"From your tone, I get the feeling I should know about that…" Muramasa said thoughtfully, taking note of the man's excitement but not dwelling on it. "But I really don't know much about these things. In short, it's a very famous school, right?"
Goko, unsure how to respond to Muramasa's casual attitude, could only nod in agreement. But then, the desire to share his knowledge got the better of him. "However, I've heard that several of the branches have fallen into decline."
"Is that so? What a shame."
Muramasa didn't press for details, simply accepting the fact with a hint of regret. This left Goko, who had been about to elaborate, at a loss for words.
Ignoring the man's desire to talk, Muramasa ended the conversation cleanly. "Well then, I'll get this place sorted out. If you need anything, you can find me here."
Damn it, I really wanted to add a few more details!
Goko grumbled internally, handed the keys to Muramasa, and returned to the village to continue organizing the aftermath.
"Now then…"
With a place to stay, Muramasa began to set up his magical territory. He used a small amount of magical energy to connect to the leyline at the nexus of his workshop, like priming a well with water before drawing from it, and waited for the leyline's return.
"Strange…"
The amount of magical energy the leyline fed back was much less than he expected, as if it were blocked by something. After supplying just enough to sustain his manifestation, there was little left over. Even if this wasn't a major leyline node, the amount of available mana was still far too scarce.
That wasn't the only strange thing. The enhancement the pendant had given him didn't replicate itself in the territory. The energy he received felt more like pure, raw magical energy.
Does the leyline lack an elemental signature, or is there some special condition required…?
After a brief moment of thought, Muramasa gave up on the matter. Becoming stronger was never his top priority. While he occasionally—occasionally—had an obsession with being the "strongest," it wasn't something he actively pursued in his daily life.
He linked the territory to himself, solving the issue of the magical energy needed for his everyday activities. As for combat… as long as he didn't use Projection or his Noble Phantasm, not much had changed.
Since no one had come to him with any tasks, Muramasa tidied up the house, then grabbed some tools and prepared to clean the warehouse and the forge.
When he stepped outside, Hailing was gone. From the outskirts of the village, he could hear the sound of prayers.
"A burial, I see…"
Muramasa had seen many such farewells. It wouldn't be right to disturb them now. He offered a silent prayer for the departed and then threw himself into the work of cleaning.
Clearing out junk, sweeping fallen leaves, organizing tools, wiping away dust…
He worked tirelessly until the night grew late and lights began to flicker on in the village houses. Only then did he take a break.
"This should be good enough for now," he said, looking at the spotless warehouse and the dust-free house. "Next, I need to think about my future here."
He pushed open the half-closed door, went inside to boil a pot of water, and sat cross-legged on the tatami mat.
"So many things have happened since I arrived."
"Now that things have settled down a bit, I finally have some time to think."
"First of all… where is this place?"
He had initially assumed it was just another "Lostbelt" or a "Pruned Timeline."
"If it were a Lostbelt or a Singularity, this place should be Japan—based on the culture, decorations, weapons, and even the architecture." He recalled Goko's mention of the "Tenshukaku," a feeling of both faint familiarity and amusement washing over him.
But there were many differences.
"After manifesting, I wasn't given any commission. I wasn't even given the basic knowledge I should have received."
"And there's no Fantasy Tree, no Storm Wall."
"For now, it's probably best to assume this is another world."
"And also…"
He traced his memories back. The journey through the Fae Round Table Domain was seared into his mind, clear as day.
"This memory is too clear."
"It's almost as if… I wasn't summoned from the Throne of Heroes, but directly from that Lostbelt to this place."
In fact, that hypothesis felt closer to the truth.
As the price for forging the concept of the Holy Sword, that "Senji Muramasa" should have had nothing left.
"But I'm still alive, aren't I? So what does that make me now… furnace slag?"
"Then again, it's not right to use a smith as a forging material."
"Ah, wait, it's not entirely unheard of. It's called a 'sword sacrifice,' I think."
After a few more self-deprecating remarks and a complaint about his unreasonable client, his thoughts gradually became clearer.
"So, the most important thing is what happened after that."
Muramasa dug through his memories but could only recall a long, cold passage of time.
"Still nothing, huh?"
"No reason, no purpose… The heavens are truly cruel."
"Or maybe they saw how hard I was working and decided to give me a vacation?"
"However…"
Muramasa stared at the palm of his right hand, recalling the sensation of the forging.
The Inner Sea of Stars, the Forge of the Cosmos… The Holy Sword he had forged in that place… based on his "previous" experience, perhaps he could project it.
But whether he could actually project that Holy Sword, or if this body would be incinerated in the process, Muramasa himself couldn't say for sure.
But…
Whatever happened during this manifestation, since he had no goal or commission, it didn't really matter.
The chance to admire, handle, and study the Star's Holy Sword—how could any smith resist that!
"Projection, begin."
Azure energy swirled in his hand. The magical energy within the workshop slowly gathered in Muramasa's palm, and the surrounding temperature rose with the increasing mana density. The oil lamp, lit for the night, was extinguished by the currents of air stirred by the flow of magic. The room was plunged into darkness, illuminated only by the blue, fluorescent glow of the mana enveloping Muramasa and the rough, schematic mold of the projection taking shape.
"It looks like an unrefined iron ingot," he mused.
The echo of the Holy Sword he had felt during its forging was now faithfully reproducing itself in his mind, gradually taking shape within the ingot in his palm. Just as forging required waiting for the raw materials in the crucible to melt and form, projection required the analyzed knowledge to become reality.
For an ordinary weapon, a master smith like him could perfectly trace the required "pattern" in a single breath. But the blade before him now was as different from those mundane creations as heaven and earth.
After tracing a certain point, the magical energy used for the projection was no longer something Muramasa could "output" under his own control.
Instead, the sword began to relentlessly "draw," or rather, "plunder," more and more magical energy from within him. If he relaxed his focus for even a moment, he would be sucked directly into it, becoming fuel for its manifestation. He could only struggle to control the speed of his mana output, but he no longer had the strength to stop.
"...Not enough mana. Damn it, is this thing a Taotie? All intake, no output."
The magical energy his territory could provide was already limited, and the accumulation of several hours had been completely squandered by the sword in his hand. His high-speed magic circuits emitted a faint glow on the surface of his skin, flickering constantly in the tug-of-war between the blade and himself.
"I need more mana. What can I do…?"
Even the basic magical energy required for his manifestation was being siphoned away. In this race between life and death, his eyes darted around, searching for a solution.
Food? Useless. I only have the rice the villagers gave me.
The ambient mana? I still can't use it.
I can use the energy from the leylines through my territory, but the efficiency is too low right now.
Damn it all. It's only when my life is on the line that I realize I don't want to just disappear yet!
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