Chapter 27
Tashigi's eyes sparkled with scholarly excitement as she pushed her new glasses up her nose.
"Though there's some confusion about the exact timeline," she began, warming to her favorite subject,
"Some sources say it was four hundred years ago, others claim three hundred. The records from that era are… inconsistent."
She leaned forward conspiratorially, voice dropping to a reverent whisper.
"But the story itself… that's where it gets truly fascinating."
Silas and Zoro exchanged glances. Silas's hand had drifted to Blood Fang's hilt. His expression had sharpened—focused, unreadable.
"There was a clan," Tashigi said, voice taking on the rhythm of legend.
"Hidden deep in the mountains. Survivors of some forgotten conflict. They lived in secrecy, trusting no one, welcoming no strangers."
Ipponmatsu had returned with her polished Shigure, but even she paused, drawn into the tale.
"One day, a man appeared at their gates. Travel-worn. Carrying nothing but the tools of a smith. He claimed to be one of them—blood of their blood, lost for generations. But of course, they didn't believe him."
Silas's jaw tightened. Something about this story felt… familiar. Like an echo of a dream he couldn't quite remember.
"The clan was ready to drive him away. Maybe even kill him for knowing their location. But their leader—a wise old warrior—stopped them.
'If you truly are one of us,' he said, 'then prove your worth.'"
Tashigi's eyes gleamed.
"And that's when the stranger presented his first work of art."
She gestured toward Silas's sabre with reverence.
"Blood Fang. A Great Grade sabre. The first of what he called the War Demons. But even as he offered it, he warned them:
'This is a cursed weapon. Only the strongest can wield it. If you want to win it over—prove your strength.'"
The shop went silent. Even the street sounds outside seemed to pause.
"It took years," Tashigi continued, voice soft with the weight of history.
"Years before a warrior finally emerged strong enough to claim Blood Fang. But that wasn't the end of the smith's work."
She adjusted her glasses.
"He presented two more Great Grade weapons. Winged Demon and Wild Hell. All cursed. All requiring incredible strength to master."
Zoro's eyes sharpened.
"Three cursed Great Grade blades? This guy was either a genius or completely insane."
"Both, probably," Tashigi said with a nervous laugh.
"But then came his final announcement. His masterpiece."
Her voice dropped to a whisper. Everyone leaned closer.
"The Sinister Moon. He claimed it was for 'only those with the greatest ambitions.' One of the most purely cursed weapons in the world."
Silas went very still.
"And?"
"The clan leader dared to try," Tashigi said, voice heavy with old tragedy.
"But the curse… it was too overwhelming. His strength, combined with the weapon's malevolent power… it broke him."
She shuddered theatrically.
"He went mad. Completely, utterly mad. The survivors scattered. Fled as far as they could from that blade. As for the three War Demons…"
"What happened to them?" Zoro asked, eyes flicking to Blood Fang.
"No one knows," Tashigi said simply.
"They vanished with the clan. Until…"
Her gaze locked on Blood Fang.
"Until today."
She was practically vibrating with excitement.
"You're carrying a piece of living legend! The craftsmanship, the power, the sheer historical significance!"
Silas stared down at his sabre. The name 'Daytime.' A clan in hiding. A smith who claimed to be one of them.
"Tell me," he said slowly.
"This clan… do you know what they were called?"
Tashigi blinked, searching memory.
"I… I think the records called them the Daytime Clan. Yes. Guardians of some ancient tradition. But the details are lost."
The weapon at Silas's hip suddenly felt impossibly heavy. His family name. His ancestor. His legacy.
Zoro whistled low.
"So fancy boy's carrying around great-great-granddaddy's work. That's… actually kind of impressive."
"More than impressive!" Tashigi exclaimed.
"If this really is one of the original War Demons, then it's not just a weapon—it's a cultural artifact!"
She looked between Silas and his sabre like a scholar who'd just found a lost treasure.
"The techniques used to forge it have been lost for centuries. The way the curse was bound into the steel… it's masterwork craftsmanship!"
Ipponmatsu finally spoke.
"Young man, do you have any idea what you're carrying? That blade could be in a museum. Scholars would pay fortunes just to study it!"
"Not happening," Silas said firmly. But his voice lacked its usual cockiness. Too many revelations. Too many threads connecting.
"Of course not!" Tashigi said quickly.
"A blade like that belongs with its rightful wielder. But still… to think I'd see one of the War Demons with my own eyes!"
She turned to Zoro with renewed excitement.
"And you have two legendary blades! Wado Ichimonji. Sandai Kitetsu. Between the three of you—this might be the greatest concentration of historical weaponry in the East Blue!"
Zoro smirked.
"Not bad for a random weapon shop visit."
"Random?" Tashigi laughed.
"This is destiny! Three legendary swords. Their wielders. All meeting in Loguetown? If I believed in fate, I'd say something wanted this to happen."
Silas looked out at the darkening sky. Then back at Blood Fang. His ancestor's work. His family's legacy. The weapon that had chosen him.
"Well," he said finally, grin returning,
"I guess that makes this old family reunion even more interesting."
But in the back of his mind, one thought kept echoing:
If the Daytime Clan were guardians of some ancient tradition…
And if his ancestor was truly one of them…
Then maybe Luffy wasn't just a captain.
Maybe he was the one they'd been waiting for.