Chapter 129: The Birth of Shiranui
Deep in the mountains of Gunma Prefecture, in front of a weather-beaten thatched cottage, Yami placed the Scarlet Ore onto a rough wooden table.
The ore was irregular in shape, about the size of a human head. Its surface was dark and uneven, but a strange red glow pulsed from within it, like magma breathing beneath stone.
Across from him stood an old man.
He was gaunt, with gray hair, one blind eye, and a right arm so well developed that it seemed out of place on his thin frame. His name was Tetsusai, a legendary blacksmith who had lived in seclusion from the Jujutsu World for years.
He was also the man Masamichi Yaga had recommended.
"This is the material?" Tetsusai asked.
His remaining eye fixed on the ore.
The cloudy, lifeless gaze from a moment ago changed at once. It sharpened with a brightness that bordered on obsession.
He reached out with a trembling, calloused hand and touched the rough surface of the ore.
"Incredible…"
His voice grew hoarse.
"Absolutely incredible. I have forged Cursed Tools my entire life, even Special Grade ones, but I have never seen ore with such terrifying affinity for heat."
His fingers traced the uneven ridges.
"Geothermal fire accumulated over centuries. Resentment. Despair. The lingering heat of lives buried underground. All of it has been sealed inside this stone."
Tetsusai looked up.
His one eye stared at Yami with the feverish intensity of a craftsman who had finally found the material he had waited his whole life to touch.
"Kid. What do you want me to forge?"
Yami answered without hesitation.
"A sword."
His tone was calm, but there was no room for doubt in it.
"A tachi that can withstand the temperature of the sun."
"The temperature of the sun?"
Tetsusai froze.
Then he laughed.
The sound was rough, loud, and strangely alive, echoing through the quiet mountain forest.
"What arrogance. Even the Six Eyes brat from the Gojo Family wouldn't dare say he could master the power of the sun."
He picked up the Scarlet Ore and turned toward the old smithy behind him.
"But I like that arrogance."
Inside the smithy, the furnace burned hot enough to warp the air.
Tetsusai stepped into the red glow and grinned.
"Come in, kid. I can't forge this sword alone."
He held up the ore.
"This blade needs your fire."
For the next three days and three nights, the sound of hammering never stopped.
Clang!
Ding!
Clang!
Every strike of the hammer shook the smithy. Sparks flew like swarms of fireflies, scattering across the dark walls before fading into smoke.
Yami stood shirtless beside the furnace.
Sweat ran down the lines of his back and shoulders. His breathing remained steady, deep, and constant.
"Breathe, kid!" Tetsusai roared as he swung the hammer with all his strength. "Keep that strange rhythm of yours steady!"
Yami's eyes reflected the red light of the furnace.
"Total Concentration: Constant."
Each breath carried heat into the ore as it was folded, struck, and reforged.
This was no ordinary assistance.
Yami was not simply helping Tetsusai shape the blade. He was resonating with the Scarlet Ore.
He could feel the violent impurities within it.
Resentment.
Fear.
The bitter hatred of those who died underground.
One layer at a time, those impurities were burned away beneath the pure heat of Sun Breathing. What remained was not malice, but strength.
Toughness.
Obedience to heat.
A material that could endure the breath of the sun.
On the dawn of the third day, the first ray of sunlight pierced through the mountain mist and entered the smithy window.
Tetsusai plunged the newly forged tachi into the cold spring water.
Hiss!
White steam surged upward, swallowing half the room.
When the steam thinned, the old blacksmith pulled the blade free.
"It's done…"
Tetsusai collapsed onto the floor, panting heavily. His one eye was bloodshot, but his expression was full of exhausted satisfaction.
"The finest work of my life."
Yami stepped forward.
His gaze fell on the sword.
It was a slender tachi.
The hilt and scabbard were made from top-grade ebony, without any excessive ornamentation. It had no flashy decorations, no gilded fittings, no ornamental arrogance. It was simple, dark, and sharp.
A weapon meant to kill.
Yami gripped the hilt.
The moment his fingers closed around it, a familiar heat traveled from the sword into his hand.
Not burning.
Welcoming.
He drew the blade.
Cling.
