Chapter 192: Let the Big Bone Boil Itself into Soup
Faced with Kobe Hikaru's request, Ubuyashiki naturally would not, and had no reason to, refuse.
The purpose of the Demon Slayer Corps' existence was to slay demons.
Whether it was people or swords, they all existed for this purpose.
And now, a powerful yokai had come bearing information and strength sufficient to kill Kibutsuji Muzan. Even if Hikaru had not mentioned it himself, Ubuyashiki would have gifted him a Nichirin Blade to increase the probability of slaying the demon.
For the Demon Slayer Corps of this era, which lacked Breathing Styles, the existence of Nichirin Blades was crucial.
However, what was important was never the sword itself, but the forging process and the raw materials.
The forging of Nichirin Blades was subject to a fixed number.
While the materials were not extremely scarce, they were not abundant either. Combined with the difficulty of forging and the high rate of wear and tear, every sword needed to be custom-ordered in advance.
It required a waiting period of ten to twenty days.
Hikaru could not wait that long.
So he ultimately decided to head to the place where the Demon Slayer Corps forged their Nichirin Blades himself.
He would forge the sword himself.
One day would be enough.
To this, Ubuyashiki still did not refuse.
'Looking at his attitude...'Hikaru mused silently, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly.'It was almost as if he was eager for it?'
Fair enough.
Although Hikaru was a demon, he was a demon who came with a letter from that master swordsmith. And let us not forget, the very origin of their Demon Slayer Corps Nichirin Blade, that master swordsmith Totosai himself, was also a demon.
"Let the Kakushi take you there," Ubuyashiki Rikiya finally spoke.
He did not even give the Seven Pillars present the slightest room for objection. His voice, though frail, carried an absolute authority that settled over the room like heavy dust.
The so-called Kakushi are the logistics unit of the Demon Slayer Corps.
As a demon-slaying organization that has existed for hundreds of years, the Demon Slayer Corps is not large. The number of demon-slaying swordsmen in each generation does not exceed three hundred, and the entire organization does not exceed a thousand people, scattered throughout the shadows of Japan.
They have no standard uniform, wear no armor, and cannot compare to the top daimyo of various factions.
Yet, they are fully equipped.
Within it, the casualty rate for the front-line demon-slaying swordsmen is extremely high, and the requirements are naturally extremely high. They need to pass an assessment deep in Mt. Fujikasane, a deep mountain surrounded by wisteria that imprisons a small number of evil demons. Surviving there for seven days and seven nights to prove their ability is the only way they can serve.
This is a trial with an extremely high casualty rate and no guarantees. Those who pass live, those who fail die. The soil of that mountain is soaked in generations of blood.
But not every member of the Demon Slayer Corps is required to be on the front line.
The senior swordsmen of the Demon Slayer Corps responsible for assessing and training newcomers will refer to their abilities, and even more so, to their own willingness.
Members who cannot or do not want to participate in the Final Selection, or cannot become front-line swordsmen, will be responsible for intelligence transmission, medical care, corpse disposal, and all behind-the-scenes support work.
They wear masks, do not report their real names, and act under pseudonyms.
These are the Kakushi members of the Demon Slayer Corps.
The one taking Hikaru to the Swordsmith Village goes by the pseudonym Butterfly.
A single character.
Before departing, Hikaru glanced at Butterfly.
Because Yoriichi's wife was expecting, and the due date was within these few days, the peerless swordsman did not come along this time.
Only Hikaru and this girl, who was clearly female, were present.
The Kakushi Butterfly in sight was not tall, a whole head shorter than Kikyo, but her walking pace was extremely fast. She followed Hikaru with quick, pitter-patter steps, her thin legs moving as if wound up by a tight spring. The corners of her white robe with wisteria patterns fluttered violently in the mountain breeze.
She wore a mask with a butterfly pattern.
