Part Three

... Elsewhere in Ode...

The path to the blacksmith's hut was silent, save for the soft rustling of the river reeds. Mist hung heavy over the ground, shrouding the small wooden house in an eerie veil. Asakai approached, his heart burdened with desperation.

He had failed, time and time again. Now, this journey was his last hope.

The blacksmith was a legend, rumored to forge blades of dragon steel that could channel even the most unruly chi. Asakai needed such a weapon. Without it, his path forward was as unclear as the mist around him.

When he reached the door, Asakai knocked, his voice firm but tinged with urgency. "Blacksmith! I seek a sword. Open this door."

A voice from within responded, sharp and unimpressed. "Go away. I no longer make weapons."

"I can pay you!" Asakai countered. "Name your price."

A low chuckle followed. "Money is worthless to me, swordsman. Leave now, before you waste more than coin."

Asakai clenched his fists. "I will not leave! They say you are the only one who can forge a blade of dragon steel. I need it. You will make it for me!"

The door creaked open, and the figure of the blacksmith emerged. Asakai's sharp eyes immediately locked on to him—and then widened in disbelief.

Hasashi stepped into the mist, a wiry figure wrapped in a soot-streaked yukata. His face bore lines of age, his sharp gaze piercing. But what drew Asakai's attention were his arms—or rather, the absence of them. From his shoulders hung empty sleeves, swaying lightly in the breeze.

"You… have no hands?" Asakai stammered, his voice faltering. "How can you forge a blade without them?"

Hasashi's lips curved into a faint, wolfish grin. "So quick to judge," he said, his voice calm and deliberate. "Is that all a swordsman like you can see—a man's limits? Perhaps you are unworthy of the weapon you seek."

Asakai's frustration boiled over. "How dare you, I've traveled far to find you, and now you mock me?!"

Hasashi tilted his head slightly, his expression unshaken. "Very well, swordsman. Let us see if you are as strong as your words."

He gestured toward the worn katana at his hip, its hilt gleaming faintly despite its age. "If you can unsheathe your blade before I touch you, I will forge the sword you seek."

Asakai narrowed his eyes. "You have no hands. How can you touch me?"

The blacksmith chuckled—a low, rasping sound that sent a chill down Asakai's spine. "You'll find out soon enough."

Without another word, Hasashi planted his feet firmly on the ground. "Draw your weapon. Show me if you are worthy."

Asakai didn't hesitate. His hand shot toward his sword, his demon chi flaring around him in a fiery aura.

Before he could unsheathe it, there was a blur of movement.

A sharp thud echoed as Hasashi's leg struck Asakai square in the chest, sending him stumbling backward. The old blacksmith's speed was inhuman, his movements impossibly fluid despite his age. He stood motionless once more. A slight yawn, to show his disappointment.

"Go again," He said.

Asakai steadied himself, his breathing ragged. He launched forward again, faster this time, his chi roaring like an inferno. But Hasashi was faster.

In the blink of an eye, Hasashi's foot tapped Asakai's forehead with mocking lightness. He retreated, untouched. "Too slow."

Every attempt was met with humiliating ease. Hasashi's kicks were precise, his footwork an art form. Every failure drove home the gulf between them.

Finally, Asakai collapsed to his knees, his pride shattered and his body trembling.

Hasashi stood over him, his expression as calm as ever. "Strength. Speed. Technique. You lack all of them," he said coldly. "But the worst flaw of all, swordsman, is your desperation. A true warrior does not grovel for power. They earn it."

Asakai's voice cracked as he looked up, his eyes brimming with frustration. "Then teach me!"

The blacksmith's face softened slightly, though his tone remained firm. "If only I had seen your hands, I might have turned you away. But now, I see your heart too."

For a moment, a heavy silence hung between them, broken only by the soft rustle of the breeze.

"I am sorry," Hasashi said finally. "I cannot be your master,"

Asakai bowed his head, his chest heaving with despair. His voice was barely above a whisper. "Then what am I to do?"

The faintest smile touched Hasashi's lips—a ghost of warmth hidden beneath his stoicism. "If you still seek a weapon, I can make you one," he said.

Asakai lifted his head, surprise flashing in his eyes.

"But do not mistake my pity for approval," Hasashi warned, his tone sharp once more. "This weapon will not make you a warrior. That will still depend on you. If you want me to forge a blade, you must first understand that it is not power you lack—it is clarity."

Asakai swallowed hard and nodded, determination flickering in his eyes. "I'll do whatever it takes."

Hasashi's expression returned to its stoic calm. "Very well. Follow me. But know this—The furnace forges both man and blade, you will not simply forge a blade. You will forge yourself."

With that, Hasashi turned and walked toward his hut, his empty sleeves swaying like pendulums. Asakai rose shakily to his feet, his gaze fixed on the blacksmith's retreating figure.

This was no longer just about acquiring a weapon. It was about becoming worthy of wielding one.