The Weapon Genius: Anything I Hold Can Kill-Chapter 106: Phantom Steel

The ink didn’t move.

He watched it for another long breath, waiting, half-expecting the line to disappear like a trick of the eye, or smear like wet paint. But it didn’t. The words stayed where they were, dry and certain.

Swords never forget.

His fingers brushed the edge of the parchment, careful not to disturb it. Still trembling slightly. Not from fear, but the lingering rush of what he’d seen, no, felt. Every clash between those two monsters had rung through his bones like a bell.

That definetly wasn’t a dream.

He could still feel the way the earth split beneath their feet. The way Muramasa’s sword moved, not with grace alone, but with burden, anchored in precision, scarred with intention. It wasn’t beauty for beauty’s sake. Every strike meant something. Every feint had a cost. That man wasn’t just skilled; he was devastating. Brutal in a way that wasn’t cruelty, but principle.

And that technique...

"Shinkirō no Yaiba," Jin muttered under his breath, the syllables still fresh in his mouth. He had heard Muramasa say the name in the dream.

He closed the book slowly, careful with the ancient spine. The pages sighed as they came together.

A glance toward the tall window pulled his gaze upward. The moon was high now, bleeding pale light into the rows of dusty shelves. The stars above it were scattered and still, like they hadn’t moved since he last looked. But he had. Time had.

He exhaled.

"...How long was I out for?"

The library was quiet as ever. Still. But now that his mind had come back to the waking world, he felt the tension crawling down from his shoulders. He rolled them once, stretching his neck, letting the last echo of the fight between Muramasa and that demon bleed out of his mind.

He didn’t want to stay here any longer.

He rose to his feet, slow and quiet, sliding the chair back with as little noise as possible. The book he left exactly where he found it. Something told him that if the words had appeared once, they might again and he’d rather not force anything to come by falling asleep in here again.

The doors creaked when he pushed them open, their old hinges groaning into the silent hall beyond. No one was around. Most of the other recruits had probably gone to bed hours ago. He walked quietly through the corridor, passing by darkened classrooms and training rooms lit only by ambient lights.

Jin stepped out into the open night, letting the breeze meet him like a friend.

The sky was wide and watching.

He took it in, cool wind brushing over his cheek, the smell of cut grass and stone and something faintly metallic still clinging to him from the dream. He glanced once more at the moon, almost unnaturally bright. A silver coin in the ink of the sky. Quiet, and far.

It was peaceful. But not quite restful.

His feet moved without really thinking. Past the courtyard. Past the mess hall with its windows darkened and its smells long faded. His usual spot wasn’t far, just a raised rooftop ledge along the east side of the school. From there, you could see the entrance, the courtyard, and even most of the training fields.

A good vantage point. Not too exposed. Not too hidden.

He scaled the short path up without much effort, vaulting a low railing and settling himself against the wall. The stone was cool behind him. Familiar.

This was where he came when he needed to think.

He leaned his head back and let his eyes half-close, letting the wind wash over him again.

Muramasa.

He couldn’t get the image out of his head. That first clash. The weight behind it. And the demon, dark and grinning, sword hilted in a withered, inhuman hand. They weren’t just fighting. It was a war, condensed into footwork and angles.

How many sacred forms did Mura have?

What was the price of each one?

He pulled his legs in slightly, arms resting across his knees, gaze drifting toward the stars.

His dreams had to mean something.

Muramasa hadn’t taught him anything. Not directly. But the memory, if that’s what it was, left a blueprint. Something he could study. Mimic. Learn from. And more importantly... it proved something else. ƒree𝑤ebnσvel.com

That blade Jin carried, chipped and broken as it was, held more than he thought.

It seemed to remember fights it wasn’t even apart of.

And if it remembered, then maybe... maybe it could teach him. Or maybe Muramasa himself could.

The dreams could only do so much and he wasn’t sure what he could do to trigger whatever had brought the dream to him in the first place.

He couldn’t force the dreams but he could try the bonding feature again.

He frowned slightly at the thought. Last time, the process failed, rejected him. But maybe that was because he hadn’t known anything about Muramasa, about the man or the sword. He hadn’t even known what to look for. Now he did.

A sigh escaped him.

"Maybe its worth a shot."