Everything below the bridge of her nose was exposed. Her lips were pursed tightly, carrying the expression of self-esteem intertwined with envy that young people have when they see something vastly stronger than themselves.
"May I ask, Mr. Kobe Hikaru."
Her voice was clear and cold, and she enunciated every word very clearly, clearly having been deliberately trained to maintain composure.
"You said you only need one day to forge a Nichirin Blade..."
This was indeed what Hikaru had told Ubuyashiki.
"Is that... true?"
She paused for a moment, her breath catching slightly. "This 'hmm' is..."
Hikaru glanced at the girl again, thinking that she seemed a bit talkative.
But it did not matter.
Just consider it killing time on a long walk.
"It means it is true."
He walked forward, his pale long hair fluttering in the morning mountain breeze. His bamboo hat hung loosely on his back, and his straw raincoat was wrapped securely around his gray robe. The rhythmic crunch of his sandals against the dirt path was the only sound accompanying his words.
Kakushi Butterfly caught up a few steps, and when she spoke again, her tone carried more obvious caution than before.
"The craftsmen of the Swordsmith Village... might not be easy to talk to. They are very obsessed with sword matters and do not really accept people saying things like 'one day is enough'. Previously, the Master invited a very powerful Onmyoji to go, saying he could help speed up the forging, but in the end..."
"What happened in the end?" Hikaru asked, his tone flat.
"In the end, he was kicked out, saying that he ruined the temperament of the iron."
Hikaru turned his head to look at her.
"The temperament of iron."
He went over those four words, tasting the concept, and nodded. "A bit of insight."
The phrase 'everything has a spirit' is something everyone can say.
But very few can actually achieve it.
Hikaru, who possesses a system that quantifies the very affection of inanimate objects, has a deep understanding of this. He has heard plenty of complaints from those objects, feeling their distinct personalities and stubborn quirks.
Kakushi Butterfly was stunned for a moment, not expecting the towering demon to say this. She only managed to follow up after a while, her pace quickening to match his long strides. "So you mean... you really can finish forging in one day, but not by destroying the temperament of the iron itself?"
"Then... how is that done?"
Hikaru did not answer immediately.
He walked to an old pine tree leaning out by the roadside, stopped, reached out his right hand, and pressed his palm against the rough, weather-beaten bark of the tree.
Kakushi Butterfly followed and stopped, looking at him, her face full of confusion.
After a moment of silence, Hikaru removed his hand and continued walking. The pine needles above them seemed to rustle with a sudden, vibrant energy, though there was no wind.
"Even if I told you, you might not understand."
Kakushi Butterfly stood there for two seconds, then jogged to catch up. She did not ask any more questions, just walked half a step behind Hikaru, occasionally glancing at him swiftly, as if thinking about something, or as if thinking about something left unsaid.
That was probably the message Ubuyashiki asked her to remind Hikaru of.
Hikaru, however, did not care at all.
During this process, the girl codenamed Butterfly several times wanted to speak but stopped, then wanted to speak again. Her jaw would tense, her lips parting slightly before pressing back together.
She wanted to speak up to remind him but could not find a precise opportunity, feeling secretly troubled.
She wanted to force herself to speak, but dared not. The Master's instructions were absolute: although this person is a demon, he is an honored guest among honored guests, and one must absolutely not be rude.
But Hikaru actually knew this girl.
Although she only showed half her face, he could still recognize her.
It is just that he did not know her from this era.
But rather, he knew another version of her. Or to use the terminology of this world, that should be her next life.
Kochou Shinobu.
In the main plot of the future, she is the Insect Hashira who always wore a dangerous, unreadable smile, the girl swordsman who used poison instead of a sword, relying on medicine to carve openings in the immortal bodies of demons.
He had long been certain that reincarnation in this world is real.
Not to mention Kikyo.
Here, there are reincarnated avatars of Bishamonten, relics of gods and Buddhas, and existences like Tsugikuni Yoriichi who come from the past and head toward the future.
