Heretic's Forge: A Crafting Fantasy Adventure (The Warrior Blacksmith Book 1)

by Jared Mandani

  “No, I’m not. I meant what I said wholeheartedly, but I fail to understand why you would soil yourself by punishing him when it’s my responsibility to punish his misdeeds?”

  “Indeed,” Hanataro said, “How do you intend to punish him?”

  “By confiscating his food rations for the day, and withholding the stipend for his apprenticeship for one month.”

  “One month!” Ryusei exclaimed.

  “That,” Munesuke uttered gravely, “Has turned it into six months. I would recommend, Ryusei-kun, that you cease talking while you still can.”

  “A wise recommendation, smith,” the samurai agreed. “Though I’d prefer a more fitting punishment, lashes, perhaps. It’s your prerogative to be the one to determine the manner of his castigation, unless,” he grinned, “You lack a permit.” Munesuke said nothing, bowed, and offered a piece of paper to Hanataro. The samurai took it and read through it. “Hmm, strange, this permit is given for the apprenticeship of Kajiya Senshi, yet this boy’s name is Ryusei. What gives?”

  Munesuke shrugged. “Permits are transferable, Hanataro-sama.”

  “That is not what I asked, smith. Why do you have a permit for one Kajiya Senshi?”

  “He was my son. He was sent to fight the Goguryese ten years ago, but the boat he was on capsized.”

  “Hm, he never returned then?”

  “No.”

  “A pity,” said Hanataro, “But what would you have done had he returned?”

  The old man shrugged again, as if he were stating the obvious. “Report him as is my duty. He’d have likely been corrupted by westerners.”

  “Hm, justly said. But Munesuke-san, you understand I can’t simply let this issue slide, reparations must be made.”

  “Reparations, Hanataro-sama?”

  “Of course, blacksmith. I was slighted, and now I see a permit with a different name.”

  “But the permits are transferable, you can’t just—”

  “Please, Munesuke,” said Hanataro grinning, “heed your own advice, and remain silent. It’s merely a precaution, I assure you. And it won’t be difficult either. I’ll merely withhold the payment over the ikiteiruken, is this acceptable?”

  His words brokered no rebuke; it was acceptable. The old man sighed, bowed his head and said, “Yes, Hanataro-sama.”

  “I’m glad to see you are a sensible man, Munesuke. Besides,” he shrugged, “I can tell you still have materials and implements for any future endeavors, yes?”

  “Your perception is keen, Hanataro-sama.”

  “Indeed, indeed. Well, I shall take the weapon,” he nodded, “and my leave.” The old man gave him the weapon, and he took it, strapping it onto the side of his horse’s saddle before climbing back up. “Farewell, blacksmith. Further commissions may come your way, if my Lord is satisfied. But I suggest you discipline your,” he scoffed, “apprentice.”

  “I will, Hanataro-sama.”

  “See to it. Hyah!” he exclaimed, leaving the household behind and heading towards the road to his lord’s abode, feeling glad that he’d finally leave the land of quantity for the realm of quality.

  ***

  Arrogant, stuck up fucking prick! Thought Munesuke as he saw the receding back of Hanataro going downhill; he was too old to not feel contemptuous at the self-importance displayed by Yorunokenshi Ishida’s samurai, just as he was too old to actually do anything about it but endure. But the young ones? They shouldn’t live under such... he paused his thoughts, trying to find the words to express his disdain. “Depravity,” he spat snidely.

  “I’m sorry, master,” he heard Ryusei say.

  “Hm? What about?”

  “I slighted Hanataro-sama, and got what I deserved in result.”

  “Make no mistake, boy. You slighted his fragile ego, and nothing more. The mistreatment at his hands is not accrued by bruising his sense of self-worth.” Munesuke saw the boy was nursing his arm, sighed, and knelt beside him. “Are you hurt?”

  “My elbow hurts a little, but only…. Oww!”

  “Hmm, it’s badly bruised. You need rest, and a sling,” Munesuke said, turning towards the home. He paused when he realized the boy wasn’t following him. “Are you coming?”

  “I... but master, you said I needed to care for the forge!”

  “I did. And to do that, you must be in good health. Let’s rub some ointment on your shoulder, and make you a sling.”

