"You... you're with the Demon Slayer Corps, aren't you?" The chief's wife had asked as she gently tucked her daughter into bed, brushing stray strands of hair from the child's peaceful face. Her voice was quiet, careful as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile calm.
"Hm?"
I hadn't expected the question.
Most civilians didn't know about us. Hell, most people didn't even believe the existence of demons, let alone superhumans that killed said demons. They might have heard whispers or rumors of swordsmen who slayed demons in the night—but rarely did they understand the truth. Yet there was no hesitation in her words, no trace of doubt.
'Was her husband a Demon Slayer?'
There was no way to tell. The demon I fought was too tricky, too dangerous for an average swordsman to handle. At the time, my strength had rivaled that of a Kinoe-ranked Slayer. To me, there was practically no difference between a retired low-ranking Slayer and a civilian in terms of power.
My thoughts turned grim.
'Which is why I couldn't tell how strong he was—considering I had beheaded him in an instant.'
I nodded slowly. "I am."
She exhaled, relief flickering in her exhausted eyes. "My husband... he worked closely with the Corps. He helped keep watch over the village, and passed along information when something seemed off." Her hands clenched into fists, her knuckles white. "He told me that if anything ever happened, the Demon Slayer Corps would come. That you'd protect us."
"Is that so?"
'Not a slayer then, just some guy who had connections'
That explained why I had been sent so quickly. I had thought it was just a coincidence—another random mission assigned to me in the endless fight against demons. But if the village had ties to the Corps, if her husband had been trusted… then perhaps the request for help had been prioritized.
'No matter the world, having connections always helps'
The Chief's wife then stared at me, searching my face for any signs of lies or deceit.. "Did you… see him? Did he…?"
She inhaled sharply, her hands clenched in her lap. "Did you… did you see him?"
"I did."
She searched my face for an answer I couldn't soften. The silence between us stretched, and her expression fell. "He's gone… isn't he?"
I met her gaze, my own expression unreadable. I could have lied—told her I didn't know, that I never saw him.
But she deserved the truth.
"He didn't make it," I said quietly. "I'm sorry."
She didn't react at first. Just stood there, motionless, like her mind refused to process the words. Then, slowly, she closed her eyes. Her breath hitched, and she brought a trembling hand to her mouth, stifling a sound that barely escaped her lips.
She had already known. Deep down, she must have. But hearing it aloud made it real.
I didn't try to comfort her. There was nothing I could say that would make this easier. No empty reassurances, no hollow condolences, after all, I am the very reason she is shedding tears.
So I simply stood there, silent, as she wept.
...
...
...
Enough of that sad K-drama shit.
I sat cross-legged across from Gyomei and my swordsmith, Masamori Genzo. The air was thick with tension as the latter ran his fingers over my empty hilt. Sensei had his head down, chanting Buddhist prayers for my well-being.
"You certainly wasted no time huh?' The swordsmith hummed in annoyance "Are you that bad at handling swords? Maybe I should cut your arms off and attach metal blades to them instead. Let's see how well you take care of those"
'I would rather face a hundred demons than the wrath of a swordsmith young Aoyama. I will pray for you'
"Still, I must admit I didn't expect you to break it this quickly, that was the best Katana I've ever made considering the former Water Hashira requested it of me," Masamori muttered, frowning. "Also, where's the metal blade? Why have you only given me the wooden hilt?"
"Wait don't tell me... you lost it?" He then snapped his neck up and though I couldn't see his face through the mask, I instinctively knew he was looking at me with a sharp gaze, almost on the verge of crashing out. "Not only did you break my Katana in less than a week of using it but you did not even bother collecting the broken parts?"
"No no, I did collect them, it's just..." I silently reached into my haori and retrieved a small pouch. Without a word, I placed it before the swordsmith. "It's best if you see it yourself. I'm not sure words can explain it."
Masamori frowned as he untied the pouch and tilted its contents into his palm. Tiny, glimmering fragments of red and black Nichirin metal tumbled out, barely larger than grains of sand.
The room fell into silence.
Himejima-Sensei remained quiet, his expression unreadable as he turned the prayer beads in his hands. A normal person couldn't tell, but he had started reciting his chants just a bit faster than usual.
Masamori, however, was frozen, staring at the broken remains of the sword he had forged.
"So y-you see, I uhm" I sputtered as I tried to explain it to the frozen swordsmith. "I tried to use my full strength. The blade… couldn't handle it."
Masamori didn't respond as he just stared at the powder in his hands. The blood in my body went cold as I stared at him unmoving. I turned to look at Himejima-Sensei, but he had somehow left the room long ago.
Masamori Genzo remained silent for a long moment, staring at the fine grains of shattered Nichirin metal in his palm. The red and black fragments gleamed dully under the dim lantern light, remnants of what was once a blade forged with utmost care. His fingers trembled slightly as he closed them around the broken pieces, his shoulders stiff, his breathing controlled but unsteady.