Reincarnation is not strange.
What is strange is that he actually encountered the person who would become the Insect Hashira in the next life here, walking quietly behind him on a forgotten mountain path.
He sized her up and did not expose it.
There was nothing to say.
She is who she is now, and her next life is her next life.
Let her walk her own path.
The Swordsmith Village is not on the map.
The path is walked out. A stretch of dirt road, a stretch of steep mountain path, passing through two dense bamboo forests, and finally turning into an old stone-paved road almost completely submerged by overgrown weeds and creeping vines.
This road is indeed hard to find without a guide, even if Hikaru relied on stone-throwing pathfinding.
When Hikaru saw the kitchen smoke rising above the canopy, he first smelled iron.
That distinct scent of iron and stone fusing, carrying high heat, just coming out of the furnace. It tasted sharp and metallic on the back of his tongue.
It was not thick, but continuous, as if drifting with the wind from the deepest part of the hidden valley.
Kakushi Butterfly walked two steps ahead and looked back. "We are almost there. Someone will meet us at the village entrance."
She paused, her fingers gripping the edge of her robe.
"Mr. Kobe Hikaru, towards the craftsmen... if possible, could you please be a little more polite?"
"I have always been very polite."
Kakushi Butterfly looked at him, with something left unsaid in her dark eyes.
Hikaru ignored her and continued walking forward, his wooden sandals clicking against the hidden stones.
The way the people of the Swordsmith Village received Hikaru was proper, polite, and very courteous.
The village chief's surname was Ishida, a man over fifty years old with coarse gray hair. His hands were heavily deformed from years of relentless forging, covered in thick calluses and burn scars, yet still incredibly flexible. Those hands rested on the ceramic teacup, steady enough that the green tea inside did not ripple at all.
He had seen and confirmed Ubuyashiki's handwritten letter.
His expression was deeply respectful.
"We have already received news in advance from the Master regarding Mr. Kobe Hikaru's request."
His voice was very low, rumbling like a distant forge. "I heard you have old ties with Master Totosai. It is a pity our master is already dead and cannot see you."
That was, after all, a human, something both Hikaru and Totosai had guessed long ago. Human lives were fleeting sparks compared to the enduring flame of a yokai.
Finally, Village Chief Ishida spoke again, his tone shifting to one of practical caution.
"However, you should also be aware that for a Nichirin Blade, from ore selection to forging, quenching, and grinding, the entire process takes ten days as a baseline. Sometimes the iron does not cooperate, and it drags on for half a month, or even a month."
"I know."
Hikaru sat opposite him, his crimson demon eyes perfectly calm, his tone even calmer. "That is why I do not intend to use your methods to forge it."
The master blacksmith's deformed fingers curled slightly against the teacup.
"Then... what method does Mr. intend to use?"
"I know the ore for the Nichirin Blade is in the back mountain. I want to go up the mountain myself to select the iron ore, and then... in one day, I can finish it myself."
The silence of the people in the Swordsmith Village looking at each other lasted for at least half a quarter of an hour. The only sound in the room was the quiet bubbling of the tea kettle over the hearth.
Finally, it was Kakushi Butterfly who sighed softly in a very small voice.
She knew it would be like this.
Capable people are always relatively mavericks.
Let alone a demon.
But fortunately, out of respect for Ubuyashiki, or to be precise, out of respect for the legendary Totosai standing behind Hikaru's reputation, the blacksmiths ultimately suppressed their visceral reaction. They wanted to see what this outsider young man actually wanted to do.
The mountain is directly behind the village.
It is not exceptionally high, but the foliage is incredibly dense, choking out the lower paths with thick roots and ancient trunks.
The vein of scarlet ore was indeed hidden at the highest point of the mountain, exactly as Hikaru knew. It was closest to the sun, and under the relentless baking of the scorching daylight, the color of the stones was deeper than those outside, glowing with a very faint orange-red in the morning light.