  “But... the forge, it’ll get cold.”

  “If it does,” Munesuke said calmly, “We’ll merely stoke it. You did well, anyhow.”

  “I did?”

  Munesuke smiled. “You faced the ‘brave’ samurai’s wrath to tend to your task. Your level of commitment is commendable, if nearly suicidal. Now come, let’s tend to your wounds.”

  “But master Munesuke-san, won’t I be punished?”

  “Ryusei, do you judge me a man of the same quality as Hanataro-sama?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You have seen a glimpse of Hanataro-sama’s conduct. Based on that, would you judge me to be of the same quality as he is?”

  “I...” the boy paused, and Munesuke saw understanding in his young expression. “No, master Munesuke-san.”

  “Good. Now come.”

  The two of them headed back into the Kajiya household, and though Munesuke’s gait remained slow due to his age, he felt in himself a renewed vigor. The Senshi returned to me is my son, and a complete stranger – I don’t yet fully know the kind of man he is, he glanced at Ryusei. But he seems to be a good man in the end. As for Ryusei, he shows promise as a blacksmith, and due diligence too. He sighed and rolled his shoulders as they walked. Times are changing.

  Times are changing indeed.

  Chapter VIII: Weight and Balance

  “One must accept, albeit reluctantly, that there exists merit on the western idea of removing the kotodama from weapons. Disregarding the underlying horror of depriving the metal of its essence, emptying it to accept the user’s will in full offers interesting avenues for combat which, at the very least, should be known to better train our warriors in countering them.”

  -Priest Wakanabe Kenzoo, in “Of Emptiness and Deceit: A Glimpse into the Distasteful and Harrowing Reality of the Barbarous Swordsmithing Procedures as Seen Through the Eyes of the Hallowed Emperor’s Saishi.”

  “Father, why must daily life be so boring, so uneventful, so...” she sighed dramatically, “meaningless?”

  “Because, my flower, you refuse to find ways to make it meaningful. You refuse to paint, embroider, draw… You refuse any and all avenues for cultivation!”

  “What cultivation is there to be found in such pedestrian endeavors? I seek something else, father, something more... fulfilling.”

  Mathematics, astronomy, and other arcane writings? “And I’m sure you’ll find it, Yumei, dear.” Yorunokenshi Ishida sighed, knowing that he was, in fact, lying to his daughter. Nagano’s daimyo shook his head as he pored over the myriad documents and edicts sent over by his “dear” brother, shogun Yorunokenshi Ichiro. Ishida chuckled mirthlessly, A true waste of seed, that one.

  “Is something amusing you, father, or are those documents so boring to you that you are losing your mind?”

  Ishida chuckled, mirthfully this time. “Only the ironies of life, my dear, nothing else.” Ironic indeed, that though identical at birth, my dimwitted wastrel of a brother is but four minutes older than I! A cruel twist of fate that saw Ichiro become shogun, instead of Ishida. The daimyo kept reading the edicts sent by his brother, wondering if he was after some semblance of vengeance over his own inadequacy; Ishida had always been wittier, sharper of mind, tongue, and blade, a better shot, and a better man. And Ichiro knows it, and resents it.

  But he was four minutes younger, and that was the end of it.

  “I could help you revise those edicts and documents, you know?”

  The daimyo sighed once more. In a way, I envy her.
No worries, no preoccupations, nothing to concern herself with other than whatever daydreams went on in her mind. “Yumei, I offer you wide berth to do, quite literally, anything a young lady your age could want. Why must you obsess so much over the more... intellectual aspects of my mandate?”

  “Because they are both the most interesting, and the most likely to change life for the people.”

  “Why would you change people’s lives?”

  “Why wouldn’t I, father?” she asked. “Many of our laws are, literally, as ancient as the Empire itself, our circumstances have changed over the past centuries, don’t you agree?”

  “Only in minor matters.”

  “Minor matters? Please father, I’m not blind to the ways our traditions fail to bring the same contentment they did before. Even you are upset with your tradition-given position.” Ishida’s face darkened, and his daughter noticed, immediately amending, “Sorry father, I spoke out of place.”

