Shinji Matou at Your Service-Chapter 974: The Demon Blade

"All this noise is driving me crazy. Don't you know that quenching is the most critical step?"

Amidst the impatient complaints, a man—well, let's just call him an old man—stepped out.

The man's beard and hair were already graying, and his voice could be considered aged. But other than that, nothing about him could be described as "old."

His complexion was ruddy, his face glowing with vitality. Though he carried a sense of weathered experience, there were no wrinkles typical of an elder. His features bore a 50-60% resemblance to Shirou's but were more mature.

His physique was also similar, with well-defined muscles and sharp lines, radiating strength. This wasn't surprising, as forging blades is labor-intensive work; without sufficient strength, it's impossible to craft a fine blade.

In terms of attire, the old man wore a red armguard on his left arm, something Shirou lacked. From his earlier comments, one could deduce that he had just come from the furnace and hadn't had time to take it off. The reason both of them were sweating despite wearing so little was now clear—the temperature near the forge was too high, and wearing more would be unbearable.

"So many beasts, huh? Perfect. I'll use them to test my blade."

The white-haired old man walked into the courtyard, glancing at the sea of beasts outside and his apprentice, who was surrounded. His expression was indifferent as if the creatures around him were nothing more than a bunch of insignificant pests.

With a flick of his wrist, the blade he had been holding behind his back was now in view. This was likely his latest creation, one he had insisted on completing even if it meant having his apprentice guard the door.

"Shirou, get down!"

At the old man's low command, Shirou surrounded by beasts dropped to the ground without hesitation, completely ignoring the number of beasts around him and the danger of the situation. His actions showed absolute trust in his master.

His master didn't disappoint. The moment Shirou hit the ground, the old man took a step forward and lightly swung his blade.

Shiki's expression immediately changed.

She was one of the top experts in Japan's secret world, her swordsmanship having reached the coveted One Slash level that countless people dreamed of. Yet, even so, she couldn't comprehend what had just happened with that single swing.

All her rainbow-colored eyes reflected was a simple movement: a step forward and a swing of the sword.

And then, every beast inside and outside the fence had their throats slit, collapsing to the ground dead without so much as a scream.

In the instant the old man sheathed his sword, he appeared beside his apprentice, his movements and trajectory impossible to track.

Shirou, who had been lying on the ground, pushed himself up with his hands and jumped to his feet. Excitedly, he looked at his master—or rather, at the sword in his master's hands—and exclaimed, "So this is your latest creation, Master. It's incredible! Even the legendary divine blades can't compare!"

The old man rebuked him harshly, "You ignorant brat! Don't go using the name of Senji Muramasa with that immature attitude. I can't afford to lose face—this isn't a divine blade, it's a failure, just like all those broken pieces of iron on the ground."

"Failure? But you said everything was going smoothly when I came out. How did it turn into a failure? And just now, in that test cut, I couldn't see anything wrong with it."

Shirou scratched his chin, leaning in as if about to press his face against the blade.

"You can't tell just by looking. Try holding it, and you'll understand."

The old man turned the hilt toward Shirou, offering it to him.

The moment Shirou's fingers touched the hilt, his expression changed drastically, as if he had encountered something terrifying. His face twitched, and sweat poured from his forehead.

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"This—this—this—this is a... demon blade?"

"Exactly. This is a demon blade, a blade that has reached the realm of demonic power.'"

Upon hearing his master's words, Shirou immediately tried to fling the blade away. But no matter how hard he shook or how much strength he used, he couldn't let go. When he tried prying it off with his other hand, that hand got stuck too, causing him to hop around anxiously.

"Master! Master! What's going on?"

"I told you, it's a demon blade. The grudge imbued in it will erode the body and soul of anyone who grips it. You can't just throw it away." The old man's expression remained calm.

"Then what should I do?"

Shirou was even more frantic.

"Like this."

The old man reached out and, with just two fingers, lightly grasped the blade. Without any apparent force, the sword that had been stuck to Shirou's hands flew out and landed precisely in the sword barrel behind the fence.

"Master, you're amazing!"

Shirou was in awe.

"It's nothing special. Whether it's a divine blade or a demon blade, a swordsmith who can't control his creations is not a qualified swordsmith. Kid, you've still got a lot to learn if you want to inherit the name of Senji Muramasa. Our meeting in this world is a matter of fate, so work hard."

"Yes, Master. But, Master, why did this blade become a demon blade?"

"It's probably because of these black creatures."

The old man casually kicked the corpses on the ground.

"Hmm... the stench of decay and death. These aren't normal creatures; they've been twisted into demons by something. They must have interfered with the final quenching, pushing the blade into the demonic realm. Remember what I told you before?"

"I remember," Shirou nodded.

"Quenching is the life of a swordsmith. It's the most crucial step in forging a blade, and heaven, earth, and man must be in harmony."

"This is an example of the earth causing the problem."

"I see."

Shirou's mood dampened.

"I'm sorry. It's because of us..."

Mana hurriedly apologized to the master and apprentice.

"It's nothing. Forging swords depends on the smith, but the final result is up to the heavens. This sword was destined to become a demon blade. Even without you, something else would have interfered."

The old man remained calm, his eyes reflecting the wisdom of someone who had transcended worldly concerns.

"Hey, are you sure this sword is a failure? The divine energy coming from it is on a completely different level compared to other swords."

Suddenly, Shiki spoke. From the moment the sword had fallen into the barrel, she had stood by it, her eyes fixed on the demon blade, which now sat at the center like a king among swords. Even when her daughter apologized, Shiki didn't move an inch.

"Lady, don't you listen to what people say?"

The old man retorted sharply.

"Yes, this sword is indeed special. It can cut through both the tangible and intangible, the visible and the invisible. But as I said, it's a demon blade. It's not something a normal person should wield. If it's not a failure, then what is it? If you mess with it, you risk being consumed by death. You don't want to live next door to death, do you?"

"That suits me just fine. I've been neighbors with death for many years now, and I'm used to it. If you don't want it, just give it to me. I can feel it calling out to me."

As Shiki spoke, she reached out toward the demon blade, which stood at the center of the barrel, reigning as the king of swords.

The demon blade responded with a sharp, piercing sound. The moment her fingers touched the hilt, they were repelled, leaving a trail of crimson blood dripping to the ground.