The loud clanging of metal on metal reminded Kazu of his younger days. He apprenticed briefly as a swordsmith but it wasn’t for him. Too hot, too sweaty and not enough real action. What fun was sitting over a hot anvil all day shaping pieces of metal for other men to use? Very few swordsmiths ever made a name for themselves. In fact he could only think of two off-hand. Sonsho, known for blades so sharp they could slice a single hair in two, and Seishu, his former master. Having reached the extraordinary age of 95 he retired from making swords and instead moved to teaching. To own a Seishu sword was said to bring the owner automatic glory in battle and honour in death. A Sonsho sword, however, was said to be imbued with the creator’s own madness. It was just as likely to bite its owner as it was its foe. Kazu had heard rumours that Lord Sou’s swords were the work of Sonsho’s - a gift from his father at his coming of age ceremony - but he’d yet to get close enough to check for himself. If that were true, and if he believed the rumours, that would certainly explain a lot.

Kazu cleared his throat and stepped inside. It was like stepping into a wall of heat trying to choke and smother him to the ground. It brought back awful memories. Kazu did not deal well with the heat. He was a winter man all the way. Steaming hot rice, warm sake, hot bodies… The swordsmith was busy hammering away and didn’t notice his entrance. Kazu just wanted to get in and out as quickly as possible. Both to escape the heat but also so he could show off his new samurai swords. His own swords, made especially for him. He’d never had a greater honour in life. His parents would have been proud.

Kazu opened his mouth to call out but stopped. Something familiar by the counter caught his eye. He walked over and picked it up. It was a single sword, sitting in a scabbard he knew well. It was the same one he stole from the old farmer a while back. After the tanuki attack, before Lord Sou had taken him into his care. Why had no-one returned it? A rush of guilt swept over him. The old couple had trusted him and he repaid them with the theft of their most precious possession.

He walked over to the swordsmith, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Excuse me.”

There was no response. Kazu cleared his throat and tried again a little louder.

“Excuse me!”

The swordsmith brought his hammer down one last time and then turned around. He was a large man, well muscled and well tanned.

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“Yes? Can I help you?”

“Whose sword is this?” Kazu held up the scabbard in question. The swordsmith removed his gloves and stood up, moving to get a drink.

“Dunno. Lord Yashiro’s men dropped it off here a few weeks back hoping I could find the owner. It’s not my work but I’m the only swordsmith in town. No-one’s come forward for it yet.”

“I think I know who the owner is. Do you mind if I take it?”

The swordsmith put his cup down and shrugged. “Go nuts. It’s just taking up space around here. Is that what you came for? If so I need to get back to work.”

Kazu scratched the back of his head. “Oh no, I’m here to pick up some swords. Lord Sou said they would be ready. The name’s Kazu.”

“Oh yeah!” The swordsmith’s face lit up. He moved over to the corner and returned with two swords. “You’re gonna love these. Some of my best work. I’ve been working on these day and night to meet Lord Yashiro’s standards. Take them out, give them a try.”

Kazu put the old farmer’s sword down on the counter and took his own with trembling hands. There were two swords sitting in fine, pitch black scabbards. They were so well polished he could see his own face reflected back at him. Here they were. His very own katana and wakizashi. The true signs of a samurai. He’d really made it. If only his parents could see him now.

“Go on.”

Kazu slowly removed the katana from its scabbard. “This… this is beautiful,” he stammered.

“I’ve been trying out a new technique, you’re the first to receive it. See that hamon there, I’ve been working on refining that pattern for years now. This is the first time I’ve succeeded. See? Look closely and you can see it. There, along the edge. Waves, like the crashing waves of the ocean. Full of nature’s fury. Unstoppable, even by gods. Just like its owner will be.”

The swordsmith beamed, clearly proud of his work. Kazu couldn’t help but smile. The sword really was beautiful, unlike any other he’d seen. But was it functional?

“Do you have something I can test it on?”

The swordsmith nodded like he knew that question was coming and drew Kazu further into the heat of his forge. There was a large wooden pole in the back wearing a samurai’s chest plate. It was covered in tiny scratches and cuts.

“Give it a try.”

Kazu held his sword and took a stance like he’d seen Sou do in battle and swung. It sliced right through the leather to the wood below, a clean cut. If that were a person he wouldn’t be dead, but he soon would be. He took a few more swings, getting a feel for the weight in his hand and how it moved through the air. It was like nothing he’d ever used before. He really did feel like a god.

Kazu put the sword back in the scabbard and bowed deeply to the swordsmith. “I have no words. I don’t deserve such a prize. Thank you.”

“Not at all.” The swordsmith smiled. “This is my life’s work, my passion. Put it to good use. Protect Lord Yashiro and protect Miharu. That’s payment enough for me.”

Kazu took the old farmer’s sword with him on his way out and made for his next destination, feeling on top of the world. There was one more thing he needed to get.