Sengo took his time with the next blade, refusing to hurry any aspect. Just a few more steps left. This would be his masterpiece, and he would show Masamune-sensei he learned everything the master had to share. As he finished the day's menial task of sharpening the kitchen knives, Sengo thought about how to challenge his mentor. The sharpness he sought would be the best test.

Slice. Pain shot through his hand. When he looked at the source, blood welled and ran down his palm, falling onto the dirt floor of the workshop. Damn. Usually, his work was a joy, but the hand wound would make the day's smithing unpleasant. He bound the cut and cussed himself over not focusing on his task again. I won't make the same mistake this time.

 Returning to the forge late that night, he used the prayers Masamune-sensei had taught to keep himself on task and to imbue the right spirit into the blade. Sengo measured his secret additives to the slurry for hardening the edge and checked that he stirred the mix this time. A drop of blood from his hand had fallen into the slurry, but he held the lamp over the bucket and carefully scooped it out—not wanting to change the chemical components of the mix. When he applied the slurry, the annoying wound bled onto his work again, but he it wiped off in the dim workroom. He took extra care ensuring both sides of the blade had the right amount of clay mixture and that each was the mirror of the other.

When he placed the blade into the furnace again and quenched it, the sword arched beautifully—just as he had hoped. He whooped for joy at seeing the perfection. Behind him, his teacher cleared his throat. Sengo whipped around to see the master hold out his hand. Upon taking the proffered tongs from his student, he flipped the blade to inspect each side. Muramasa nodded. Finally! Sensei recognized his work!

"You had mentioned a test for this blade?" the master asked.

"Yes, Sensei. I would like to challenge you to a swordsmith's duel to see whose blade is sharper."

Muramasa's eyebrow raised. "Very well. Have you appointed a judge?"

"The head monk at Ryoanji Temple, Sir."

"Interesting choice. Invite him to come one week from today."

"Thank you, Sensei." Sengo bowed then took back the blade.

As his teacher left the workshop, he said, "I will have Kenji-kun prepare supper tonight."

Sengo's heart soared until his gaze dropped to the blade once more. There was a small spot on one side that he could swear wasn't there before. Was that from his wound? If so, whoever would end up wielding this sword would have a bit of him along with them. Maybe it would bring them luck? But the tensing in his stomach said otherwise. Blood was unclean. Should that matter? A sword is wielded to take lives.