Note: Thank you for all the support and ideas you have shared! Reading your comments and the help of the Editor, I have been able to clarify several doubts. An important question was whether Muramasa could impregnate a woman, considering her nature as a Servant. Thanks to his summoning into Shirou Emiya's body, we know that Muramasa is a Pseudo-Servant, meaning that he has a body of flesh and blood, not a spiritual manifestation like other Servants. So, yes, he can have children. 😊
Regarding Rimuru, a guest reader (FF) gave an interesting answer that he had not considered:
[As for Rimuru idk maybe she gets some skill that give her normal biolgical functioning when she's taking Shizu's form so she can have the biology of a normal women instead of a asexual slime.]
It's a perfect solution! This idea fits well with Rimuru's ability to assume Shizu's human form. Therefore, we can assume that, as long as she is in her human form, her biology works like that of a normal woman, allowing her to become pregnant.
As for Ciel, technically something similar can happen (that's what I think). By using the 'dual body' ability, her human biology would also be fully functional. It's a simple and logical way to approach the subject without complicating things with unnecessary magical abilities.
Once again, thank you all for your feedback and ideas! It is a pleasure to continue developing this story with you. 😊
Chapter 6
The memories of the blacksmith known as Senji Muramasa.
The first time Senji Muramasa forged something, he was fifteen years old.
The young man was full of enthusiasm and pride. After watching his father for years, he had finally decided to try what he had always admired: forging his first katana. With patience and determination, he overcame mistakes and difficulties. And at the end, he held in his hands a katana that was simple in design, but reflected the hard work of his young and inexperienced hands.
Eager to receive his father's approval, Senji brought the katana to the man he respected more than anyone else.
The father took the katana carefully, studying it with a serious expression. His fingers ran across the page, assessing every detail. But then something changed.
The atmosphere became heavy. A dark, almost tangible energy emanated from the katana. His father's face twisted eerily, as if something terrible was going on inside him.
The murderous intents that resided in the katana attacked the man mercilessly. It was as if the weapon had a will of its own, crying out for blood and chaos. His father's mind, caught up in that twisted energy, was pushed to the limit.
There were only two options: kill or die.
Senji's father, glassy-eyed and broken-minded, made the quickest decision. Without a word, he turned the katana towards himself and plunged it into his neck.
Time seemed to stand still.
Young Senji Muramasa stood motionless, staring at his father's lifeless body, lying in a pool of blood. The katana, still drenched in that dark crimson, glittered in the light of the forge as if celebrating his work.
"What... I just did?"
The words echoed in his mind, but his throat was dry. Senji fell to his knees beside his father's body, his gaze lost, caught between horror and disbelief.
His masterpiece, his first creation, had killed the man he admired most.
"The weapon... it's cursed," he finally whispered, his words barely a thin voice.
As he looked at the sheet, questions began to flood his mind:
"A mistake? Where did I go wrong? It's my fault? Am I a cursed child? Why didn't anyone tell me this could happen?"
Every thought pierced him like a needle, carrying him deeper into an abyss of guilt and despair. But, instead of being paralyzed, Senji began to move.
Wiping the blood with trembling hands, he prepared his father's body with the respect he owed him. Then, he buried him near a group of trees, under the quiet shade that the man loved so much in life.
Standing in front of the newly formed tomb, Senji bowed his head, his hands clasped together in prayer.
"Father... I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "This was my fault. But I swear that... I'll fix my mistake."
When he looked up, his eyes shone with fierce determination.
"If I don't master this problem, I can give myself up for dead."
Those words became his mantra, the fire that fueled every blow of his hammer from that day on.
He forged katana after katana, but the curses persisted. Each blade he created charged a dark energy, and each claimed victims. By the age of sixteen, more than a hundred people had been killed by the weapons that came out of their hands.
The guilt grew, but so did its resolve.
He would not allow himself to give up. He couldn't stop. Absolute control over his art was the only path in front of him.
"The katanas will cease to be cursed," he thought, striking the steel with an almost inhuman force. "I will make my swords worthy."
And so, the young Senji Muramasa continued his journey, with the weight of tragedy as his teacher, and determination as his only companion.
One year later
The sound of the hammer striking the steel echoed through the forge, a familiar echo that had filled Senji Muramasa's days and nights over the past year.
Each blow was precise, full of intention and discipline. The heat of the fire enveloped the room, but it was no longer an enemy. He was an ally that Muramasa had learned to master.
His hands, hardened by countless hours of work, guided the metal with a dexterity that only an obsessed person could achieve. However, this time it was different.
There was something in the air.
In front of him, a new katana took shape. It was his last attempt, the product of all the failures and learnings of the last twelve months. The tears, the sleepless nights, and the spilled blood were reflected in the gleam of the steel as he molded it.
Finally, Muramasa struck the last blow.
The blade rested on the anvil, gleaming in the light of the forge. He watched it in silence, almost with reverence. Something was different this time.
