Three days flew by in the blink of an eye, and the day Shirakawa had been eagerly awaiting—the completion of his sword sheath—had finally arrived.
Shirakawa watched the village chief approach with unconcealed excitement. In the chief's hands was a long, rod-like object wrapped in cloth.
"We all know what it is already, and you're still being so secretive," Shirakawa grumbled inwardly.
But Shirakawa knew—his other crewmates didn't. They probably thought it was a farewell gift from the chief.
"Chief, if you wanted to give a present, why give him a stick?" Jora asked, puzzled. Standing beside him, Kurokam wore an expression of pure amusement. For a swordsman to mistake a Supreme Grade Sword for a mere stick… the look on his face when he learned the truth would be priceless.
Kurokam was now a member of the Silver Pirates. The crew already knew who he was.
"This isn't a gift. It's returning something to its rightful owner."
"Returning to its owner? Kam, is this yours?" Jora asked Kurokam.
"No, it's the captain's."
"Captain? What are you going to do with a stick?"
"You'll find out soon enough," Shirakawa said, and as he spoke, he casually tossed the Grade Sword at his side to Jora.
"You're just giving this to me? What will you use then?" Jora was overjoyed. His long-held dream had finally come true.
Now, his two swords were a Grade Sword and a blade on par with a Great Grade Sword. By any swordsman's standards, that was a high-class setup.
"What I'll use is exactly that stick you mentioned."
"What?"
The rod was now in Shirakawa's hands. He couldn't wait, tearing off the cloth to reveal what lay underneath.
"It's a sword?!"
The moment they saw it, both Shirakawa and Jora were captivated by the pattern on the sheath. Exquisite beyond words, it was clearly the product of painstaking, meticulous craftsmanship.
But the sword itself was what truly mattered. Shirakawa drew the blade, and in that instant, a flash of purple light met everyone's eyes.
"This sword… this sword… this sword is…" Jora was so stunned he could barely speak. As a swordsman, he had memorized every Supreme Grade Sword in the world, and this blade matched one in his memory perfectly.
"Captain, tell me this is real?" Jora asked, his eyes full of disbelief.
"That's right. Just as you guessed, this sword is genuine. One of the Twelve Supreme Grade Swords—Purple Sun."
Hearing Shirakawa's confirmation, Jora grew utterly ecstatic. He instantly moved right in front of Shirakawa, wanting to examine the blade in detail, yet he seemed almost timid at the same time.
The others all drew sharp breaths. None of them were swordsmen, but even they had heard the fame of the Supreme Grade Swords.
"Captain, where did you get this sword?"
"Right on this island."
At those words, Jora's face twisted with regret. If only he'd been a little more thorough on this island, could that sword have been his?
"You can forget about that," Kurokam cut in mercilessly, as if reading Jora's mind. "That sword was buried in lava. With your strength, you'd fall into that lava and be incinerated in an instant—not even ash would remain."
"Captain, shall we test the sword's power?" Jora didn't answer Kurokam. His eyes remained fixed on the Purple Sun in Shirakawa's hand.
"I was just thinking the same thing." Holding this sword, Shirakawa could feel a significant boost in his combat strength.
He walked to the shore, raised the sword, and with all his might, slashed downward. A colossal wave of sword energy burst forth, slicing across the sea's surface in an instant.
A massive scar was carved into the tranquil ocean, lingering for a long, long time without fading.
"Whoa." Jora's mouth hung open, frozen in shock.
He'd seen scenes like this before, but somehow, using a Supreme Grade Sword made it feel entirely different.
"So this is the power of a Supreme Grade Sword?"
Shirakawa found himself growing fonder of the Purple Sun the more he looked at it. With other swords, he could also split the sea and leave a wound that wouldn't heal, but this Supreme Grade Sword felt so much easier to use.
"Captain, I'll trade you my two swords for that one blade of yours."
Jora, perhaps losing his mind, actually said that to Shirakawa.
"Do you think I'm stupid?"
"No."
"You know I'm not stupid, and you still said that to me? Are you asking for a beating?"
After testing the blade, Shirakawa walked back over to the chief and offered his thanks. "Chief, thank you so much for crafting this sheath."
"It's nothing. Being able to make a sheath for a Supreme Grade Sword is my honor. And if you can look after my son out there, that will be enough for me."
"Rest assured, Chief. I can handle such a simple request. If there's nothing else, we'll be on our way—we've stayed here long enough."
"Alright."
As he watched Shirakawa's group turn and leave, the chief's gaze settled on Kurokam. Letting his child go… he couldn't help but feel reluctant. But he knew he couldn't let this place become a cage that trapped freedom.
Kurokam's mood was similarly heavy. Leaving home for the first time naturally stirred a mix of fear and sorrow. He wanted to look back at his father, but he held himself back, because he was afraid that if he turned around, he might never be able to leave.
Even as Shirakawa and the others boarded the ship, no villagers came to see them off. And Kurokam never once glanced back.
"Ah, the captain's the one who gained the most from this voyage," Jora remarked involuntarily once they were on board.
"Didn't you do pretty well too? You got yourself two named swords."
"True." At the mention of those two swords, Jora burst out laughing. He'd come to terms with reality—the Purple Sun was never going to end up in his hands.
Having these two famous blades was already more than good enough.
At that moment, Shirakawa handed Kurokam the Eternal Pose pointing to their island, along with a warning: "This is the Eternal Pose that leads to your home island. Guard it carefully. If it gets lost or damaged, you might never find your way home again."
Hearing that, Kurokam accepted the Eternal Pose with utter seriousness and tucked it away, his mind already racing with how many layers of protection he could add to it.
Shirakawa's thoughts then drifted to the treasure map. On that nautical chart, there had been a drawing of a sword. Did it represent the Supreme Grade Sword Purple Sun? Or did it point to a village of master swordsmiths?
Regardless, Shirakawa felt deeply grateful to whoever had drawn that map and tossed the Eternal Pose into the sea. Without them, who knew how long he would have had to wait to get his hands on a Supreme Grade Sword.
/-\
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