Herman was fairly certain whoever had used to own this forge had died. Certainly nobody had shown up to object to him taking the place over, though it'd been a whole week.
He stoked the flames higher, gears turning in his mind as he did so.
Shigure was wrecked, that much was obvious. Reforging the blade was foolish - for one, the temper of the thing would be ruined utterly. For another, the bits and pieces would forever be a series of weak points, liable to break apart at any moment. Melting it down, casting it back into an ingot, and reworking from there had even worse problems. No, reforging wasn't the answer.
Reforging the blade with only its original components, at least.
"So, what's the plan?" Kaneki asked, leaning against one of the beams. "I'm really not a blacksmith, so not sure what you want me here for…"
"How good's your control on what your tendrils are like?" Herman asked, pumping the bellows.
"Uh...never really thought all that much about that. I mean, I can make them harden or soften, I suppose, but that's something I just...do. Why?"
"Can you make one that's basically like metal?"
Kaneki blinked, then cocked his head, eyes going distant. Herman left him to his internal conversation, and began laying Shigure's various pieces out, end to end. The various mountings that made up the hilt, he'd already removed - they'd melt or burn in the heat of the forge fire, and he'd need them later.
"Okay, yeah, I can manage that," Kaneki finally said. "About the same size as the blade?"
Herman nodded.
"Alright, give me a second." The ghoul took off his coat, and cracked his neck. "One tail," he said softly, and one ripped free. The crimson appendage coiled through the air for a moment, before the last third of it abruptly straightened out and froze in place. It slowly began to darken, red draining away and fading to black, and it shrank as it did so, until it was only a handspan thick.
"Okay, this feels really freaking weird," the ghoul said through gritted teeth. "So if you're gonna do-"
Herman cut the affected piece off with a single swing of Amakatta.
"-that. Ow." The tendril dissipated, and Herman picked up the remaining piece. The damn thing weighed twice as much as Amakatta itself, despite being much smaller. He tapped it with a fingernail, ran his hand across it. Hard. Harder than steel could hope to be, yet not as brittle as would be expected. It would melt, though, and recrystallize when he quenched it - he could already tell.
He turned back to his forge, plans running through his head.
First, melt down the pieces of Shigure.
Fire roared. Steel began to glow red-hot, then melt, the liquid metal filling the mold he'd set for it.
He wouldn't be able to preserve the traditional separation of steel types, this way. If he'd been intending to make a blade at all similar to a traditional sword, that would be a problem.
Herman retrieved the mold, and tapped it against the anvil, dislodging the red-hot solid ingot. He hefted a hammer in his other hand, breathed in, breathed out.
Blow after blow after blow fell down on the ingot, sparks flying. Metal flattened and deformed, bending to his direction, and he paused for but a moment to fold the metal in on itself before beginning to hammer at it again.
Hammer. Fold. Hammer. Fold. Herman lost himself in the motions of his work, ignoring the heat of the forgefire and the cold outside, ignoring Kaneki's presence. There was only hammer, anvil, and metal.
He paused, sucking in a sudden breath, and smiled. Shigure's steel had been rebuilt, a thin, flexible spine of metal. Into the quenching bucket it went. Steam rose, and Herman considered Kaneki's contribution.
It would do, he decided.
He gathered his molds placed it in the heart of the forge, and stoked the flames once more. Temperatures hot enough to melt steel did nothing, but he persevered, and the fire roared higher, and higher still, until he smelled his own hair crisping in the heat and the substance that comprised Kaneki's gift finally surrendered to the flames, flowing into the molds he'd set. He pulled them free, ignoring the scorching heat, and cracked them open, revealing two thin sheets of metal.
Herman put his hammer to work once again, forging what would be the edges of the blade, each blow aimed along a single length, marrying the two pieces together. He checked the fire - burning lower, now - and nodded to himself.
The first quench of Kaneki's contribution sent another cloud of steam rolling through the forge, and the resulting V-shaped length placed in the forge right alongside the spine of steel. Fires roared once more, and Herman waited for an eternity of moments before retrieving both of them, placing them on the anvil once again.
There was no waiting between blows, this time, no steady rise and fall of the hammer. Herman struck with snakelike speed, a flurry of blows slamming into the sword-to-be, marrying steel to unknown alloy. One hundred and eight blows, and the last sent the blade leaping up off the anvil, flipping over before being caught by the descending hammer once again. Another hundred and eight, and again, and again, and again, an endless series of blows, until at last it lay before him, red heat fading from the black metal, smooth and deadly. But not quite finished.
One last blow of the hammer, and the blade-to-be spun through the air into his hand. It would have burned him, a month or two ago, but he was far stronger than that, and his master had taught him well the secrets of smithing.
