"Th-This is…?"

Mitsuri Kanroji stared in shock at the ancient longsword in Ron's hand.

Ron examined the blade carefully. Unlike the usual Nichirin swords, this one felt noticeably heavier. Its sheath, worn by the passage of time, was coated in rust and radiated an ancient air, clearly marking it as a relic from a bygone era.

"So this is the sword you've been looking for?"

Shinobu's voice carried surprise.

"Probably."

Ron responded calmly.

"Hiding a sword inside a training automaton like that… wouldn't that mean it's over three hundred years old?!"

Mitsuri suddenly realized something, her big round eyes sparkling with excitement. "Could it be… some kind of legendary weapon? Eeeeh~ Ron! Ron! Hurry, draw it! Let us see!"

Under the watchful eyes of both women,

Ron gripped the hilt and slowly unsheathed the blade that had likely slumbered for over three centuries.

No brilliant flash of a divine weapon greeted them.

Only a blade mottled with rust.

"Ah… huh?"

Mitsuri blinked in confusion. When she looked again, the blade still looked the same—covered in reddish-brown rust.

"Ehh—?! It's completely rusted through!"

Ron fully drew the sword and held it before him, studying the neglected metal with calm eyes.

Shinobu frowned slightly as she observed the blade. "Three hundred years... Left untouched for too long. Without maintenance, this was bound to happen."

"Looks like it's unusable," Mitsuri said sympathetically, scooting closer to Ron. "If you're looking for a sword, wouldn't it be better to ask a swordsmith to forge a new one?"

"Actually," Shinobu mused as she pinched her chin thoughtfully, "Iron from the Sengoku period tended to be of higher quality than today's. The blade's not chipped or cracked—just heavily rusted. If we could somehow remove the corrosion and reforge the edge, it might still be restored to full sharpness."

Mitsuri's eyes lit up. She balled her fist and smacked her palm. "Oh! Let's ask the village elder! Maybe they'll know how to restore it!"

"No need for that."

Both women turned to Ron in confusion.

Then they saw it.

Ron gripped the hilt tightly, applying a touch more pressure with his palm.

"!"

Their eyes widened in disbelief.

From the surface of the rusted blade, a faint red glow began to pulse.

It was like flames had begun to dance along its length.

"The sword… is burning?"

Mitsuri's round eyes grew even wider, glimmering with awe.

In Shinobu's mind, a single term surfaced—

"Crimson Blade."

And then,

The red glow surged in intensity.

The blade looked as though it were being engulfed in searing red fire, its surface turning into a glowing, scorching crimson—like molten iron.

The heat radiating from the sword spiked sharply. The very air around it began to distort, warping with the intensity.

"Back up a bit."

Ron's voice remained as calm as ever.

Shinobu didn't hesitate. She grabbed Mitsuri by the hand and retreated several meters without question.

Just as they moved out of range—

Ron no longer restrained himself. His right hand, gripping the hilt of the blade, surged with power.

Boom!

A wave of blistering heat exploded outward from his body.

"!!"

Both Shinobu and Mitsuri stared in astonishment. This copy was generated from content at MV|LEMPYR.

In Ron's hand, the ancient blade had suddenly turned searing red, glowing like molten iron. Crimson flames flickered visibly on its surface, radiating terrifying heat.

The grass beneath Ron's feet withered and yellowed, scorched by the intensity of the heat.

He calmly observed the blade in his hand—the old katana etched with the word 'Destruction'. As the blazing heat coursed through it, the thick layer of rust began to melt and flake away.

With the Breath of the Sun flowing through him, a powerful and fierce aura began to awaken from within the scorched blade—perhaps a lingering trace of its former owner's sword intent from three centuries ago.

Could this really be Yoriichi Tsugikuni's sword?

Ron narrowed his eyes at the weapon, thinking silently.

Then, with a mere thought, he activated Armament Haki.

The glowing red blade instantly turned a deep, ominous purple-black, coated in a dense sheen of Haki that pulsed with overwhelming sharpness.

Ron casually swung it through the air—

A flash of violet-black light streaked across the sky and vanished.

Shinobu stood frozen in disbelief. Mitsuri stared, completely dumbfounded.

In the distance…

A mountaintop—sheared clean off—began to slide downward.

Rumble—!!

Rocks crashed to the ground, sending tremors through the forest.

"Sh-Shinobu… Am I dreaming?" Mitsuri stammered, eyes wide with disbelief. "Did… did he just cut a mountain in half?!"

Even Shinobu was visibly shaken.

"…It's not quite as perfect as the previous few blades, but it'll do for now."

Ron gave a small nod of approval.

The Armament Haki faded.

The once rusted katana now gleamed with a deep obsidian luster. Its surface was sleek and razor-sharp, its curvature elegant and true. Near the hilt, the blade still bore the engraved word "Destruction." The weapon radiated both serene calm and blistering heat—a paradox made steel.

Ron slid the blade back into its sheath. His gaze turned to the ruined mechanical training doll—Yoriichi Type Zero—and the unconscious Kotetsu nearby.

"Looks like I'll have to stay here a few more days."

…

Inside a small house in the Swordsmith Village…

Kotetsu slowly opened his eyes.

"…Where am I?"

"Your home."

"My… home? My home!"

He bolted upright and turned toward the courtyard.

There—squatting beside the broken Yoriichi Type Zero—was the same black-clad young man who had knocked him out, hammering diligently at the automaton.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?!"

Kotetsu yelled, face red with fury, and rushed to stop him.

But a firm hand clamped down on his shoulder.

He turned—Mitsuri was standing beside him, alongside the petite woman in a butterfly-patterned haori.

"Kotetsu, don't interrupt Mr. Ron. Just watch."

"Watch?! He's destroying the Yoriichi Type Zero!"

Kotetsu cried. "Let go of me! That thing's already in bad shape—if it gets damaged any more, it'll never work again!"

He struggled with all his might, but Mitsuri's monstrous strength easily kept him in place.

"Calm down, Kotetsu," Mitsuri said gently but firmly. "Mr. Ron is repairing the automaton."

"Impossible! The knowledge required to make or fix the Yoriichi Type Zero has been lost for generations! Not even the best swordsmiths can touch it! How could some outsider possibly—?!"

Kotetsu's voice faltered.

He looked again at the black-clad youth.

Ron was working with complete focus, every movement purposeful and precise.

Kotetsu's mouth slowly fell open.

"He's… really repairing it? That can't be… It's impossible…"

He stared, stunned. Behind his flame-patterned mask, his eyes widened and began to tremble.

"How… how does he know the inner workings of it…?"

Seeing him frozen in place, Mitsuri finally let go of his shoulder and stood beside Shinobu.

"He can even fix it… Mr. Ron really is incredible," Mitsuri whispered, eyes full of awe and admiration.

The thoughts of marriage that had once fluttered in her mind had completely vanished.

She had always wanted to find a man stronger than herself to marry, but now… she felt utterly unworthy of someone like Ron—a man who felt less like a person and more like a deity.

To cut down a mountain with a single strike…

That wasn't something a human could do.

Shinobu said nothing, but the look in her eyes as she gazed at Ron was filled with deep, genuine respect.