'Ah man, I'm fucked' I thought as he started to shake 'Tch, I just had to go full emo in that battle huh? Stupid stren-'
Then, without warning, he dropped to his knees and bowed low, his forehead pressing against the wooden floor.
"Forgive me," he said, his voice hoarse with shame. "I have failed you, Aoyama. My blade was not strong enough to withstand your power. I have brought dishonor upon myself as a swordsmith."
I blinked, caught off guard. I had seen the swordsmiths in the anime react with extreme emotions, especially the ones from the village, but Masamori had always seemed more composed. To see him crumble like this was unexpected.
"Masamori—"
"If a demon breaks a blade, it is a reflection of the swordsman's failure to protect it," Masamori continued, his head still lowered. "But if a sword shatters under the strength of its wielder, then it is the swordsmith who is at fault."
His shoulders trembled. "I must have made a terrible sword for it to break so easily."
I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, Masamori suddenly sucked in a sharp breath and sat up straight, his eyes wild with desperation. "I— I must atone for this failure!"
My stomach dropped as the swordsmith grabbed for his tanto, the short blade gleaming under the candlelight. "I must commit seppuku to rid myself of this dishonor!"
"Wha- Seppuku? Calm down it's just a sword!"
Before I could respond, Masamori reached for the short blade tucked into his side, his hands steady despite the evident turmoil in his voice. His movements were swift, and practiced—this wasn't just an outburst. He was genuinely prepared to go through with it.
"A SWORD IS EVERYTHING FOR ME" Masamori cried out "ITS MY MOTHER, MY SISTER, MY WIFE, MY DAUGHTER, MY EVERYTHING. FOR ME TO FAIL IN MAKING A BLADE IS TO FAIL IN RAISING A FAMILY"
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU SAYING? THAT'S A TERRIBLE ANALOGY AND A QUITE FUCKED UP FAMILY"
My hand shot out, grabbing Masamori's wrist before the blade could be drawn.
Masamori's face twisted in anguish, but his grip on the tanto never wavered. "You don't understand! If a swordsmith cannot craft a blade worthy of its wielder, then he is no swordsmith at all! To bring shame upon my work—"
"Your work didn't bring shame on anyone!" I snapped as I tried to stop him from unsheathing his Tanto. "If anything, it's my fault for using too much strength!"
Masamori's eyes burned with conviction. "A blade should never break before its wielder. A blade should endure, no matter the force, no matter the trial! If it could not withstand you, then it was flawed from the moment I forged it. And for that, I must—"
I grabbed his collar and shook him. "What, you're gonna kill yourself over a hunk of metal? Just forge a new one, you crazy bastard!"
He let out a choked gasp, caught between outrage and despair. "Aoyama—"
"Don't be stupid," I said, his voice firm but not unkind. "Dying won't fix anything. It won't make a better sword. And it sure as hell won't help me."
Masamori's brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"
I let go of his collar and exhaled, forcing myself to be patient. I wasn't exactly the best at explaining things, but if I didn't spell it out, this lunatic was actually going to gut himself over a sword.
"I mean," I started, tapping a finger against my empty hilt, "every time I fight, I hit too hard. The force is too much for the blade to handle. No matter how well-forged the steel is, it's just not keeping up with me. If we keep replacing them, it's just going to be the same problem over and over."
Masamori swallowed, his hands twitching, torn between his instinct to argue and the lingering weight of failure. He didn't like excuses. No swordsmith did. Too bad I was too much of a sigma to care.
"I don't need a katana," I continued. "I need something that'll let me use my full strength without worrying about it snapping in half."
Masamori stared at me, his face blank. Then, slowly, his brows pulled together. "What… exactly are you asking for? An axe like the Stone Hashira?"
I raised my hands and flexed my fingers. "Gauntlets."
Silence.
Masamori blinked at me, processing. Gyomei-Sensei, who had been quietly observing with his prayer beads in hand, let out a low hum- Wait, when the fuck did this guy come back here?
"Gauntlets?" Masamori repeated, voice flat, as if I had just suggested he forge me a soup bowl instead.
"Gauntlets." I nodded. "Something reinforced, something that won't shatter no matter how hard I hit. If I can't rely on a blade, then I'll just use my own fists. Also, maybe forge a bowl of soup for me as well."
"Soup? You-" Masamori opened his mouth, closed it again, then pinched the bridge of his nose. "You… you realize I forge katanas, right? Swords. Not armor, not—" He gestured wildly. "Gloves."
"Well luckily for you, you won't have to forge gloves," I said nodding as if I was relieving him of some of his work "you only have to forge gauntlets"
Masamori let out a slow, suffering breath, his fingers rubbing circles against his temples. "I didn't mean that literally, you dense bastard."
"Good," I said, crossing my arms. "Because I didn't mean the soup thing either. Mostly. Also gauntlets won't be enough. You need to make knee guards and shin guards too or else my attack capability will be limited to my arms and I intend to use my whole body."