Herman smiled, and drove the blade through Kaneki's heart, piercing iron-hard skin and pinning the ghoul to the beam like a bug.
Kaneki looked down at the blade, and sighed. "Damn it, I liked this shirt," he groused.
Herman yanked the blade free with a grunt, and shrugged by way of apology, before examining the sword. He'd gotten the proportions right. As for the edge...he picked up a spare set of tongs, and pressed the edge he'd formed from proper hammer work to it lightly.
The pieces of the tool fell to the ground with a clang, and Herman smiled.
It was ready.
Smoker heard the argument the moment he entered the hallway leading to the Rear Admiral's office, and recognized the voice as well.
"-you have ANY IDEA what you're preventing us from achieving?! We could-"
"You will not," Gripper said, cutting off Franz Josef's tirade. "My word on this is final, Doctor. Grigori Vinci is not to be allowed access to any details of the Emory situation."
"TO HELL WITH YOUR-"
"This island remains under World Government management, Doctor. Good day."
The door to Gripper's office slammed open, and a seething Franz Josef stalked out. The expression of utter fury on his face did not match the man's usually weaselly features in the slightest. Smoker watched the man go silently, before turning to the Rear Admiral's office and walking in without preamble.
"What the hell was that about?" he asked bluntly.
Gripper sighed. "Grigori is already sinking his hooks in, it seems. His latest presentation has given Doctor Josef...ideas."
"About a plague city."
"Yes. Doctor Josef is...quite frankly, a good man. And all he sees in Grigori's poisonous little gift is the potential to end the plague in Emory. He doesn't think to consider exactly what Grigori would do if he got samples."
Smoker nodded, slowly. "Poor bastard."
"Quite. Headquarters is already breathing down my neck about the Wolves, more trouble there," the grey-haired Rear Admiral growled. "Why did you want to speak with me, Commodore."
"I think I figured out what Grigori and his first mate want," Smoker said, without preamble.
"Explain."
"How much do you know about the Sevenfold Kingdom?" he asked.
"Never heard of it."
"Neither had I, and for good reason. It's a shithole, stuck between Kaido and Big Mom and barely able to pay the fees that let it remain part of the World Government. It's only the fact that it's got an offshoot of the Demon Tribe underground and untouchable that keeps it financially solvent. The Councillors that rule it are your typical pack of idiot nobles, except they're actually also fairly tough bastards, even by the standards of the New World. And the first mate wants their collective heads on a platter." He paused. "I'm pretty sure he intends to take the place over, with Grigori's help. And with a Warlord backing him, he could do it. Hell, Headquarters might assign additional support to his coup if it results in a buffer between two of the Emperors."
"And if Grigori makes himself useful…"
"They're desperate," Smoker said bluntly. "Crocodile turned out to be scum, and Kuma was a monster even before they convinced him to be leashed. Two Warlords down, so quickly, they'll do just about anything to keep this one. And given how little Grigori's clashed with Marines, I have to wonder if he planned this from the beginning."
"There was a clash in Hangman's Town, but that was the Butcher Bird's doing," Gripper noted. "And given reports from the survivors there, it seems more that he'd been coerced into it. Or, at least, that is what Grigori could claim."
"Yoshimura's dangerous," Smoker growled. "Hates the Marines, wants to see the Government burn, doesn't give a damn about law and order. And Grigori's the one holding his leash, being oh-so-reasonable and helpful in comparison. Stick, carrot. I'd be more pissed off at how simple it was if I didn't think Headquarters would go for it."
Gripper sat back. "Shit."
"Yeah." Smoker walked to the office's window, which overlooked the training yards. Down there, he could make out Tashigi. The girl had thrown herself into training with a fury from the moment Marine doctors (not Grigori) had cleared her to do so. He wasn't surprised - if he'd taken a loss as bad as hers, he'd be doing the same thing. Right now, she was pumping iron.
"It's almost a shame," Gripper said. "If he'd actually wanted to work with us from the start, we could've pulled ahead by quite a lot. Maybe finally put a lid on the Golden Age of Piracy."
"But no, Grigori had to be a pirate," Smoker growled. "Stupid, mad idiot that he was."
"Didn't Vegapunk break the law, before the Government brought him into the fold?" Gripper asked. Smoker turned on him.
"Don't start with that. Worst Vegapunk did was experiment," he said. "Not raise a black flag and take part in slaughter. And Vegapunk's sane. Grigori…"
"A rabid animal, by comparison, I know. I've met him, he makes my skin crawl. But do you really think our superiors will see much of a difference?" Gripper asked. "They kept Caesar Clown, a clear sociopath, on until he destroyed Punk Hazard out of spite. As long as Grigori gets results, he's untouchable. And despite everything else, he has gotten results."
