Chapter 194: Top-tier Vengeful Spirit Successfully Activated
"So, Akira-kun, have you thought about how you are going to face Mr. Haganezuka?"
Walking along the hidden mountain paths leading to the Swordsmith Village, Kanae voiced her concern, her gentle gaze lingering on the young man beside her. She had personally witnessed the sheer chaos of Haganezuka chasing Akira across the estate, wildly swinging a kitchen knife in a manic attempt to hack him to pieces.
During the grueling battle against Upper Rank Five, Gyokko, Akira had forcibly awakened the Bright Red Nichirin Sword through sheer friction. The immense heat and pressure had caused severe structural damage to the blade, grinding the entire tip completely flat and necessitating a full reforge.
This time, the Nichirin Blade only suffered from minor wear and tear. It simply needed a fresh polish and some basic maintenance.
However, using a sacred Nichirin Blade—a weapon forged exclusively for eradicating demons—to chop down ordinary trees was a grave insult. For a man like Haganezuka, who loved his creations far more than his own life, this disrespect would likely provoke a reaction even more violent than the last. After all, breaking a sword to slay an Upper Rank demon was a noble sacrifice. Using it as a glorified lumberjack axe was pure blasphemy.
"Well, what preparation can there really be?" Akira shrugged, his expression a mixture of dry amusement and complete unapologetic calm. "With his volatile personality, no matter how much I bow or apologize, he probably will not listen to a single word. At worst, I will just let him chase me around the village for a few hours. He cannot actually catch me, and once his stamina runs out, his anger will naturally fade away."
He offered Kanae a perfectly justified look, as if this absurd plan was the most logical strategy in the world.
"Instead, I have to carefully manage my running speed," Akira continued, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "I cannot lose him completely and leave him to sulk in a corner alone, but I also cannot let him catch up. Otherwise, even if he restrains himself from stabbing me, he will definitely try to beat me half to death."
He sighed softly. "also, I have to monitor his physical condition while we run. If he collapses from overexertion because of me, that would be a genuine sin."
"Um... that really is... very much in your style, Akira-kun." For a long moment, Kanae simply blinked, entirely unsure of how to respond to such a pragmatic, caring, yet utterly ridiculous line of reasoning.
Upon arriving at the hidden Swordsmith Village and paying their respects to the village chief, Tecchin Tecchikawahara, the two parted ways to locate their respective swordsmiths. The maintenance of a Nichirin Blade was a deeply personal process, naturally best left to the hands of the artisan who originally forged it.
Approaching Haganezuka's secluded workshop, Akira immediately picked up the rhythmic, metallic clanging of iron being struck. The strikes were short, precise, and carried a distinct, almost hypnotic cadence. Although the volume was deafening, the sound carried a pure clarity that kept it from feeling like mere noise.
Knowing the eccentric smith's habits perfectly well, Akira did not call out to announce his presence. He simply stood quietly by the entrance, leaning against the wooden frame.
Offering a polite greeting right now would be entirely useless. Whenever Haganezuka immersed himself in the fires of the forge, nothing else in the world existed except the glowing steel beneath his hammer. All external interference simply bounced off his absolute concentration. Even extreme physical fatigue and starvation struggled to pull the man out of this state of total devotion. If he lacked that terrifying level of focus, he never would have nearly worked himself into an early grave forging a blade capable of withstanding Akira's clashes against the Upper Ranks.
This obsessive dedication was exactly why Chief Tecchin firmly refused to let Haganezuka accept custom orders for official Demon Slayer swords right now.
Standard training katanas could be hammered out relatively quickly. But a true Nichirin Blade demanded a swordsmith to pour their very soul into the steel, a grueling process that drained immense time and physical labor. Given Haganezuka's tendency to completely ignore his own bodily limits once the hammer started swinging, taking on such a heavy task with his still-recovering health would inevitably lead to a severe collapse.
Having nothing else to do but wait, Akira focused his breathing and activated the Transparent World. His vision shifted, peering past flesh and bone to observe the internal flow of Haganezuka's blood, muscles, and respiratory system, checking on the man's recovery progress.
The healing was proceeding slower than Akira had hoped. It was highly likely that Haganezuka had been burning through his energy reserves by treating simple, low-grade training swords with the exact same manic intensity he applied to official weapons. Fortunately, because the raw materials for training swords were far softer and required much less time in the fire, he had managed to avoid accidentally crippling himself through sheer overwork.
Chief Tecchin truly understood the stubborn temperaments of his villagers perfectly.