A clear ringing note spread through the smithy.
The blade was pitch black, but along its edge flowed a deep red gleam, like magma moving beneath volcanic glass.
Yami's pupils narrowed.
The sensation in his palm was too familiar.
Images flashed through his mind.
Shibuya, 2018.
Underground Level Five.
The abandoned nuclear power plant.
The battles where he had stood between death and the people he had sworn to protect.
In those moments, the sword in his hand had always been this one.
A black blade with a red edge.
A Special Grade Cursed Tool capable of bearing the heat of Sun Breathing without breaking.
"So that's how it is…"
Yami smiled.
There was relief in it, but also a strange, quiet shock.
He finally understood.
The sword he had wielded in the future had not appeared from nowhere.
It had not been a random reward created by the System.
Nor had it been some ancient heirloom that had always existed in the Jujutsu World.
It was him.
He had forged it here.
In this era.
In 2018, Satoru Gojo had casually tossed this sword to him, saying it was a trial reward taken from the rotten higher-ups. Later, after Yami's Special Grade evaluation, it had officially become his.
Who could have imagined that Shiranui, the blade those same higher-ups treated as a priceless treasure, had been given life by his own hands twelve years earlier?
The loop of fate closed perfectly in that moment.
This sword had crossed twelve years of time, been sealed and preserved by Jujutsu High, passed through Gojo's hands, and finally returned to its creator.
Tetsusai looked at him from the floor, still breathing hard.
"Kid. This sword has no name yet."
His voice was rough from exhaustion.
"It was born from the karmic fire of the earth and tempered by that sunlike power of yours. Name it."
Yami raised the sword and gently ran his gaze along the blade.
A rare softness entered his eyes.
"Shiranui."
He spoke the name quietly.
"A rootless flame burning in the dark. A light that severs evil."
He rested his thumb against the blade and cut it lightly.
A drop of blood slid onto the black steel.
The red light along the edge flared.
The temperature inside the smithy rose sharply, and the furnace fire bent toward the blade as if bowing to it.
Tetsusai's eye widened.
He staggered back half a step.
"This sword…"
His voice trembled.
"It has surpassed the category of a Special Grade Cursed Tool. It has gained its own soul."
Yami said nothing.
He stepped outside the cottage with Shiranui in hand.
A small hill stood several dozen meters away.
Yami took a breath.
His Total Concentration reached its peak, and the red line along Shiranui's edge burned with blinding light.
"Sun Breathing, First Form."
His stance lowered.
"Circle Dance."
The blade moved.
Boom!
A red arc swept forward.
It passed through the hill as easily as a knife through tofu. The upper section slid away, cleanly severed, while the cut surface crystallized under the extreme heat until it shone like polished glass.
[Ding! Exclusive weapon obtained: Special Grade Cursed Tool, Shiranui.]
[Due to the weapon's high compatibility with the host's soul, Sun Breathing power increased by 30%.]
[Hidden trait unlocked: Indestructible.]
[While augmented by the host's Breathing Technique, this weapon cannot be destroyed by conventional means.]
Yami looked at the leveled hill, then slowly sheathed Shiranui.
With this old companion in his hand, he could finally bring out the full extent of his strength.
At that moment, the flip phone placed on the wooden table beside the cottage vibrated violently.
Yami picked it up.
An urgent text from Satoru Gojo appeared on the screen.
[The mission has changed. The Star Plasma Cult and Q are moving at the same time.]
[Return to Tokyo immediately.]
Yami's gaze sharpened.
The Star Plasma Vessel escort mission.
The turning point that had once decided the fates of Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto.
The moment that led to the death of Riko Amanai.
The beginning of Suguru's descent.
And that man.
The Sorcerer Killer.
Yami gripped Shiranui.
"It seems your first unsheathing will draw real blood."
He slung the sword over his shoulder and turned toward the mountain path without another word.
His destination was Tokyo.
This time, with the blade that had crossed time in his hand, Yami wanted to see who could still kill the people he had chosen to protect right in front of him.
.....
https://discord.gg/KvMN2CFsMR
[If you don't want to wait for the next update, read 50 chapters ahead on P@treon.]
[[email protected]/FanficLord03]