"The basics of his own research," Smoker said. "So what is he hiding?"
"Something like Yoshimura had to come from somewhere."
Smoker shook his head. "Not him. The other one, C, I know Grigori made him, but I did my digging on Yoshimura. He's...whatever he is, he's not something Grigori made."
"Grigori Vinci, maybe," Gripper said over steepled fingers. "But his family is an old one, and has a long, much-censored history. Who's to say he didn't find something some distant ancestor made?"
"Butcher wants his kingdom and his revenge, and while he's a bitter old thing, what he said...being made doesn't make sense for him." Smoker shrugged. "Whatever he is...I have a feeling if I went looking for that, I'd not wake up one morning."
"That bad?"
"I pissed him off badly enough, I think something slipped out, and I don't like what it implied." He sighed. "When did I get mixed up in all this conspiracy bullshit?"
"Blame Arlen. I think there's something in the water." The Rear Admiral smiled thinly. "Thank you for your time, Commodore. I'll...think on this, before sending it up the chain. Maybe we can nip Grigori and Yoshimura's little games in the bud."
"Or HQ will decide to gift-wrap the Kingdom for the Butcher Bird in advance, to leash him and Grigori both," Smoker growled. "Thank you, Rear Admiral." He left the office, moving through the bland white corridors of Port Roybal Base.
Maybe he'd go join Tashigi, see if she was up to a spar. It'd take his mind off having to figure out what madmen and politicians were going to do.
Yeah, that sounded like a good idea.
Tashigi set the dumbbells down with a sigh, and began to do cooldown stretches.
She was getting stronger, already. Quicker than people really should, maybe. She wasn't sure. She didn't want to bring it up with Smoker, he was already worried enough about Grigori without having to worry about her as well.
And, quite honestly, she was fairly certain Grigori was actually intending to be helpful. Terrifying, yes, that came with his scar-covered face and utter lack of restraint regarding...just about anything, but helpful. If nothing else, she could safely assume he was responsible for her sudden dividends from training and had done so entirely so he could show up every Government-affiliated researcher on the island.
"Oi, Tashigi!"
She almost tuned it out. She was long since used to the comments the less refined of the Marines tended to direct her way when she was training. She refused to be cowed by them...and honestly, she gave it three-to-one odds that her own people had marked whichever braggart was yelling at her this time around with the intent of settling matters in a back alley later. She smiled, just a little.
Her Marines might be crude, rude, and at times foolhardy, but they were hers, and they backed her more than anyone had since basic training and the complete clusterfuck that had been.
"Tashigi of the Navy."
She nearly stumbled out of stretch at the rumbling, snarling voice, and her head snapped up to glare at the offender.
Who, naturally, turned out to be the Butcher Bird. With the Bers- Herman, standing next to him, making the much more dangerous pirate look tiny.
The Butcher Bird grinned at her. "Heya."
"Hello," Tashigi said, as politely as she could manage, as she straightened up. She walked over to the parallel bars, and grabbed her coat, securing it against the cold that had begun to bite the moment she stopped exercising. She turned back to the two pirates. "How did you get in here, and what do you want?"
"Well, my charming smile got me in easily enough," the Butcher Bird said, still grinning.
"Charming my ass," Herman growled. "That Marine at the gate wet himself."
"Semantics. As for why we're here, well...I'm mostly here to talk to your Commodore. Fluffy here's got his own business."
Tashigi pressed her lips together, and glanced at Herman. "Fluffy?"
Herman blushed. "He's being a dick about my Zoan form."
"Ah."
"Well, you've got balls, I'll give you that much," a familiar voice said, and Tashigi looked over her shoulder to see Commodore Smoker striding onto the training yard.
"Ah, Smoker, there you are," the Butcher Bird purred. "Fancy a spar?"
Smoker stopped dead, looking the Butcher Bird over. "How good's your regeneration?" he finally asked.
"Why don't you come on and find out?" the Butcher Bird asked, drawing a trench knife from his belt.
"We should leave," Tashigi told Herman. The blacksmith nodded, and they both headed off the yard as the sounds of metal clashing on wood and angry shouting resonated behind them.
"What is your business?" Tashigi asked as she sat on one of the benches that lined the courtyard.
Herman shifted uncomfortably. "I...was honestly under the impression you'd be more pissed off at me."
Tashigi breathed out, and closed her eyes. "I...acted poorly. No matter what you said, I should not have drawn my blade. And so the fault is mine, not yours, and I should be asking for forgiveness."
Herman huffed. "Fucking sword-fondlers. Mad, the lot of you." There wasn't any heat in his words, though, and his sole visible eye had no malice in it. He reached behind his back, and held out a cloth-wrapped package, long and thin. "Still. I'd be a poor smith indeed if I didn't hold to my words. I shattered two things, when I fought you, I think."
