The katana weighed one hundred and fifty kilograms, and Max had the expression of a man who had just received a gift wrapped in an apology.
He stood in the crystal chamber of the Inheritance and looked at the red blade on its pedestal, and the red blade looked back at him with the patient indifference of something that had been waiting for centuries and was entirely willing to continue.
He had tried to lift it. That was the first thing he did after the tome's knowledge settled into him and the Ghost's presence integrated and the world stopped being white and became the golden-crystal chamber he had woken up in. He had found the weapon on its pedestal, felt the knowledge of it arrive complete and certain in the same way the Ghost technique had arrived, and wrapped both hands around the grip with the quiet confidence of a man who had cracked granite that morning.
The sword had moved approximately one inch before his shoulder submitted a formal objection.