The heavy environment that used to surround his katanas wasn't there. There was no evil energy, no killing intent emanating from the blade. It was pure.
With steady hands, he raised the katana, assessing it with his sharp eyes. Not only was it his most perfect creation yet, but it was also clean. For the first time, he did not feel the oppression that had characterized his previous weapons.
He closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh, as if all the weight he had carried up to that moment had vanished.
"Finally..." he murmured, his voice barely audible over the crackling of embers. "I made it."
Carefully, he drew the katana and traced a quick slash in the air. The blade responded with absolute precision, the sound of steel cutting through the air was clean, almost musical.
Muramasa couldn't help but smile. It wasn't a broad or exuberant smile, but a small curve on his lips, full of pride and relief.
He walked to the outside of the forge, holding the katana in both hands. The sky was clear, and the wind caressed his face as he stared at the leaf in the sunlight.
"Father..." he murmured, looking at the horizon, where he knew his father's grave rested under the trees. "I have finally created a sword that carries no evil. I hope you can see this."
The breeze seemed to respond, moving the branches of the trees in a reassuring whisper. Muramasa lowered his katana, bowing his head slightly.
The blacksmith knew that this was not the end of his journey. He had mastered one aspect of his art, but the blacksmith's path never ended. However, at that time, he allowed himself to enjoy his success.
He had conquered the curse. He had accomplished what once seemed impossible.
And, for the first time, he felt that the shadows that were chasing him began to dissipate.
❈•≫────≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫────≪•❈
Sometime later.
Light rain fell on the clearing, turning the sky gray and filling the air with the fresh scent of wet earth. Muramasa was standing in front of a makeshift grave. There was no tombstone, just a simple offering: a small bouquet of wildflowers carefully placed on the mound. His golden eyes were fixed on the spot, as rain fell on his red hair, sliding down his face without him doing anything to protect himself.
It was not common for Muramasa to leave his forge, and even less so for something like this. However, in this place, there was something that connected him to a past that he had been trying to leave behind for centuries.
"Father..." he thought as the sound of rain filled the silence. The words didn't come from his lips, but in his mind he remembered the days when his father taught him about the art of blacksmithing. He recalled his father's face, stern but fair, and how those memories were tainted by the tragedy that followed.
Behind him, two figures watched from a distance: Rimuru and Ciel.
"We shouldn't interrupt," Rimuru whispered, her golden eyes showing a mixture of curiosity and respect.
Ciel, with her characteristic neutral tone, replied: "It's an important moment for him. I recommend waiting until you're ready to return."
Both remained silent, respecting Muramasa's space as the rain continued to fall gently. After several minutes, the blacksmith let out a long sigh and bowed slightly in front of the grave, as if he was saying goodbye.
Without saying a word, Muramasa began to walk back to the forge, passing by Rimuru and Ciel without even looking at them. They both followed him in silence, aware that this was not the time for questions.
The way back was quiet, with the sound of rain as the only company. Finally, Muramasa spoke.
"Do you have anything to tell me?" he asked in his typical tone, although there was a tinge of openness in his voice that surprised them.
Rimuru exchanged a quick glance with Ciel before replying. "We didn't want to interrupt. It seemed important to you."
Muramasa nodded, as if accepting the explanation. "It was."
They arrived at the forge, where the heat of the fire and the familiar smell of metal replaced the moisture of the rain. Muramasa closed the door behind them and turned to face them.
"I suppose you're curious," he said, crossing his arms.
Rimuru quickly shook her head. "We don't want to pressure you into talking about something personal."
Ciel, however, tilted his head slightly and replied, "If you decide to share, analyzing your story could provide valuable insights into your character and emotions."
Muramasa let out a slight laugh. "Always so direct, huh, Ciel?"
They both looked at him in surprise as Muramasa walked to the workbench and sat down on a bench, resting his arms on his knees. His eyes seemed to look through time, to a past that still weighed on his soul.
"It's okay. I don't mind talking about it," he finally said. "After all, you two are already a part of my everyday life."
Rimuru blinked, clearly surprised by his words, while Ciel simply nodded, as if she had anticipated it.
Muramasa began to speak, his voice low but full of weight.
"That grave... It's a reminder of my biggest failure. My father was the one who taught me everything I know about blacksmithing. He was a demanding man, but fair. I wanted him to perfect every aspect of my craft, and I wanted to impress him, to show him that I could live up to him."
He paused, looking at his hands, as if he could still feel the weight of that first katana.
"The first sword I forged... it was full of errors. I didn't know it at the time, but there was something about it, something that wasn't natural. When I showed it to my father, I thought he would be proud of me. But as soon as he touched it, something changed."
"What happened?" Rimuru asked quietly, unable to contain herself.
Muramasa closed his eyes, his expression hardening. "The sword... consumed him. It was as if he was alive, but not in a good way. I felt a killing intent emanate from him. My father... He had no choice but to use it against himself before I forced him to attack me."