Because it is baked by the scorching sun all year round, it can carry the sun's energy, absorbing the very essence needed to slay immortal flesh.
Hikaru went up alone.
The people of the Swordsmith Village did not follow, but stood at the foot of the mountain, at a safe distance, watching the gray back walk steadily up the steep incline.
Kakushi Butterfly accompanied him to the edge of the tree line.
"Do you need me to accompany you inside?"
"No need."
"Very well. Although there is no danger inside, please still be careful. I will wait outside for you to come out."
She did not press for details, retreating to the foot of the mountain, and stood there waiting. The dark eyes behind her butterfly mask watched his tall figure disappear into the deep shadows of the ancient trees.
Hikaru stayed in the mountains for a day.
But he did nothing. There was no sound of forging, no heavy thud of transporting ore, not even the sharp hiss of drawing his blade to cut away the brush.
He just walked.
From this stone to that stone, from this exposed vein to that jagged rock face. Wherever he went, he would stop, crouch down, and place his bare palm flat against the rough, sun-baked surface.
Sometimes he would stop for a long time, his eyes closed, feeling the pulse of the earth.
Sometimes he would just pat it lightly twice before standing up and continuing forward.
Occasionally, he would speak.
His voice was very low, a rumbling baritone so quiet that the wind rustling through the forest canopy completely drowned it out. Only he knew what he said to the silent earth.
Those stones would also have a very slight reaction.
A gravel stone rolled twice without being touched. Tiny bubbles emerged from a damp crevice. The color on a section of the ore wall deepened slightly, pulsing with a faint, inner heat.
They were all extremely subtle things.
If one did not pay close attention, there was absolutely nothing to see.
Yet the blacksmiths waiting at the foot of the mountain could notice. Their entire lives were dedicated to the observation of stone and metal.
They took turns guarding outside the tree line, casting a glance into the depths of the tree shadows every once in a while. Still unable to make sense of the absolute silence, they could only look at each other, furrow their heavy brows, and swallow their mounting doubts.
Village Chief Ishida crouched on a large, flat rock outside the tree line, watching silently for the better part of the day.
In the end, he just took a slow puff from his wooden pipe and exhaled two words into the evening mountain breeze.
"An extraordinary man."
Kakushi Butterfly heard it but did not respond.
She stood at the foot of the mountain for the entire day, even eating her simple rice ball lunch right there, never leaving her post.
She could not say what she was waiting for.
She just felt a strange pressure building in the air, a certainty that something impossible was about to happen, and she did not want to miss a single second of it.
Noon the next day.
The sun climbed to its absolute highest point, and the mountain temperature was baked into a lazy, oppressive warmth, as if even the air had become sluggish and heavy to breathe.
The blacksmiths ate or rested as they pleased. There were still people guarding the foot of the mountain, but their spirits were not as high as yesterday. They had waited all day yesterday, surely they would not have to wait again today?
"It is moving."
A young blacksmith guarding by the trees suddenly spoke up, his voice cracking.
Everyone looked up simultaneously.
From the deep tree shadows, Hikaru walked out.
Pale long hair, gray robes, his crimson demon eyes glowing faintly in the harsh midday sun.
The moment he stepped out of the tree line, he stopped, turned around, bowed his head slightly toward the mountainside, and spoke a sentence very softly.
His voice was so low that only Kakushi Butterfly, who was standing closest, vaguely heard three words.
"Thank you for your trouble."
Then he raised his head and walked toward the gathered blacksmiths.
The blacksmiths looked at each other, none of them knowing who that polite sentence was addressed to.
"Sir, what is this..."
Village Chief Ishida stood up so fast he forgot to hold his pipe. "Have you chosen? Why didn't the ore..."
Before he could finish his sentence, the words died in his throat.
Because a sound came from the mountain.
It was not the usual violent collapse in the mountains, and naturally, it was not the chaotic tumbling of falling rocks. It was a smaller, finer sound, a collective shifting of mass, yet so clear in this quiet valley that it made every single person's spine tingle.
