“Soul Nurturing…”
Shinsuke gripped the violet-pink Tang blade in his hand, feeling the faint cool touch of the blade body and the strange resonance it shared with his Breathing Style, a connection that hummed just below the surface.
The system hadn’t been particularly clear on how exactly the “nurturing” worked.
It had only explained the blade’s origin and said nothing concrete about its effects, once again leaving him with that line about figuring it out himself.
The growth of Harem Breathing depended on the number and strength of the women around him.
A blade had no gender and could only offer limited help in that regard, but a blade spirit could!
That was how the Soul Nurturing ability came to exist.
Soul Nurturing, nurturing a soul: based on Shinsuke’s understanding, this probably meant drawing a female soul into the blade to be his companion day and night.
That way, even with no other women nearby, the female soul inside the blade should still provide some degree of a strength boost.
Whether that was actually how it worked would need to be tested in the future.
His gaze drifted involuntarily toward Nezuko, sleeping peacefully inside the cabin.
But the next second he shook his head firmly, because what he wanted was for Nezuko to be by his side day and night in the flesh.
Not just a soul.
If it really came down to just wanting a soul though…
Shinsuke suddenly froze, and his head snapped up toward the mountain peak.
Right, he’d almost forgotten about that girl!
If they were talking about Soul Nurturing, or to put it another way, a blade spirit, wasn’t there a poor little lost girl wandering around on this very mountain, dazed and without a home?!
Shinsuke slapped his knee.
Now that was something worth pursuing!
Just as he was cheerfully examining his new toy, the cabin door slid quietly open.
Sakonji Urokodaki, tengu mask in place, stepped inside without a sound.
He glanced first at Nezuko sleeping soundly in the corner, clothes undisturbed, then swept his gaze over Shinsuke sitting properly at a respectful distance, and gave an almost imperceptible nod.
(Good, this kid may be lecherous, but at least he knows where the line is.)
His eyes then dropped to the straight long blade in Shinsuke’s hand.
The gaze beneath Urokodaki’s mask narrowed.
As a former Water Hashira, he had seen no fewer than dozens of Nichirin Blades.
Demon Slayer Corps swordsmiths all had their individual styles, but the general form was consistent: an elegantly curved blade body with just the right arc for slashing strikes.
But this blade…
It was too straight.
From guard to scabbard tip it was nearly a perfectly straight line, and the scabbard itself was slightly wider than a standard Nichirin Blade, carrying a quality that was plain and unyielding.
Urokodaki spoke, his voice giving nothing away.
“Hm?
Oh!
This?” Shinsuke acted as though he had only just noticed the sword at his side, fumbled to remove it, and held it out toward Urokodaki with both hands, his manner carrying the faint air of someone presenting a treasure.
“Take a look, Master!
It’s been in my family for generations!”
Urokodaki didn’t take it, only gestured with his eyes for Shinsuke to draw it.
“Shing.”
The clean ring of the blade leaving the scabbard was especially clear in the quiet room.
The instant the blade fully cleared the sheath, the light of the setting sun caught the edge.
Snow-bright.
Not the snow-brightness of a katana with its graceful curve, but something more like a straight cut of moonlight, crisp and clean.
Urokodaki’s pupils contracted slightly.
This form…
Tang style?
He had seen similar blades before.
Decades ago, there had been a swordsman in the Demon Slayer Corps who also used a straight-edged blade, reportedly descended from someone who had come from across the sea.
But that person’s blade had not been this…
pure.
“Master?
What do you think?”
Shinsuke’s voice pulled him back.
Urokodaki raised his eyes to Shinsuke’s face.
Most critically, there was the color of the blade right now.
“Is this a Nichirin Blade?”
Urokodaki stepped closer and examined the faint violet-pink sheen flowing across the blade surface as though it were alive.
It was common knowledge that a Nichirin Blade changed color according to its user’s Breathing Style.
“Did your family ever have a member of the Demon Slayer Corps?”
Shinsuke shook his head so vigorously his hair nearly flew off, and his expression shifted smoothly into that of an honest and simple farmhand’s son.
“We were farmers~”
“This blade was found in the mountains by my great-great-grandfather.
My dad always said that the snow was especially heavy that year, and great-great-grandfather went up the mountain to chop wood and found it in a cave.” Enjoying the story? Read on at novelping dot com.
He paused, dropping his voice slightly, adding a touch of mystery.
“Ordinary farming people had never seen such a fine blade in their lives.
Great-great-grandfather couldn’t bring himself to throw it away, but he was a timid man and afraid of causing trouble, so he kept it hidden at home all these years, treating it as a family heirloom.”
He finished with a firm nod, as if to reinforce the credibility of the story.
He absolutely could not claim a Demon Slayer Corps ancestor at random, since the Ubuyashiki household kept detailed records of every member across the generations and a single check would expose the lie.
This explanation, on the other hand, was practically perfect: origins unknown, found by a dead man, impossible to verify!
He really was a clever little fox.
Urokodaki was silent for a moment, apparently accepting the explanation.
After all, the Demon Slayer Corps had always had a frighteningly high death rate, and lost blades were not unheard of.
He only looked at that bold violet-pink color once more.
That color…
a straight-edged, unyielding Tang-style blade paired with a pink that was almost aggressively soft and cute…
The visual impact was, to put it mildly, considerable.
“Outside.”
Urokodaki shook his head, turned, and walked toward the door.
“Prepare for training.”
“Wait, I’m training too?” Shinsuke pointed at his own nose, but followed along obediently all the same, clipping the blade at his waist as he went.
They arrived at the familiar training clearing halfway up the mountain, and before Urokodaki had even opened his mouth, his body suddenly stiffened, and the tengu mask snapped sharply toward Shinsuke.
“Where is your Constant?”
His tone carried clear puzzlement and scrutiny.
“Just now inside the cabin, and on the way here, you were clearly maintaining Total Concentration Breathing Constant the entire time.
Why has it stopped now?”
Shinsuke’s heart gave a lurch.
Worthy of a former Water Hashira!
His perception was terrifyingly sharp!
He immediately arranged a blank look on his face.
“Con…
stant?
Master, what’s that?
You’ve never taught me that.”
Urokodaki: “…”