The morning after the chaotic Jia Nan Academy recruitment, the Xiao Clan estate was buzzing with an electric, celebratory energy. Servants whispered excitedly about Xiao Yan's miraculous return to absolute genius status, and the elders proudly discussed the unprecedented four slots their youths had secured.
But Yoriichi had no interest in the lingering festivities.
His path was already set, and a profound sense of urgency had taken root in his mind. The Jia Nan Academy was a vast, unknown territory filled with the region's monstrous talents.
Furthermore, his own personal itinerary required a reliable partner.
He could not step onto that battlefield empty-handed. He needed his blade. And he knew that once he left Wu Tan City, he would likely never receive the patient, protective guidance of Grandmaster Tie Shan again.
As the early morning mist still clung to the estate, Yoriichi pushed open the heavy iron doors of the Xiao Clan's primary Smithing Hall.
The blast of heat that hit him was like the breath of a dragon. The massive furnaces were already roaring, illuminating the cavernous stone hall in a harsh, flickering orange glow.
"Boy!" a gruff, booming voice called out over the ringing of hammers. Grandmaster Tie Shan, his massive, heavily scarred torso glistening with sweat, stood by the central anvil. "I heard the news! A 'C' rank, eh? The academy must be blind if they think you're only average, but a pass is a pass! Congratulations!"
"Thank you, Grandmaster," Yoriichi replied, offering a deep, respectful bow. He walked over to the anvil and gently placed a heavy canvas wrapped bundle onto the soot-stained workbench.
Tie Shan wiped his brow with a grimy towel, eyeing the bundle. "No time for celebrating, I see. What have you brought me today? Another suicide attempt?"
Yoriichi unwrapped the canvas. Resting in the center were two items of extreme rarity and volatility. The first was the Peak Rank 2 Pure Yang attribute Magical Beast Core he had bargained from the mercenary in the market. It pulsed with a heavy, visible aura of concentrated heat. Beside it lay a heavy, jagged chunk of deep reddish-black ore—a piece of exceedingly rare Solar-Vein Iron he had procured through the clan's inner treasury.
Tie Shan's breath hitched. He leaned in, his expert eyes analyzing the materials.
"A Pure Yang core with an almost flawless internal matrix... and Solar-Vein Iron?" The burly grandmaster looked at Yoriichi, his expression turning deadly serious.
"You are trying to replicate the blade that blew up the forge last month. Xiao Ning, this iron absorbs heat like a sponge, and that core is a powder keg. Fusing them requires a terrifying level of control. If your Dou Qi wavers for a fraction of a second during the matrix integration, it will shatter with the force of a high-tier Dou Skill."
"I am aware," Yoriichi said, his voice carrying an absolute, unshakeable calm. He slowly stripped off his outer robe, leaving only a thin, sleeveless dark tunic that clung tightly to his heavily muscled, athletic frame. "But I have corrected the flaws in my technique. I am ready."
Tie Shan stared into the youth's crimson eyes, searching for any trace of naive arrogance. Finding only the boundless depths of a tranquil ocean, the grandmaster finally nodded, stepping back to give the youth the primary anvil.
"The forge is yours. Do not disappoint me."
What followed was a grueling, agonizingly intense battle of wills between man and metal.
For the next six hours, the Smithing Hall was filled with a terrifying, rhythmic cacophony. Yoriichi activated his Total Concentration Breathing, his lungs expanding like bellows, drawing in massive amounts of oxygen to fuel his muscles. He did not simply strike the glowing, white-hot metal; he danced with it.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
His heavy forging hammer fell with the precision of a master calligrapher. He was actively using his Transparent World vision to observe the microscopic crystalline structure of the Solar-Vein Iron as it heated, folded, and stretched.
The other smithing apprentices in the hall gradually stopped their own work, drawn by the mesmerizing, terrifying intensity radiating from the central anvil. They watched in absolute bewilderment as the blade took shape.
It was not the traditional, straight, double-edged Jian that every swordsman on the Dou Qi continent favored. Yoriichi was forging a single-edged blade, curving gently toward the tip. It defied all conventional aesthetics of their world, yet it possessed a predatory, lethal grace that made the hairs on their arms stand up.
By mid-afternoon, the true test arrived. The integration of the core.
Yoriichi's body was soaked in sweat, his skin flushed red from the intense, ambient heat. He placed the glowing, curved blade back into the specialized rune-carved vice. He took the Peak Rank 2 Pure Yang core in his left hand.
Closing his eyes, he synchronized his heartbeat with the pulsing rhythm of the volatile crystal.
"Here it comes," Tie Shan muttered, his massive hands gripping a heavy iron shield, ready to leap in and protect his pupil if the matrix collapsed.
Yoriichi forcefully circulated his milky-white Dou Qi, pressing the core directly against the base of the white-hot tang. The clash of energies was instantaneous. The core shrieked, a high-pitched, metallic whine filling the hall as its berserk Yang energy fought against the confinement of the Solar-Vein Iron. Sparks of volatile fire violently erupted, scorching Yoriichi's forearms.
But Yoriichi did not flinch. He tightened his grip, his muscles bulging as he poured an overwhelming, perfectly controlled stream of neutral Dou Qi to act as a mitigating bridge, violently suppressing the core's resistance and forcing it to meld with the steel.
The blinding light peaked, turning the entire anvil into a miniature sun, before suddenly shrinking and sinking entirely into the metal.
The fusion was a success. But the process was not over.
"The quench!" Tie Shan roared over the hiss of the forge.
Yoriichi grabbed the heavy tongs. In a single, fluid motion, he pulled the blindingly bright, curved katana from the vice and plunged it directly into a long, rectangular trough filled not with water or oil, but with the thick, dark-red blood of a Rank 2 Fire-Ape.
HIIISSSSSSS!
A massive, violent cloud of crimson steam erupted toward the high ceiling, carrying the acrid, metallic stench of scorched blood and pure ozone. The trough violently bubbled and boiled, the extreme temperature difference forcibly locking the carbon and the beast's spiritual essence into the very edge of the blade.
Yoriichi held it there for exactly three agonizing minutes, letting the chaotic energies settle into absolute stillness.
When the steam finally cleared, a heavy, reverent silence fell over the Smithing Hall.
Yoriichi slowly pulled the blade from the trough. The residual blood slid off the steel as if repelled by an invisible force, leaving the metal flawlessly clean.
The blade was a masterpiece. The spine was a deep, absorbing black, while the razor-sharp edge gleamed with a terrifying, silver lethality. But the most striking feature was the temper line—the Hamon. Running along the entire length of the blade, where the differing hardness of the steel met, was a beautiful, chaotic, wave-like pattern that burned with a faint, iridescent crimson hue, resembling a literal river of fire trapped in the metal.
Tie Shan cautiously stepped forward, his eyes wide, completely mesmerized by the beautiful, alien weapon.
"Test it," Tie Shan whispered, almost afraid to break the silence.
Yoriichi nodded. He closed his eyes and channeled a standard, highly controlled burst of his Dou Qi into the hilt.
The apprentices collectively held their breath, half-expecting the blade to violently shatter into a thousand lethal shrapnel pieces like his previous attempt.
Instead, the curved blade let out a low, resonant, incredibly stable hum. The crimson wave pattern along the edge seemed to ignite, glowing with a fierce, cutting heat, but the structural integrity of the metal remained absolutely flawless.