Yoshinobu's forge was quiet again.
The fire crackled, a solemn rhythm in the deep mountain dark. Snow whispered against the eaves. The night had swallowed the blood, but the memory remained — burned into the walls, into the swords, into the breath of those still alive.
Inside the main room, Ishikawa sat on the tatami floor, legs folded, his bandages red with fresh seepage. Yumi lay curled in the corner under thick wool, breathing slow. Her face, soft in sleep, was the only peace in the room.
Asaki sat near the window, watching flakes drift past the broken frame. Her blade — chipped and splintered from the fight — lay across her knees like a dying animal.
She looked at Yoshinobu, who limped through the doorway with a fresh log. The old forgemaster, though stabbed and stitched, still moved with quiet gravity.
"Old man," Asaki said, voice steady but low, "I want a sword."
Yoshinobu raised an eyebrow, setting the log into the fire. "A sword, huh? You sure it's the sword that's not enough… or the arm that wields it?"
Asaki stood, eyes sharp. "I need something stronger. Something that won't crack when I face monsters like him again."
Ishikawa's voice broke the silence. "No."
She turned. "What?"
"I said no," he said, not looking up. "You're not ready for one of his blades."
Her teeth clenched. "You think I'm weak?"
"I think you're reckless."
They stared each other down. The fire roared behind them.
"I don't need your permission," she hissed. "You're not my master."
"No," he said quietly, rising to his feet despite the pain. "But I've seen what his blades do. They don't just cut bodies. They cut futures. His steel drinks blood and dreams."
Yoshinobu watched them both. Then, with a weary sigh, he sat down beside the fire, taking out a cracked gourd of sake.
"I once forged a sword for a woman named Kaoru," he said softly. "She was a dancer turned assassin. Graceful as spring wind. Deadlier than any man I'd seen."
Asaki blinked. Ishikawa sat down again.
"She loved a poet," Yoshinobu continued, staring into the flame. "Promised she'd kill one last man… then marry him and disappear forever. I made her a blade. Thin as breath, sharp as regret. I called it Urami no Kaze — Wind of Resentment."
"What happened?" Yumi murmured, half-awake now.
"She completed the kill. Came home to her lover's house," Yoshinobu said. "Found him dead. His throat cut. By the very sword I made."
Asaki paled. "Why?"
"Because the blade only knew death. And she was just another name in its path."
Silence.
"Ishikawa's right," Yoshinobu said finally. "My blades aren't tools. They're destinies."
Asaki looked away, fists trembling.
"I still want one," she whispered.
Yoshinobu gave a long, tired nod. "Then come see me at dawn. If your heart's clear, I'll decide."
---
Meanwhile – Forest Path to Forgewood
A shadow moved between the trees.
Massive. Silent.
Kabu, the Mercenary of the Black Ox Clan, walked barefoot through the snow. His body was tattooed with seals and war scripts. A flail of rusted iron dragged behind him, bound to his wrist by rope. On his back: a chained slab of steel. Not a sword. A gate-breaking hammer.
He stopped near a pine tree where crows slept.
He cracked his neck.
"Hayate says the Wolf bleeds," he muttered. "Let's see how much."
---
Next Morning – Forge
Asaki trained with a broken bokken, sweat steaming in the cold. Ishikawa watched from a distance, face unreadable. Yumi was prepping rice in a pot, humming softly.
Then the forge shook.
A boom echoed down the slope.
Yoshinobu dropped his tools. "That's not a quake."
The second impact split the mountain's lower path.
A shape emerged.
Kabu.
He stood nearly seven feet tall. Shirtless. His chest was layered in rope and bone charms. He dropped the gatebreaker to the ground — it cratered the stone.
Ishikawa unsheathed Kurayami and Kurasa.
Asaki stepped beside him.
Kabu raised his hammer.
"I only need one head," he growled. "But I'll take all three for fun."
Then he charged.
The fight was thunder.
Ishikawa met him mid-run — blade against hammer. The clash shook snow from the trees.
Kabu swung again, smashing the forge wall.
Asaki dashed in, slicing at his legs — but Kabu caught her blade with his hand.
He lifted her by the throat and threw her into the snow.
"Too light," he grunted.
Ishikawa leapt, Kurasa stabbing into Kabu's shoulder — but it barely cut.
The giant flung him off, roaring. The flail swung — striking a boulder, shattering it like glass.
Yumi screamed.
Asaki crawled to her feet, eyes wild. She picked up a broken spear.
Ishikawa gritted his teeth. "His body's reinforced. Like stone."
Kabu charged again.
Ishikawa whispered: Shikkiri.
Time slowed.
He sidestepped — blades slashing at Kabu's knee. It buckled.
Asaki jammed the broken spear into Kabu's ribs.
The giant bellowed and turned — Ishikawa followed with a dual slash, opening his side.
Yumi threw hot coals at his face.
Kabu screamed.
Asaki dove, grabbing a chain from the forge and wrapping it around his ankle.
"NOW!" she yelled.
Ishikawa drove both blades into Kabu's exposed back.
The giant dropped.
Breathing. But broken.
Yoshinobu limped out, holding a smoking brand.
He burned a talisman into Kabu's forehead.
"Sleep, ox," he said.
Kabu went still.
And run .
---
Later That Night
Asaki stood over the forge, bandaged and bruised.
Yoshinobu placed a lump of raw steel in her hand.
"Name it."
She closed her eyes.
Then said, "Kiyoku. — The Pure One."
Yoshinobu nodded.
And so the forging began.
And far away, in the palace of Aizu, Hayate received the news.
He stood still, eyes closed, listening to the wind.
"Two failures," he said.
Then opened his fan.
"Send the monk."
---
To be continued