'How is this possible? How is this mathematically or historically possible?!'
With a clatter, Rom tossed aside the Busujima Family Chronicle as if it were a burning hot coal, and he himself recoiled in his chair as if struck by a venomous snake.
Impossible. Impossible...
How many years had this family chronicle been passed down? Seven hundred? Eight hundred? How could its esoteric terminology and operational rules be identically similar to what Yukinoshita and Miko had said in the cafe today?
'Coincidence? Just another massive coincidence?'
Rom looked at the ancient family chronicle lying on his desk, his breathing ragged, his hands still shaking. Where did so many impossible coincidences come from? One coincidence after another, stacked upon each other, could only mean one thing: it was an established, terrifying fact!
After a brief, paralyzed moment of shock, Rom lunged across the desk at the family chronicle, grabbing it tightly.
His eyes were dazed yet burning with a frantic, obsessive light. His gaze was greedy, yet lost in thought.
'Is it true...? Is all of Granny Mitsue's teaching really true...?' He was genuinely unable to tell anymore. His secular worldview had completely shattered.
The Busujima Residence
"Mura... Murasame?"
The Patriarch of the Busujima family returned home from the dojo only to find the most embarrassing thing imaginable to his practical sensibilities: the Murasame.
And it was being openly displayed on the ceremonial sword stand in the main hall.
'Wasn't this embarrassing fantasy trinket supposed to be locked away in the storage room collecting dust…?' he thought, a vein popping on his forehead.
No wonder he disliked Murasame so much. There had been countless powerful, pragmatic martial artists in the main family's history, but the specific ancient ancestor who wrote their chronicle was truly unique in his madness. And the fictional "Murasame" was the primary protagonist of his ancestor's delusions.
Therefore, the Patriarch felt a deep, burning embarrassment seeing it in the light of day. Who dared to be so bold as to bring it out?
Oh. It was his beloved daughter, Saeko. Then it was alright.
With a twitch of his lips, the Patriarch, not wanting to look at Murasame for another second, could only try to gently persuade his little darling.
"Saeko, it's best to put Murasame back in the storage room. It's not a proper sword."
"Father, I know what you're thinking," Saeko replied respectfully, "but Murasame might be hiding some physical secrets we don't yet know."
What secrets? The Patriarch wondered.
Saeko didn't speak further, but instead handed Murasame directly to her father. Then, she led him to the backyard, where a sickly, dying old hunting dog was resting on a blanket.
"...Saeko, you wouldn't be thinking of..." The Patriarch suddenly felt he might have spoiled his little darling too much. That cute, albeit dying, little dog was going to be used for testing a sword? Saeko truly lacked the squeamish compassion of a typical teenage girl...
"Try it, Father. This is important," Saeko insisted, her striking eyes dead serious. "It might permanently concern the Busujima family's legacy."
Hmm? That was a bold claim. Even the Patriarch frowned deeply. This wasn't something to be said lightly in their household. It involved the family's legacy; he trusted his daughter wouldn't act recklessly or make such claims without proof.
So be it.
He gripped the hilt of the Murasame sword, his brow furrowing even deeper.
'The balance and feel are as bad as I remember,' he thought in disgust. 'It's like swinging a weighted club, not a katana.'
He drew the sword. Before the sickly old dog could even register his movement, the Patriarch had already executed a flawless, blindingly fast slash across its neck, granting the animal a painless death.
'What a pity. The edge is sharp, yes. But the spiritual feel is terrible, like cutting with a rusty meat cleaver...'
!! ??
The Patriarch of the Busujima family stared wide-eyed, freezing mid-swing.
Before him, an unbelievable scene unfolded. The old dog was dead. The viscous blood clearly stained the steel of the Murasame sword.
But then... mist rose.
Pure white water vapor spontaneously condensed from the air around the blade, as if a sudden night rain was actively washing away the blood.
The magical fog wasn't overly thick, but it wasn't thin either. It quickly enveloped the sword and the entire upper body of the Patriarch, obscuring him completely, leaving only his imposing figure faintly visible within the mist, looking utterly mysterious and unfathomable.
'What... what the hell is this...?' the Patriarch thought, his heart hammering against his ribs.
A long while passed in stunned silence. The sword was entirely cleansed of blood, and the fog slowly dissipated back into the atmosphere. But the Patriarch remained rooted to the spot, staring blankly at the "fictional" sword in his hand, its balance still feeling extremely poor.
"Saeko." The Patriarch wanted to confirm if he had misjudged the situation, or if he had somehow hallucinated the entire event due to fatigue.