  He loved his daughter, but at times he wished she harbored no silly notions of ‘cultivation.’ “Woe not dear. I appreciate your sharp, if acid commentary. Now why don’t we—”

  A herald called outside Ishida’s studio. “Lord daimyo?”

  Ishida groaned. “Yes, what is it?”

  “Samurai Hanataro has returned,” the herald said.

  Well, at least there’s some excitement for the day. “I am coming,” Ishida announced, and to his daughter he said, “Will you come with me, daughter?”

  “And see your prospect for me in action?” she scoffed, “No, thank you.”

  “Daughter, Hanataro is...” What is he? At least that much he needed to recognize in his daughter; she was not stupid, and she could easily judge a man’s character. Ryokawa Hanataro was a samurai, yes, but he hardly lived by bushido, the code of the warrior. No wonder my dear brother assigned him to me. “Hanataro is not so bad.”

  Yumei scoffed, “Please father, at least pretend that you believe what you are saying!”

  “Fair point – I’ll pretend as much, if you pretend to at least be courteous to him.”

  “I promise nothing, father.”

  “Yumei, please.”

  She sighed, rolled her eyes and said, “Fine, I’ll try, father.”

  Ishida smiled. “That’s all I ask of you.”

  “Wait, I want something in return.”

  Ishida blinked rapidly. “I, er... Of course! What would you like?”

  Yumei grinned impishly, “That you let me go over those documents with you!”

  “You want me to... Hah! Fine! If anything it might be less boring that way. Now come on, let’s not leave the brave samurai waiting.”

  “Brave and bold and handsome,” Yumei said sarcastically.

  The daimyo chuckled. “You said it, not I. I almost believe you are starting to like him.” Yumei stared at her father and her features curled into a snarl, making Ishida laugh. She’s a sharp one, that lass.

  Together they left his studio and followed the herald through the corridors of their manor. The labyrinth of paper and reed hallways was silent, and only the footsteps of the three made any noise in the house. When they left the living quarters behind and entered the more stately area of the house, the walls became wood and stone, decorated with friezes and wood paintings depicting various Nipponese vistas, from budding sakura trees, to the snow-peaked summit of Fujisan.

  Ishida glanced at his daughter as she contemplated the artworks appreciatively, and he couldn’t help but smile. She takes after her mother, that’s a good thing.

  “I miss mother,” Yumei declared, as if reading her father’s thoughts.

  “I miss her too, my dear, but her duty to the Emperor precedes our necessities.”

  She scoffed. “Yet more tradition, huh?”

  “Yes, Yumei, more tradition. But worry not, we’ll see her soon enough, you’ll see.” Yumei said nothing more, she merely hastened her pace. Ishida did the same, walking beside his daughter through the wooden halls.

  They entered the manor’s audience hall and there, kneeling at the center of the room, in front of the hall, was Ryokawa Hanataro. “Greetings, samurai.”

  “Noble Yorunokenshi Ishida-sama, I am returned bearing the piece of armament you have commissioned,” Hanataro said, ceremoniously removing a katana in its scabbard from his sash, and placing it in front of him. “This is the weapon created for you by Kajiya Munesuke.” He lifted it in both hands and presented it as an offering to Ishida.

  The daimyo said, “Yes, thank you, samurai. You have done well in bringing my ikiteiruken to me. I trust it hasn’t been bonded yet?”

  “It hasn’t, lord.”

  “Good,” said Ishida, taking the sword from Hanataro’s hands. He stepped into the wider area of the audience room and unsheathed the weapon. His eyes widened, There is something different about this weapon, he thought as he felt its weight and balance. It was perfect, Too perfect even, unlike anything Munesuke-san has ever made! The ruling family in Nagano had commissioned Kajiya-branded weapons for years, and Munesuke was but the latest supplier of those weapons. Though Ishida had already had three custom-made katanas crafted by Munesuke, this was the first one with such finesse to it.

  Ishida took a step forward and assumed a high-guard, kasumi no kamae, stance. He quickly slashed with the katana once, twice, twirled it in his hands and assumed the next position, waki no kamae, side stance. From there he slashed and stepped forward, bringing his weapon in an arc into the next stance, joodan no kamae, high stance, and followed with a flurry of blows.