Masamori's eye twitched so hard I thought he might burst a blood vessel.
"You—what—whole body?" His voice rose an octave, his hands flying into his hair as if physically holding in his frustration. "Do you even understand how much work that is?! It's one thing to forge gauntlets, but you're asking for an entire set of armor!"
"Not armor. Just reinforcements. Light enough to not slow me down, but durable enough to handle my strength." I tilted my head. "Also, I don't need a set of armor that's going to limit my flexibility"
"N-no I didn't-Fu-ugh"
"It is quite rare for a swordsmith to be at a loss for words. Usually, it is the Slayer who must endure their wrath. Yet here, it seems the roles have reversed."I glanced at Gyomei-Sensei, who sat with his hands clasped over his prayer beads.
"Yeah, well," I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck. "I think I broke him a little."
The fact that he somehow managed to sparkle despite the dim candlelight only added to the absurdity of the situation. "You are the honored one young Aoyama"
"Thank you"
"Would you mind talking to my blacksmiths for me as well?"
"I would mind that yes"
Masamori was still sitting there, hunched over, staring blankly at the floor like he was questioning every decision that had led him to this moment. His lips moved slightly, whispering something that sounded suspiciously like "gauntlets… shin guards… what's next, a helmet?"
Masamori exhaled sharply through his nose. "Oh, well, when you put it that way, it sounds so easy. Maybe I'll just wave my hammer around and a perfectly indestructible set of gear will appear before me."
Masamori still looked like he wanted to strangle me, but his fingers twitched in thought, his mind already working through the logistics. I could see it—the moment his pride as a craftsman started warring with his initial rejection of the idea.
Masamori groaned into his hands before dragging them down his face. He looked at me again, dead-eyed. "Alright, listen here, you absolute menace. I'll do it. I'll forge your gauntlets, your shin guards, your knee guards—hell, I'll even throw in a reinforced chest plate if it means you don't break yourself along with my craftsmanship."
"I don't need a chest plate."
"That's for when you show up to me if you ever break those gauntlets and guards"
"I mean... you should make a Nichrin stress-doll in that case shouldn't you?"
"...I want to change Slayers"
"You make swords for multiple slayers don't you?' I asked him "Can't you just have someone else make my sword- I mean, my gauntlets instead?"
"First of all, no way in hell am I giving up making a red blade" Masamori mumbled in exhaustion "And second of all, I'm your personal swordsmith, so no I can't just dump this task on someone else"
"Oh damn, so everyone gets a personal slayer?"
"No dumbass, only Hashira and people who the leader of the Slayer Corps recommend to us get one," he said "I don't know why lord Ubayashiki recommended someone like you. Though I guess it might be for that freakish strength you have"
Masamori twitched. Slowly, he lifted his head, eyes filled with renewed determination—and exhaustion. "Fine," he exhaled, dragging a hand down his face. "I'll do it. But if you break this set, I'm actually going to kill you."
I held up my hands. "Relax, I'll take good care of them."
Masamori scoffed. "That's what they all say, right before they come back crying with a shattered blade and expect me to perform miracles."
Gyomei-Sensei let out a deep, knowing hum, the weight of his wisdom pressing down on the room like a mountain. "It is the fate of all craftsmen to endure hardships."
Masamori shot him a glare. "I don't need philosophy right now, I need this guy to stop breaking my work."
I shrugged. "Not my fault metal can't keep up."
Masamori grumbled something about ingrates and muscle-headed brutes, but I chose to ignore it. Instead, I leaned forward. "So, how long do you think it'll take?"
"For me to regain the will to live, or for your gear to be ready?"
I blinked. "Uh… the gear?"
Masamori exhaled. "A few weeks, at least. I have to work out how to infuse Nichirin properties into gauntlets and guards while making sure they can withstand your ridiculous strength." He eyed me. "Not to mention, I'm going to have to learn how to craft gauntlets and shin guards first."
Gyomei-Sensei hummed in understanding. "Adaptability is a virtue."
Masamori pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's a headache, is what it is." He let out a long sigh, rubbing at his temples. "I'll have to study the best way to shape Nichirin metal into something wearable, then figure out how to maintain the same durability and sharpness properties without compromising flexibility."
I shrugged. "Sounds tough. Good luck with that."
"You're the reason I have to do this in the first place!"
I ignored his outburst. "So, how long are we talking? A month? Two?"
Masamori groaned. "No more than a few weeks… if I don't sleep."
Gyomei-Sensei placed a large hand on his shoulder. "Rest is necessary for a clear mind."
Masamori let out a hollow laugh. "Tell that to this guy when he breaks another weapon in record time." He shot me a pointed glare. "If these gauntlets fail, I really will commit seppuku."
I held up my hands. "Alright, alright, I'll go easy on them."
"You're lying."
"Yeah."