[img]https://i.imgur.com/rsKmcfv.png[/img]

Death, evil, punishment, pain, fear. All that was bad that could happen, all that people didn't want. His skin crawled, he was revolted, this was revolting. To not be disgusted, to not hate and to not be afraid of this was to show one to deviate from what one was human.
Yet.

Was it that bad?

The culmination of peoples fears, what they did not want, what they wished upon the worst of others and their most hated enemies. It was what they wished to stay away from most of all. Anything was fine, to not be here was the reward for virtue, to be here was the punishment for sin. It could be said to be the embodiment of the worst fortune, to be damned to hell. And here was this woman that descended upon it, taking it for its plunder, seeing it as just another place to pillage.

A mad woman who lacked so the pain most others held.

Was it so bad? He was afraid, it was horrible, but it did not hurt as much to look at, compared to many other people. This was what people feared, this was not what people experienced, and so it was not something he shared in. Yeah, as long as it was that, as long as he could live knowing this was the end that people lived to avoid rather than the life people lived moment by moment. He didn't need to see and acknowledge the fact that someone was living that, lived this. It wasn't something that happened, it wasn't something that was happening... well, at this rate it might be happening to him and Berserker. But, this he could live with. It was not pain that he had to share in, it wasn't pain he ignored while it seemed to cry out to him, to anyone to be acknowledge and to be brought salvation to.

Ah, he really was a terrible person, wasn't he?

[color=a187be]"Berserker. They're just swords!" he cried out as a reminder to the Berserker who made blades that were himself.[/color]


[img]http://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/b3RmLjk2Ljk0MGExMi5UWFZ5WVcxMWMyRWdVMlZ1WjI4LC4wAAAAAAAA/romochka.regular.png[/img]
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ZcwnpF3AIs

Runrunrunrunrun.

No.

Run.

No. At least, not in the way his boiling blood demanded. If he came to this war, this conflict filled with heroes that were all existences that slew and brought fear to demons and monsters, then he should have been prepared for something like this from the beginning. Perhaps this was an eye opener in a way?

The call of his master shock him back into focus and he jerked his torso to the side, presenting his shoulder towards the incoming blades as he settled into a stance.

Yes, they were just blades, and it would be surprising if there was a heroic spirit in this war that knew them better than him at all.



[hider]Eye for Art (Swords): B
Beserker's reputation and skill as a one of the best blacksmith at the time made him accustomed to many works of other people seeking to show their own abilities to him. With his skill, he is capable of deducing most of a sword's structural properties from a brief inspection or clash of blades, factors such as weight, brittleness, quality of the metallurgy, whether it leans in one direction or another and so forth.[/hider]

Cursed Blades of the Dark Capital, imbued with the desires(fears) and hate(wishes) of man. Unfortunately the way this woman fought it seemed unlikely that he would get any good chance to check out their properties. Yet, combining with his own wits and allowing himself to lose himself to the flow of the battle he felt, he saw.

Yes, the shapes of the blades were known to him. Even if their materials were not known, even if he knew not what sort of cursed steel they were... He too held a cursed blade, and there was a key fundamental difference. Not in the make and materials, nor even perhaps in legend and mystery, but there was one vital and fundamental difference between those blades and the one in his hand. To a samurai the blade was their soul. A blade was an extension of the warrior. Likewise the sword was not complete without a peerless warrior that took it into his life and sublimed it into more than a hunk of sharpened metal. Even if the form was similar, even if the function could be said to be similar the distance between a knife and a sword was infinitesimal. That was because of the samurai, the other half of the blade.

He was a smith, not a samurai. But his blade perhaps embodied the relation between man and steel in a terrifying twisted way that ran deeper than any other. This blade was part of him. Into it he imbued part of himself, his bloodthirst, his madness, his curse. All of it was poured into it along with the sweat and toil of each of his hammer strikes. The blade grew under each stroke, pounded out and with his essence poured into it. Such was the nature of each Muramasa. It was a Muramasa within a prison of steel, it was a Muramasa that had a body of steel. Muramasa wielded Muramasa and so the one whole blade stood against the six incomplete ones that rained down. 

He saw, he knew. How to strike, how to defend, how to dodge. The rain of blades was not so frightening so long they did not hold a master. 
[hider]
Instinct: C
Beserker's skill to feel the developing situation of a battle and at this rank, it resembles a formidable sixth sense from not only his personal achievements but a part of his nature of seeking the perfect opportunity to draw the blood of his opponent. At this rank, it reduces the modifier by a fourth from any obstacles obscuring his vision and hearing.

[/hider]