  As he tested the weight, he heard Hanataro’s voice speaking to his daughter, “Yumei-hime, I am graced by your presence, unwilted as the perennial lotus.”

  “Thank you for letting me know I’m not old and ugly.”

  “That is... My lady, that is not—”

  “Not what you meant, but what you said.”

  “What I said was but a compliment to your beauty. A beauty as enthralling as the blossoming of cherry trees.”

  “Which are pretty only when they are covered in flowers, but worthless otherwise. Noted.” She chuckled, “Your flattering abilities are impossible to underestimate, Hanataro-dono.”

  Ishida heard the samurai’s muffled laughter and sighed. Does he not realize he’s being insulted? “It is I who is flattered by your compliment, Yumei-hime,” Hanataro said.

  “Guess he doesn’t,” Ishida murmured as he stepped into the final stance, gedan no kamae, lower position. From there, he swung the weapon once more in a wide arc, before holding it at arm’s length to inspect the blade itself. It was unlike anything he had ever seen, from the tip to the guard, it was flawless, perfectly made steel, free of pitting, blemishes, anything. How did he do it? Ishida wondered. Such purity should be unattainable by using iron sands, and yet here it is, in my hands. “Hanataro.”

  “... captivating as the light of a thousand… Ah, yes,” the samurai cleared his throat. “You have need of me, Ishida-sama?”

  “Did Munesuke make this weapon?”

  “He did,” he said darkly, “Why, must he be reprimanded over its quality? Does it not satisfy you, my lord?”

  “At ease, samurai,” Ishida said. “I am just being curious. It’s perfect, and I wished to praise the creator, since it’s unlike anything I have seen before.”

  Hanataro scoffed. “I guess old Munesuke has benefited from his assistant’s help.”

  “Assistant? I didn’t know Munesuke had an assistant.”

  “Neither did I until but a few days ago. A mute, a deaf, and an imbecile named Hangyaku Gizoosha who helps him with menial labors at the forge.”

  “Gizoosha? It is indeed a cruel name.”

  Hanataro shrugged. “Who’s to know what goes through the mind of our inferiors?”

  “Hmm.” Once again his self-important attitude. Truly, he is my brother’s man. “I wonder, Hanataro, could you, using your own hands, create a weapon such as this?”


  “What kind of question is that, my lord? Of course not! I wouldn’t soil myself by doing what an artisan would.”

  “Hanataro-dono speaks truly, father,” Yumei interceded, “Lest his grandiose purity be besmirched beyond repair.”

  “Your daughter is wise, Ishida-sama.”

  My daughter is making a fool out of you. “Well, whatever the case, I should like to meet this Gizoosha one day, if only out of curiosity.”

  “Lord, truly, there is no need to—”

  “Just drop the topic, Hanataro. I wish to bind with my blade.”

  “I...” Hanataro bowed respectfully and said, “As you command, lord.”

  Ishida nodded and sank to his knees, settling himself comfortably for the binding process. He drew the tip of his thumb along the edge and winced as the strong hagane bit into his skin. He smeared the length of the blade with his blood, closed his eyes, and waited.

  Slowly, gingerly, the awakened consciousness within the living sword was stirred into wakefulness – it had already been given sentience by Munesuke’s sacrifice into its kotodama, but now it was seeking a kindred essence to bind with.

  “Hello, blade.”

  “Greetings, human,” the sword responded, “Who are you?”

  Ishida’s eyes opened widely. It asked who am I? It was impossible! He had bonded with many swords before, touched many forms of kotodama, yet in all of his life, not once had an ikiteiruken asked who he was. Something is certainly different about this weapon. “I am Yorunokenshi Ishida, and I am to be your master.”

  “My master? Please, if anything I’d appreciate being treated as an equal by you, but master? I don’t think so, human.”

  “What in all the heavens?” Ishida muttered.

  “Lord, is something amiss?” Hanataro asked.

  “No, Hanataro, everything is fine.” Ishida replied before returning to his weapon. Incredible! This weapon isn’t only awakened and sentient, but it has a personality too? The living swords he had owned before were impossibly one-dimensional in their character, and resigned to their fate as bond servants to their masters—a necessity, considering many of them would be intended for military use and would outlast their wielders. But this weapon seemed completely different.