"First, my pride," Tashigi said flatly.
"And then your sword. Pride got rebuilt, though, didn't it?"
"A little dented, but still there," she confirmed, looking at the package. "So did you…"
"Shigure…" Herman paused, and then sighed. "Shigure was beyond repair. This. This is something new," he said, handing her the package - she grunted, it was heavier than it looked.
Cloth fell through her hands, and Tashigi ran her hand over the scabbard of the new sword. The sheath, the hilt, the ornate guard - all of them had the same metal fittings as Shigure had had, the flower petals of the tsuba and the round disks that lined the scabbard the same bronze metal. Even the shape of the sheath was identical, right down to the bumpy cloth wrappings along the upper third of it. But the colors were different. The cloth along the hilt was a dark red, almost black, the cloth wrappings along the sheath a bright scarlet...and the wood of the scabbard, which had been bright white, had been replaced by a black wood so dark it almost seemed unreal.
"I have absolutely no idea how the scabbard ended up like that," Herman said ruefully. "Honestly, I think what I used to quench it's to blame, somehow."
The new blade hissed as she drew it, and Tashigi barely held back a gasp as she saw the blade - black, black as the scabbard, and the hamon that marked the division between cutting edge and flexible spine was filled with a serrated crimson pattern, curving like fangs along the length of the blade.
"This…" She paused, voice trembling. "How did you make this?"
"I am a smith, after all. A lot of hammering, a lot of fire, and some things that only smiths are taught."
"I know, but...this blade…" She stopped, took a breath. "Blades like this, they take years to make, they need someone to put their life and soul into the work, or they need to be wielded with someone who can infuse their very will into the blade. What did you put into it, to forge it? What-"
She jumped as the Butcher Bird landed in front of her, flat on his back. "Oh, hi, couldn't help but overhear you, quick answer, we're pirates, pirates cheat," the man babbled, before his eyes widened comically as the tendril of smoke wrapped around his ankle abruptly tightened. "Oh dear," he got out, before he was yanked into the air and slammed into the other side of the courtyard.
"Well, can't say he doesn't deserve it," Herman said, clearly suppressing a laugh. "But, he's got a point. Other smiths could take years. Other smiths might dedicated a lifetime to making something. But I'm a pirate smith, and why should I follow tradition?" He stopped. "So, Tashigi of the Navy. What do you think?"
"I think?" She paused, held the blade out in front of her, feeling the weight of it, the way the light shone off its impossibly keen edge. "I think," she said softly, "that there are now twenty-two Great Grade swords. I think that it's something beautiful. And I think...that it deserves a name, if it doesn't have one already."
"So name it," Herman said simply.
She paused. "Not yet," she said. "This is...something momentous. Not done lightly. I will need time." She sheathed the blade, feeling it click home softly, and stood, before bowing deeply to the blacksmith. "I thank you," she said formally, drawing on old memories of etiquette lessons and painful reminders (she'd hated them then, but now she needed them, oh the irony), "for this priceless gift. It is more than I can repay."
"It was meant for you from the start," Herman said. "And so no repayment is necessary. Cut well."
"It will."
"Awww, how cute, you two are getting along. See, Smokey, I told you that beating each other up is-"
Crack.
"You know," her commanding officer said wonderingly as the Butcher Bird sat down hard and tried to force his broken nose back into place. "You might actually be right. Using you as a punching bag is very refreshing."
"Fight me, bitch," the Butcher Bird growled.
"I was. You lost. Repeatedly."
The Butcher Bird grinned. "I like you," he said, and to Tashigi's surprise she couldn't find a trace of sarcasm in the man's tone. "Well, that settles things!" he continued, springing to his feet and dusting himself off. "You're coming to karaoke night, Smoker. I mean, hell, Vinci's already invited T-Bone, and I'm pretty sure Lauren's dragging along some Marine brat she's gotten attached to, so it's not like you're going to be the only whitecoat there. Oh, Herman, bring your girlfriend along too."
Herman audibly choked, and Tashigi glared at the man, considering whether or not using her new blade to cut steel would be as difficult as it had been with Shigure.
"Fine," her Commodore growled. "If it makes you stop acting like a hummingbird. How much caffeine do you drink?"
"Oh, that's all him," Herman snarled, sounding astonishingly like Smoker. "He's been absolutely fucking insufferable since he beat up the Captain."
"Why is he Captain, again?" Tashigi asked faintly.
"Well, picture Kaneki in charge," the blacksmith said.
"...The Grand Line would be on fire by now, wouldn't it?"
"Got it in one."