One Day Since Waking

* * *

Time to rebuild. Eat clean, sleep deep, breathe right.

My body’s finding its new baseline, but the alignment’s shot.

Time to tune the machine. This is going to be a grind.

I’m in the garden, moving through some light forms, shirtless. The scars are on full display.

Lady Ayano taps out her apology on her keyboard.

[It appears I can’t heal all of your wounds.]

I run a hand over the damage. Gunshots, plenty of those. A crater in my left shoulder where a rifle round tore through.

But the real trophies are from Teruno Sakaki. Deep grooves in my left pec. More on my back, sunk into the trap and lat. The fangs left their signature.

There’s no pain, just a disconnect. The damaged muscle throws my whole frame off balance.

[I wish I could have done a better job healing you.]

“Milady, why the grim face? It doesn’t suit you.”

I stroke her fur, trying to soothe her.

“Besides,” I say with a low chuckle, “an elegant lady like you might not get it, but men… we don’t hate scars. Especially these.”

I tap the bite marks. “They’re proof. Proof I took a hit like this and walked away. So don’t you worry about it. You’re my lady. When you’re in pain, I feel it too. Now, let me see that beautiful smile.”

I take her paw and knead it gently.

She stares at me, expression prim, then whips her head away with a huff. “Meow-meow.”

“Exasperated with me?”

“Meow-meow. Mee-ow-meow. Meow-meow.” (Yes. Of course I am. How can you say something so cool with a straight face? I nearly died from the cuteness. That was close. So, so close. Honestly. Ikaku can be a warrior so fierce he looks like a demon of war, but really, he’s just a mischievous boy… and so kind, and so handsome… Ugh, I love him. But Miss Ophelia is starting to notice his good qualities, and that’s a serious problem…)

“My Lady? You have to type it out. Are you really that annoyed?”

Maybe it’s something she can’t understand.

Grace. Composure. Whatever… Scars are earned.

* * *

Three Days Since Waking

* * *

The days are spent on rehab. Calibrating the machine.

Today, Lady Kimiyo promised something interesting. She leads me to a magic workshop.

The air hits me like a wet towel, hot and humid. The place smells of metal and ozone. A forge for magical tools.

In the back, a furnace roars.

A giant in a tank top works the forge, all focus. When he notices us, he stops his work and stands.

“Lady Kimiyo, good morning,” he rumbles. “…Is that the one?”

“The very same. Ikaku Akamuro. The last of the Coral Terminators, the commoner who built a mountain of Demon corpses overnight.”

The giant’s eyes rake over me, head to toe.

We’re eye to eye. He has to be over six-three, same as me. His bulk rivals my own.

“You’re smaller than I expected,” he comments.

“It’s functional muscle,” I say. “I look leaner in clothes.”

I glance at Lady Kimiyo. Who is this guy?

“This is Takumi,” she says. “A retainer of the Akachi clan. Been here a long time. Just call him Takumi. He prefers it.”

“Takumi. A master of what?”

“Smithing, as you can see.” That’s all he has to say on the matter.

He turns his back and walks toward the roaring furnace.

“He’s a man of few words,” Kimiyo says. “Gruff with anyone outside the Akachi clan. But his skill is undeniable.”

“His skill? He forges swords?”

“Among other things. Like processing the remains of Demons.”

“The remains of Demons?”

A small smile touches Kimiyo’s lips as she looks toward Takumi.

The craftsman plunges a pair of forge tongs into the furnace, pulls out a sword glowing fiery orange-red, and brings it over to us, laying the heated blade on a wide anvil.

“Magnificent,” Kimiyo says. “As expected of you, Takumi.”

“Thank you for your praise, Lady Kimiyo.”

Seeing this mountain of a man bow his head so respectfully, I stand a little straighter.

“Ikaku Akamuro,” Kimiyo says. “Do you know what this is?”

I stare at the red-hot blade. Based on the hint…

“I’ve heard the remains of high-level Demons can be made into magical tools,” I say. “This blade was forged from Homura.”

“Heh, brilliant. Exactly right. In Takumi’s hands, Homura now fuels our strength. This is a fitting weapon for you.”

“For me?”

“You can use a sword, can’t you? I heard the story from that little priestess of yours… the one who calls herself your Demon Sword.”

“I’m skilled enough.”

“Then a sword will do. I’m sure Issei Akai would want it to aid the loyal vassal who answered his call. It belongs to you. Takumi, it’s finished, is it not?”

“…It is complete. The Demon’s power is reshaped and fixed within it. There is no doubt of that.”

“Hm? What is it? You sound hesitant.”

After a pause, Takumi speaks, his tone apologetic. “The truth is… this sword… the Blade of Homura… cannot be wielded.”

“Cannot be wielded? What do you mean?”

Takumi picks up the sword with his tongs and thrusts it into a vat of cooling water. 

A massive cloud of steam erupts, blanketing the workshop in a wave of heat as the water in the vat boils away in an instant.

He lays the Blade of Homura back on the anvil.

“This sword is too hot. The grip will burn anyone who touches it.”

“Hoh. A true devil’s weapon,” Kimiyo muses. “Homura bares its fangs even in death.”

The glow recedes from the blade, leaving it black.

It’s a longsword, maybe ninety-three centimeters. No guard, no pommel. It looks like cooled lava, cracked from the hilt to the tip of the blade, barely containing an immense heat. Dangerous. Rugged.

“A sword that cannot be wielded is a third-rate weapon,” Lady Kimiyo says, shaking her head in frustration. “A shame. Ikaku, I thought this would be a perfect gift for you, but—”

I reach out and grasp the cooled-lava hilt.

“What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Don’t! You’ll be burned!”

I clench my fist.

The cooled surface cracks with a sharp snap. The true heat beneath it surges, and in the erupting flames, I see the face of the beast from the cavern.

Its burning eyes are filled with hatred.

“Did you not learn your lesson in that cavern? You can’t kill me.”

GUAAAAAAHH—!!

It all clicks. Young Master Issei. The Code you left me. This is what you intended.

“—Then let us walk this path together.”

I grip the sword and lift it from the anvil.

I test its feel, turning my wrist, swinging it a few times. The balance is good. The grip is rough, but it’ll hold.

No guard and no pommel means it could slip, but it’s not a fatal flaw.

I can use this.

“He can do it… This man can master… Homura…!”

“What in the world are you…?” Kimiyo breathes.

Then she laughs. A joyous sound that echoes through the workshop. “Hahaha. Ahahahaha! Such nerve. Magnificent, Ikaku Akamuro!”

Takumi leans forward in shock, fists clenched.

I run a hand along the black blade, its surface traced with red-hot cracks.

“The Blade of Homura,” I declare. “I humbly accept.”

The Coral Terminator. Sword of the Akai Clan. For all the talk, I had no fire techniques of my own.

With this, I might finally look the part.

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