Shinji Matou at Your Service-Chapter 975: Higan-kiri, Muramasa!

A divine weapon possesses its spirit, capable of harming others without even touching the blade.

Ryougi Shiki, who had injured her finger, was not angry but rather delighted. A look of unmasked eagerness appeared on her androgynous face:

"As expected, this is a good blade. Better than I imagined. It's on a completely different level from Kanesada Kuji... I've decided, you are my sword!"

"No, wait! No, no, no! This is a failed creation!"

Seeing Shiki's determination, the old man's calm demeanor finally cracked.

"You... I won't say anything harsh, but this one is something you really shouldn't use. If necessary, I'll forge you another one."

"No need. This one is perfect!"

The rainbow-colored light in Shiki's eyes shone brighter than ever, almost overflowing. As her aura reached its peak, her injured hand reached out again. The demon blade trembled in response.

"Hey!"

The old man lunged forward, trying to stop her, but just as he took a step, he abruptly pulled back.

"Huh?"

As a legendary swordsmith capable of forging demon blades, the old man saw the world differently from others.

He could see the divine energy residing in the demon blade, swirling like a storm, furiously surging toward the bleeding hand, intent on crushing it completely.

Yet, in the face of such a violent surge of energy, Shiki's slender hand merely waved lightly. To everyone's surprise, her seemingly casual motion dispersed the incoming storm of divine energy, like an arrow piercing through an army to strike down its general, instantly shattering the oncoming wave of energy.

After that, the divine energy lost its previous sharpness and retreated chaotically back into the blade. The once defiant demon blade now lost its imposing, unapproachable aura, allowing Ryougi Shiki to touch it, grip it, and even swing it freely.

"The demon blade... has been tamed?"

Watching Shiki strike various poses with the blade in the courtyard, Shirou's eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"Yes, it's not a trick. It's truly been tamed. I didn't expect anyone to be able to get used to death. It seems I still have a lot to learn," the old man lamented with a hint of sadness, but then his tone shifted to one of joy.

"If you can tame it, that means you're destined for it. It's yours now. Shirou, make a scabbard for the blade."

"Yes, Master."

"Thank you, old man."

A feminine smile appeared on Shiki's androgynous face. At that moment, she holding the demon blade radiated a presence stronger than anyone else's.

"What's the name of this sword?" she asked.

"Higan-kiri, Muramasa," the old man replied after a brief pause.

"Great name. A demon blade that can cut through the boundary between this world and the afterlife—there couldn't be a more fitting weapon for me."

With a nod, as if she understood something, Shiki closed her eyes, looking as if she was about to fall asleep.

"I can see it. Something that shouldn't exist here. Time to send it to the other side!"

Raising the sword in her hand, Shiki planted one foot on the edge of the central sword barrel, then leaped high into the air, riding the wind and facing the moon.

Her wide kimono fluttered in the moonlight, resembling a beautiful bird in flight.

The vivid flowers on her kimono swayed in the wind, appearing as if they had come to life, blooming in the air.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from fгeewebnovёl.co𝙢.

At the same time, the blade in her hand bloomed as well. In her eyes, amidst the fractured world, the sword's light shone brilliantly.

In one of the cracks, a trace that shouldn't have existed there, a flash bloomed.

It was the single stroke of the blade from the other side, bringing peace to all beings, true to its name—Higan-kiri, the blade that cuts the boundary between life and death.

Just like her who wielded it, a being who walked the line between life and death, embodying the form of the Two Shiki.

Her beauty, existing on the border between life and death, shook the hearts of everyone present, as well as a certain man standing several mountains away.

Though the moonlight was bright tonight and nothing was obstructing it, the man appeared like a shadow, no, not like a shadow—he was the shadow itself, a pitch-black mass outlining the shape of a person.

In that blackness, only a pair of purely rational eyes shone coldly, like emotionless blades.

The man's body swayed slightly, and one of his eyes split along the pupil, leaking black blood.

The man raised a hand to cover his eye, while the remaining half of his face remained cold and mechanical.

"The last beast has been slain. The linked eye has also been destroyed. I don't understand."

"Of course, you don't understand. The concept of chaos has already severely affected your thinking. I never imagined you would give up your sense of self for that—Fabro Rowan."

The voice was similar, but the tone was different. It wasn't the man talking to himself; the words came from another man, nearly identical in dress, height, and build as if they were twins.

However, this man's features were clearer, and he didn't seem as cold. The corners of his mouth were slightly upturned, and his voice carried a tone of mockery, filled with a sense of amusement.

Fabro showed no reaction, his voice remaining cold as ever: "That life form pursuing immortality has long since sunk into the primordial sea, becoming part of this existence. The remaining intellect will gradually disappear, merging with the group to become a specimen of the life seed."

"Aren't you going to regret this? This goes completely against the meaning of existence you originally pursued."

"Indeed, this transformed life has lost its so-called meaning of existence. But don't you find this ever so fascinating? Within me, chaos is churning, as if it's becoming something entirely different. It's akin to a small world, comparable to the primordial sea at the beginning of creation. This chaos, with the potential for unimaginable mutations, is just like the system tree of this planet. I absolutely must witness what it will turn into before I disappear."

As he concluded, Fabro's eyes, once devoid of life, now flickered with a faint trace of human emotion. That emotion was an obsession, the driving force that had carried him this far.

"Given this, it's no wonder the Holy Church calls you Nrvnqsr Chaos," the amused man continued with a smirk.

"A heretic whose body contains six hundred and sixty-six beasts, not so much an individual as a collective. You're more like a chaotic space than a vampire. The name Chaos suits you well."

As he spoke, Nrvnqsr Chaos had already lowered his hand from his eye, which had somehow regenerated. The man who bore the name of chaos turned his gaze toward his old friend.

"You're the same, Roa, the infinite reincarnator who has forsaken the flesh to reach the eternal realm of the soul."

"No, I haven't truly reached eternity."

"But before you..."

Roa's response brought a brief flash of confusion to Fabro's face. When the two had met two hundred years ago, Roa hadn't spoken like this.

"That's because I didn't know that such eyes existed in this world. I thought they were only a distant myth. Eyes that can see the most vulnerable part of anything, eyes that exist solely for death—the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception. Whether it's your chaos or my soul, in those eyes, we are both utterly vulnerable."

P.S.: For those unfamiliar with Tsukihime, Roa's eyes aren't the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception, but are a similar type of mystic eyes. However, since the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception only exist in myths, and Roa's eyes share some of their characteristics, it's understandable that he would misunderstand.