The iron ore was moving.
Not being dug out by pickaxes, not being transported in heavy wooden carts, but by itself. It was moving.
The scarlet iron sand scattered in the veins, the dense ore embedded deep in the solid rock walls, piece by piece, detached from their respective positions. They gathered together, shifting and sliding, and slowly flowed down along the dirt paths and crevices in the mountainside.
Like a small, crawling scarlet stream of living blood, it flowed out from the mountainside and straight into some old, open-air workshops that the blacksmiths of the Swordsmith Village had placed on the lower mountain ridges.
The iron furnaces did not need anyone to light them.
The flames in the hearth roared to life on their own. The color of the fire was purer than usual, carrying a blinding red with almost no impurities, stable to the point where there was not a single flicker or waver in the heat haze.
The heavy leather bellows for fanning the wind inflated and deflated on their own, pumping rhythmic breaths of air into the fire.
The massive steel anvil placed beside the forging table also moved slightly, grinding against the stone floor as if adjusting itself into the perfect striking position.
In the entire workshop, everything that should be handled by human sweat and muscle began to move on its own.
The iron melted in the hearth, turning into liquid scarlet molten iron. Then, guided by an invisible, gentle force, it flowed upward, defying gravity, and poured perfectly into the casting molds. It cooled, took shape, and was folded and hammered repeatedly on its own. The sound of the invisible hammering was perfectly even, the rhythm flawlessly stable, each phantom hammer stroke landing in the exact right position without the slightest millimeter of deviation.
Throughout the entire miraculous process, not a single person lifted a finger.
The blacksmiths stood outside the workshop, by the threshold, in the dusty courtyard, watching all of this, silent as the grave.
The old village chief's pipe fell to the dirt ground, but he did not go to pick it up. His cloudy eyes stared fixedly at the furnace that was forging by itself, not blinking for a long, breathless time.
Kakushi Butterfly stood three steps away from Hikaru, also watching it, her hands trembling slightly at her sides.
As a member of the Kakushi of the Demon Slayer Corps, although she did not need to go to the front lines, she was accustomed to seeing things that ordinary people had no chance to see.
Blood, death, and the extraordinary, terrifying power of demons.
But this scene still shocked her to her very core.
Iron, forging itself.
Fire, burning according to its own will.
A Nichirin Blade, without any craftsman lifting a single callused hand, from raw mountain ore to finished, lethal product, was being completed step by step with an efficiency and perfection that did not belong to this mortal world.
"This is..."
She swallowed gently, suppressing the overwhelming astonishment in her heart, and said, "How... how did you do this?"
Hikaru did not answer immediately.
He just placed his large hand on a wooden support pillar of the workshop, his palm resting flat against the grain, his tone incredibly casual.
"Objects have spirits."
"Talk to them, tell them what you want to do, tell them you need them, tell them you know they can do it."
"Then, wait."
"Wait for what?" she whispered.
"Wait for them to decide to help you."
This was exactly what Hikaru had done that day.
He had learned the art of forging from Totosai, but the true essence was never on the surface of swinging a hammer.
It was the ingenious, delicate combination of subjugation and forging.
This was the reason he had come.
He would not destroy the temperament, or rather, the spirituality of the objects by forcing them into a shape they hated.
He would only let them help him complete this step automatically, willingly.
So-called, all things have spirits.
So-called, those who follow the Way find much support.
This was Kobe Hikaru's Way.
Kakushi Butterfly was utterly stunned.
She looked at the wooden pillar under Hikaru's hand. She swore she saw the grain of that piece of dead wood glowing brighter than before, carrying a warm luster that cut wood should not have, almost vibrating with something akin to happiness. Then she looked back at the churning, roaring heat of the furnace and the automatically operating forging table in the workshop.