The heat of the forge filled the air, but the cold memories still weighed on Muramasa's mind. Rimuru and Ciel watched him closely, trying to process everything they had heard.
"I am very sorry for what happened, Muramasa," Rimuru said, her voice soft but charged with emotion. "I can't imagine what it must have been like to carry something like that for so long."
Muramasa looked up at Rimuru, his golden eyes shining brightly in the dim light of the forge.
"Don't feel sorry for me," he replied, his tone dry but firm. "If anyone deserves your pity, they are the victims of my katanas. It was they who paid the price for my mistakes. My father... and everyone else."
Rimuru was silent for a moment, taking in his words. Then, she lowered her gaze, clenching her fists slightly.
"I understand you more than you think," she finally said. "There was a moment when I also made a mistake that cost me a lot. I thought humans weren't a danger to my people. I thought I could trust them, but..."
She paused, her mind traveling to that day. She remembered the tragedy she had faced, the invasion of humans, the slaughter of her people, and how, in her blind trust, she had underestimated what they could do.
Rimuru raised her head, her golden eyes reflecting a mixture of determination and sadness. "I was too confident. I thought the problem with humans was only a matter of time. But... I was wrong. My people, my friends... they died because of me."
Muramasa watched in silence, feeling the resonance of her words. She knew well what it meant to carry such a great guilt.
"Everything I did... the way I tried to protect them... it only led to more pain. It was a terrible decision that changed my life, and I lost a lot because of it." Rimuru sighed, as if releasing that truth cost her more than she wanted to admit. "Now, every decision I make bears the weight of that tragedy. And it will always be with me, reminding me that things are not as simple as I thought."
Muramasa said nothing at first. He looked at Rimuru, recognizing in her eyes a determination he shared, albeit in different ways. Finally, he broke the silence.
"But you can't live trapped in the past, can you?" said Muramasa, his voice deep and calm. "No matter how many times you repeat it, you can't change what happened. The only thing you can do is use that pain to move forward, to make sure it doesn't happen again."
Rimuru nodded slowly, understanding what Muramasa meant. "You're right. I have learned to move forward, not without remembering what happened, but with the intention of preventing something like this from happening again."
The two shared a moment of understanding, without the need for additional words. It was a silent connection, born of suffering and determination to move forward.
"Thank you," Rimuru murmured finally, breaking the silence. "To understand. Not everyone can understand the weight of the decisions we have made."
Muramasa nodded without speaking. It was not necessary. They both knew that, somehow, what they shared was much more than simple compassion. It was a mutual understanding of what it meant to carry such a heavy burden, and how, in the end, one could move on, albeit with scars.
Ciel, who had been watching silently from his corner, analyzed the interaction between the two with her usual logical approach. Although she could not experience human emotions, she sensed the change that was taking place in the air between them. A subtle change, but real.
"It's interesting," Ciel commented, her voice neutral. "Muramasa, just like Rimuru-sama. They transformed their tragedies into determination, something that is not common in many humans."
Rimuru turned to Ciel, her expression softening. "Yes, I think we're starting to understand each other more than we thought."
Muramasa, who had been listening, looked at both of them with a slight smile.
"Perhaps," he said, "understanding is what really matters."
With those words, the atmosphere in the forge was filled with a sense of calm. The fire of the forge was still burning, the sound of metal echoing in the air, but between the three of them, something had changed.
And so, the story of Muramasa, Rimuru and Ciel continued, each day closer, each day stronger, without any of them realizing the true meaning of what they were building together.
❈•≫────≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫────≪•❈
"Looks like the lonely blacksmith decided to accept company in his life."
Someone's voice was heard behind me. I didn't turn to see who it was, his voice sounded familiar from the reaction of this body.
"Hm," I muttered as I continued to work the red-hot metal. "Even someone who chooses solitude as a lifestyle sooner or later seeks the warmth of others. Sometimes it's an unavoidable need, even if it comes late. As was my case, I spent living on the mountain forging swords and dying alone on that mountain when I was already in my seventies... at the end of my life, I would have liked to spend with someone in that solitary life."
The tinkling of the hammer as it struck the newly formed blade punctuated every word of my confession.
"This time..." I paused for a moment, watching the steel take shape, 'it doesn't seem far-fetched to me to accept the company of others,' I said, as I remembered that it had been two months since I had arrived in this world. Two days ago, I had a more personal conversation with Rimuru and Ciel.
I would never have imagined talking about my past... in the end, it had been a coincidence of Rimuru and Ciel arriving that day as I made a tomb to remember my father and the legend of the cursed katanas made by me.
"I see, I understand your reason for accepting company. So, how long do you plan to stay in this world?"
That question... I'm not going to lie it always hovered in my mind.
How long do I plan to stay?
It's a question I still don't have an answer to.
Only the circumstance of life will tell....
As was the case with sacrificing myself for the creation of Excalibur.