His head lowered, chin touching his chest. The wind picked up slightly, brushing his hair away from his brow. Sleep pulled at the edges of his mind now. He hadn’t realized how tired he was until the stillness settled in.

One more glance at the stars.

Then his eyes closed.

Thoughts of sacred forms, of precise footwork and broken ground and steel tearing through darkness danced in his fading consciousness. The echo of Muramasa’s voice still lingered, deep and stern and shaped by honor. The demon’s laugh clawed at the memory like an afterimage.

He let them fade together.

Whatever was coming next, he needed to be ready.

And to do that, he needed rest.

The moon hung heavy above him.

And Jin finally slept.

At first, there was only stillness. The kind of sleep that felt deeper than rest—closer to drifting through space. No dreams. No voices. Just that distant memory of steel, buried in the dark.

Then—

A firm tap landed on his shoulder.

Jin blinked, pushing upright in one smooth movement, hand already brushing his blade before his eyes adjusted.

Echo stood in front of him.

He didn’t say anything at first. His posture was calm, but his face wasn’t. No grin. No smartass comment. Just a serious look that said: Something’s off.

Jin blinked harder. "What?"

"Get up," Echo said, already turning toward the ladder. "Something is going on."

Jin didn’t ask until they were halfway down the roof.

"What kind of something?"

"Not sure," Echo said. "But it’s close."

They landed in the courtyard, their steps soft. The building lights were low, most windows dark, except a few flickers where lanterns still burned inside. Jin glanced up toward the main hall.

"Did you wake the others?"

"Yeah. Told Joon and Seul to keep the new recruits inside. Told ’em not to panic." He paused. "Didn’t feel like nothing."

Jin studied his face. "What did you feel?"

Echo didn’t answer right away. He looked toward the outer road beyond the school gates, like he was still listening.

"It’s like... something shifted," he said quietly. "I was just doing a perimeter walk. The usual. Everything was normal. Then it wasn’t."

Jin’s brow furrowed. "How?"

"You ever hear the world go quiet?" Echo glanced at him. "Not just low noise. I mean really quiet. Like everything around you just stops."

Jin nodded slowly.

"Yeah. That," Echo said. "But it wasn’t empty. It was like something was coming. Big. Wrong. And everything else knew before I did."

Jin’s grip tightened on the strap of his sword. "So why not deal with it yourself?"

Echo gave him a flat look. "Because I don’t know what it is. And when I don’t know, I ask."

That was fair.

They moved together across the school grounds, quick and low through the front path until they reached the gates. Jin gave a small signal to the guards posted near the entrance, two of the recruits on duty, both looking nervous but alert.

He waved them back with a quick gesture. "Stay in position. Don’t open the gates unless we say."

They nodded, silent and stiff.

Jin turned back to Echo, who was already pushing one half of the gate open with a careful hand. The city beyond waited, still, dark, quiet in a way that didn’t feel right. The moonlight spilled down over narrow roads and concrete, casting pale shadows between the buildings. Not quite empty. Not quite asleep.

The moment they stepped outside, Jin summoned his blade.

A low ripple hummed through the air as the katana materialized in his grip, the handle settling into his palm like it belonged there. It always did. The metal gave off a faint glow — not bright, but steady, as if it knew something was coming.

Echo paused beside him, gaze sweeping the rooftops, his breathing steady.

"You feel it again?" Jin asked quietly.

Echo gave a slow nod. "Yeah."

They moved down the street. Each step landed carefully, their movements practiced. Just a few days ago this road had been familiar, students gathered in groups, deliveries pulled up to the edge of the wall, an almost-normal atmosphere. Now?

Now the silence had weight.

It wasn’t just the absence of sound. It was the presence of something underneath it.

Every building they passed looked fine. No broken windows. No clawed doors. No obvious signs of violence. But it still felt wrong, like someone had walked into a room after something horrible had just happened and missed it by seconds.

They passed a closed tea shop. A silent bus stop. The remains of a paper flyer clung to a pole, fluttering once in the breeze before tearing free and drifting into the gutter.

Echo suddenly stopped.

"There," he said under his breath, head tilted slightly. "Hear that?"

Jin closed his eyes.

And then he heard it too.

A faint dragging sound.