As Akira maintained his altered vision, he noticed something deep. The rhythmic flexing of Haganezuka's muscles and the precise strikes of his hammer seemed to align with the fundamental pulse of the world itself. It was a physical manifestation of a mortal reaching the absolute pinnacle of their craft. By pouring a lifetime of blood, sweat, and obsession into the art of the forge, the eccentric smith was naturally drawing closer to the essential laws of nature with every single strike of his hammer.
The deafening ring of steel finally ceased, pulling Akira's thoughts back to the present. Seeing the swordsmith lower his tools and turn around, Akira smoothly deactivated the Transparent World and raised a hand in a casual greeting.
"Mr. Haganezuka. How has your health been lately?"
"My body recovered a long time ago, but that stubborn old chief just refuses to let me take on any official forging requests!" Haganezuka huffed, his voice muffled behind his signature Hyottoko mask. "How about you go and talk some sense into him for me? With your high status as a Hashira, the Chief will definitely have to relent."
Because Akira had respectfully waited and not interrupted his sacred forging session, Haganezuka was in a surprisingly good mood. Desperate to sink his teeth into a truly challenging project, the eccentric man even laced his tone with a rare, awkward hint of flattery.
'If I had not just looked at your internal organs with the Transparent World, I really might have believed you...'
The corner of Akira's mouth twitched slightly as he stared at the uncharacteristically polite swordsmith.
"The Chief naturally has his own valid reasons for making such an arrangement," Akira replied smoothly, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "After all, it is entirely impossible for him to do something that would actually harm you, is it not?"
The moment the refusal left Akira's lips, the dark eyes visible through the eyeholes of the Hyottoko mask seemed to instantly lose all their light.
"Ahem, let us get down to business," Akira said, quickly shifting the topic before the smith could start sulking. He unclipped the scabbard from his waist and held it out. "I came here today to have some basic maintenance done on my Nichirin Blade."
The mere mention of a sword he had personally forged acted like a miraculous cure. Haganezuka instantly sprang back to life, snatching the weapon from Akira's hands.
"That should not be right," Haganezuka muttered, his masked head tilting in pure confusion. "Given the supreme quality of this steel combined with your monstrous strength, it absolutely should not require maintenance this soon. Do not tell me you encountered another ridiculously troublesome opponent..."
His voice trailed off as his calloused hands gripped the hilt and smoothly unsheathed the blade. He brought the steel up to the light, his eyes narrowing to inspect the edge.
The unfinished sentence died in his throat.
A thick, suffocating aura of pure darkness began to ooze out of the swordsmith's pores. The temperature in the workshop seemed to plummet.
Feeling the sheer, concentrated murderous intent rolling off Haganezuka's trembling frame, Akira subconsciously swallowed hard. Despite all the confident, casual words he had spoken to Kanae on the mountain path, facing the absolute wrath of this obsessive artisan in person still made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
Even when he had stood face-to-face with the terrifying martial aura of Upper Rank Three, Akaza, Akira had not felt this specific brand of thrilling dread.
"What... did you do... with my sword?"
The words scraped out of Haganezuka's throat, raspy and distorted by a rage so deep it bordered on demonic.
Loving his creations more than his own flesh and blood, the master smith could instantly read the story written on the steel. He knew exactly what battle damage looked like. Whether it was the chipped edges from hacking through dense demon bone or the stress fractures from blocking devastating Blood Demon Arts, the marks left behind never looked like this.
He had only ever seen these specific, dull, horizontal scuff marks on his own wood-chopping axe.
The only reason he had even bothered to ask was because the superior quality of the Nichirin ore caused the wear patterns to look slightly different, giving him one final, desperate sliver of hope that his masterpiece had not been subjected to such utter degradation.
"Uh... well... I can explain..." Akira started, taking a slow, cautious step backward.
Watching the young Hashira's hesitant, guilty posture, Haganezuka did not need to hear a definitive answer. His worst, most horrifying suspicion was confirmed.
In a fraction of a second, the last thread of his sanity snapped. The murderous intent violently exploded outward, transforming the eccentric swordsmith into a top-tier vengeful spirit right on the spot.
He dropped the scabbard, reached behind him, and reversed his grip on the freshly forged, red-hot blade resting on the anvil. Without a single moment of hesitation, he lunged directly at Akira's throat.
"How dare you take the sacred blade I poured my absolute heart and soul into forging... AND USE IT TO CHOP TREES!"
"Unforgivable! Absolutely, utterly unforgivable—!"
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