduring, I'd finally succeeded: a low-rank Battōjutsu while poisoned.
As if praising my iron will, a window announced a new skill's birth.
Steel Will has been added.
Rank: A
A will of steel unshaken by any trial. Automatically activates during severe mental shock to stabilize the mind.
I hadn't aimed for this training specifically, but damn if it wasn't a useful skill.
Steel Will—a perfect name. Fitting for any swordsman who wields Battōjutsu.
"Ian? What's wrong?"
To Hori, who couldn't see the window, I must've looked like I was staring blankly into space.
She peered at me with worry from the sidelines.
"Just thinking. Don't mind me."
"Okay... If there's any issue with the potion, tell me anytime."
"Plenty of issues. Starting with the creator's twisted head..."
After chugging her potions these past few days, I was more convinced than ever: no changing Hori's mad ideas.
"Anyway, calling it here today. First time succeeding at Battōjutsu while poisoned."
"I didn't think you'd move that fast already."
The first day back, I could barely stand. Now? Full draw.
"But Ian, has the pain lessened at all?"
"Lessened? Nah, haven't noticed... Why?"
"If you've built tolerance to Poscotamin, I could up the ratio—gah!!"
Before Hori finished, I loosed a light Battōjutsu at her head.
"Ow...! That hurts, and I hate it...! Just punch me instead."
"That's the point."
After parting with teary-eyed Hori, I headed straight to the dorms without drawing attention.
A letter was pinned to my door, just like the one from Otar before.
'Finally...!!'
Unless it was from Mother, only one person would write me.
I tore it off and read: the sword was complete—come at once.
The sword is complete. Come at once.
— Otar Goldsmith
I crumpled the read letter, pocketed it, and left the dorm without entering my room.
The sun had set, but streetlamps and open taverns lit the way—no trouble reaching the forge.
"...You're here."
Oddly, Otar and Hardi waited outside the forge, not in.
Both empty-handed, so not eager to show off the new katana.
I hurried over, and they stared at me with stiff expressions.
"Something on my face?"
"...No. Just my personal worries. Ignore it."
Otar looked deeply troubled, but I wasn't curious enough to pry.
"Right. So where's my katana?"
"Inside. Hate to brag, but it's my masterpiece. Problem is..."
"Problem?"
"Yeah. During forging... it became a demon sword. The kind that makes you crave slicing live flesh."
"A demon sword?!!"
In the original story, demon swords were rare powerhouses, countable on one hand.
Impossible to craft deliberately—and now one was mine. I grinned despite myself.
"Why the creepy smile at 'demon sword'?"
"What's not to smile about?! A blade as Battōjutsu-perfect as a holy sword—in my hands!!"
Otar dragged a hand down his face.
"...Yeah, you're that kind of guy. As its maker, I'm glad it goes to someone like you anyway."
"Then let's go get it!!"
As I turned for the forge, Otar grabbed my shoulder.
"Wait! Didn't I say it makes you want to kill? Forgotten already?!"
"Ah... Of course I remember."
Lie. The thrill had blanked it out.
"...Anyway, we prepared countermeasures. Inside: a blindfolded, bound man every ten paces."
"Condemned prisoners or whatever, so if the urge hits, hack them instead?"
"Exactly. Worthless scum anyway. Better them than innocents."
Otar worried I'd fall to the demon sword's sway—but needless concern.
No swordsman ruled by his blade could perform Battōjutsu.
"Worrying over nothing. I won't kill a soul—watch from here!!"
Besides, craving kills with a new katana? No curse—just natural instinct.
No need to fear the obvious.