But Saeko nodded with absolute, grim certainty, her serious expression unmistakable. She had seen it too.
The famous sword—Murasame.
Perhaps it really had been underestimated by everyone for centuries...
Ouch...
The Patriarch violently pinched his own arm. Ouch. This wasn't a dream.
Then, he squinted at Murasame, his grip on the hilt tightening considerably. It was as if he was afraid that if he let go, the magical sword would fly away of its own accord.
'Good! A good sword!' the Patriarch thought, his pragmatic mind struggling to adapt. 'Even if this sword can't be used smoothly by a martial artist, it's still a priceless, first-rate supernatural artifact. The ancient craftsmen were truly remarkable…'
It was just a pity. No matter what, this sword was impossible to wield smoothly in combat. It was the same for everyone who had ever tried. Could it be that this sword was forged purely for aesthetics and magical parlor tricks?
"No. Father, is it possible that Murasame actually needs to recognize a master to unlock its true weight?" Saeko asked, voicing the exact thought she'd had yesterday.
"Absolutely impossible!" The Patriarch rejected this fantasy idea without hesitation, his pride as a grandmaster offended. "Do you think this is some kind of light novel myth? A famous sword recognizing a master? Even if ancient craftsmen perfected their metallurgy, they couldn't achieve such a sentient effect. This belongs entirely to the realm of fantasy and the supernatural!"
However…
The Patriarch suddenly thought of his family's ancient, "delusional" ancestral records. Those supernatural accounts, in the past, would have been considered an embarrassing display of the ancestor's mental illness.
Now… could they be real…?
His heart suddenly raced. Combining Saeko's deductions with the stories of the bizarre cafe encounter with the high school girls and the "occult professional" she had mentioned, the Patriarch had a terrifying idea.
What if… the chronicle is true?
At this moment… the Patriarch finally understood Saeko's thoughts. It was this "what if", this terrifying "possibility," that she was desperately seeking confirmation for. If it wasn't confirmed, it would torment her practical mind like cat claws scratching at her skull.
"Go get my copy of the family register," the Patriarch ordered, his voice tight. "The original manuscript translation."
"Okay."
Saeko also wanted to peruse this unexpectedly accurate family register. Her father retrieved his meticulously kept copy, which he had printed and translated himself, and they quietly sat down to read it in the main hall.
The first page of the cover read a stern warning:
> [Those who are disloyal, unjust, unkind, impolite, unwise, untrustworthy, and unfilial are not permitted to inherit the Busujima school.]
This… Saeko's eyes darted around the room. The other virtues were manageable, but this strict requirement of "filial piety" was obviously going to be a massive problem for her father. After all, her father had publicly said more than once that he wanted to break their ancestor's legs.
However, after turning just two pages into the main text, the Patriarch seemed to suddenly shrink. His pupils dilated, and he gasped for breath.
> [Foolish people, they cannot see...]
These exact words sounded very familiar. They were strikingly similar to what Saeko had just reported overhearing in the cafe regarding the "Laws of the Extraordinary."
'What on earth...'
Something felt horribly off. The Patriarch studied the family chronicle he had previously avoided out of secondhand embarrassment with even greater, terrified care.
His own family chronicle—could it actually hold some world-shattering secret he didn't know? The real thing? Surely not...
> [I feel unworthy of Murasame; this is not a treasure I deserve. I have often heard that divine objects conceal their true nature, and I was initially unable to use the power of Murasame. The main family once warned me that the sword chooses the person, and the person chooses the sword. I didn't understand. Until I used Murasame to slay a true demon, I finally learned one terrifying thing. Murasame is alive...]
Alive. Alive!?
The two members of the Busujima family were profoundly shocked, staring sharply at the Murasame enshrined on the stand across the hall.
Divine objects conceal themselves.
The sword chooses the person.
Could it be that a renowned, magical sword truly needs to recognize its master's soul to be wielded properly?
At this moment, the Patriarch was filled with absolute doubt and uncertainty about everything he knew. The Murasame sword did indeed possess impossible supernatural abilities, yet it was indeed difficult to wield smoothly.
Impossible… If what the ancestor wrote was factually true, then those seemingly nonsensical tales of slaying thousands of literal demons and demon kings…
Thinking of this, the Patriarch felt a freezing chill run down his spine, settling deep in his bones.
If it were true, the existence of such monsters might be more unbearable to accept than death itself. With this inexplicable feeling of dread creeping over him, the Patriarch urgently sought further confirmation in the family annals.
Hopefully, it was just the ancestor's metaphorical conjecture…
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