As my training progressed under the master swordsmith, I quickly became his favorite apprentice. My timing became perfect for forging blades, and I soon developed a unique quality in each and every one of my blades, a deadly sharpness honed perfectly, along with a durable edge. I paid it no mind, but my master saw the care and the secret precision that went into my blades. He talked with me along a small stream in his garden.

"Aoi, the sword, you know, has a souls of its own, endowed with those who chose to wield it, but your swords have their own voice, one I've only heard legends of," Swords having souls... a metaphysical quality of attachment? I stayed quiet.

"Aoi, I see you aloof from the world, staring out into the sky and the gardens, as if waiting..." He could read people's innermost emotions, an unnerving yet fascinating feature.

"...and I feel you have something about your past eating away at your soul, and it reflects in your blades," he was right, I knew what he was talking about.

"I forge blades because I want them to come to life, to show their true worth, through their pure beauty and essence, you I see your blade's as tools of war, but also a sadness lying in its edge," the more I think about it, the more I realize it's true.

"I decided to see for myself, forgive me, but I took one of your blades to test my theory, I laid it down on a pedestal facing up, and dropped a single autumn leaf onto the blade. Can you guess what happened?" I shook my head, but I had an Idea.

"The leaf cut cleanly due to just the weight of it, yet it cut not the inside of the scabbard when sheathed. It reminded me of the Legend of Muramasa..." He described the legend as this:

'Long ago, Muramasa and Masamune had a contest to see who was the better swordsmith. They tossed their blades into the river, Muramasa's blade cut everything it touched even the air was cut by the blade's presence. While everything that touched Masamune's simply slid past it harmlessly. Muramasa deemed himself the winner, but a passing monk who saw the event declared Masamune the winner, since his sword didn't mindlessly cut everything it touched.'

"... but there was a heavy difference. Your blades don't thirst for blood... do they, rather they treasure their edge yet think it a curse at the same time... but what that says about you... I'll never know," the next thing I said would confuse my master for years to come.

"So who am I like, Muramasa or Masamune, or am I even like either of them at all."

At my awards ceremony, the Emperor described my work of equal quality to my master. I just listfully went throught the ceremony, my mind as usual off in another direction. A few weeks afterward, I decided its time for me to go.

"Master, I am afraid I must go, but I thank you for everything that you taught me. Think me not ungrateful for leaving your guidance, I hope we can meet again someday." We parted on good terms, yet my master had a worried look on his face.

A little while afterwards I sold many of the blades I had made, some to Royalty, with rumours of my deadly edge dubbing me Sengo Muramasa, Apprentice of Goro Masamune. I chuckled one day after Keith made a joke about it, calling me Master of the Demon Blade. He even asked me one day If I would kill anyone with my swords, to his surprise and slight amusement I said yes... and I meant it.

It must have put a shock for my master to see me on the news that day. He was right, now he knew what was troubling my past, and also found out the answer to the question I had asked. I don't know what I would go down as in the History of Japan, a psychotic demonsmith, a warrior of vengeance, the Second Muramasa, or what. My past is behind me now.