Inside the workshop, the scarlet iron ore happened to emit a light and crisp vibration at this exact moment, ringing out like a tiny bell, as if in cheerful response.
Hikaru turned his head slightly, looked in that direction, and the corner of his mouth moved in the faintest ghost of a smirk.
"The rest is up to them."
After saying this, he withdrew his hand from the pillar, turned around, walked under the shaded corridor, and found a clean place to sit down.
Very casual. Very at ease. As if everything was entirely within his expectations, and also as if he felt it was nothing remarkable at all.
The old blacksmith stood at the workshop entrance, not knowing how many minutes he had been standing there frozen, before finally bending down slowly, his joints popping, to pick up the pipe that had fallen to the ground.
He did not speak.
He just held the pipe tightly in his scarred hand and exhaled very softly.
In that single breath, mixed with the deep shock and heavy weight of seeing something he once thought was just a myth proven true so lightly, after thirty years of backbreaking forging.
He had heard such rumors before in his youth.
It was said that the items created by the ancient, top-tier forging masters were naturally formed, as if they had grown that way on their own as natural objects of the earth.
Those were truly works of exquisite, divine craftsmanship.
And now, he had seen it with his own eyes.
Although it was somewhat different, not quite the same method.
But it led to the exact same destination.
The best forging technique was never about forcing iron to take shape according to human will through brute force.
But rather, letting the iron take shape according to its own will.
He knew this principle. Every master blacksmith knew it. They spent their whole lives chasing this impossible ideal, and if they could not reach it, they would pass these words to the next generation, letting the next generation continue to chase the ghost.
But the young man before him had spent one single day, used a few quiet words spoken to deaf stones, and easily accomplished this.
"Remarkable."
He still managed to say one sentence.
Only one word, without any flattery in his tone, only the absolute solemnity and reverence that came from the very bottom of his bones.
Kakushi Butterfly heard it but did not speak.
Her gaze moved from the glowing Nichirin Blade that was taking shape inch by inch in the workshop, to the gray figure sitting under the corridor resting with his eyes closed, and finally stopped on that cold, expressionless face.
Her eyes, however, were shining brilliantly behind her mask.
As a logistics member of the Demon Slayer Corps, assisting in rescuing the broken swordsmen fighting on the front lines, she had learned how to prepare medicine, learned a little about identifying ores, and even understood some basics of forging. She also knew what was accumulated deep inside those iron ores.
That was hundreds, thousands of years of uninterrupted, day-after-day sunlight.
What they accumulated was perhaps infinite patience.
And what the monster before her taught these iron ores... happened to be the exact same thing.
It is just that his patience had a different direction.
One day.
One moment.
A bunch of Nichirin Blades that should have taken at least ten days, or even a month, to forge, were completed in less than a quarter of an hour.
Not just one.
But... a whole bunch of Nichirin Blades.
Faced with Kobe Hikaru's request, Ubuyashiki naturally would not, and had no reason to, refuse.
The purpose of the Demon Slayer Corps' existence was to slay demons.
Whether it was people or swords, they all existed for this purpose.
And now, a powerful yokai had come bearing information and strength sufficient to kill Kibutsuji Muzan. Even if Hikaru had not mentioned it himself, Ubuyashiki would have gifted him a Nichirin Blade to increase the probability of slaying the demon.
For the Demon Slayer Corps of this era, which lacked Breathing Styles, the existence of Nichirin Blades was crucial.
However, what was important was never the sword itself, but the forging process and the raw materials.
The forging of Nichirin Blades was subject to a fixed number.
While the materials were not extremely scarce, they were not abundant either. Combined with the difficulty of forging and the high rate of wear and tear, every sword needed to be custom-ordered in advance.
It required a waiting period of ten to twenty days.
Hikaru could not wait that long.
So he ultimately decided to head to the place where the Demon Slayer Corps forged their Nichirin Blades himself.
He would forge the sword himself.
One day would be enough.
To this.
Ubuyashiki still did not refuse.
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