This time, the outing didn't take long.
With the flame secured and the Barrier confirmed, everything was mostly in line with what Sōjun Minamoto had expected.
Tengen's progress remained slow—whether it was caution or arrogance was unclear. To Sōjun Minamoto, it felt more like Tengen's sense of time had grown vague, completely out of sync with the rest of the world.
Upon returning to Jujutsu High, he greeted the others briefly, then went straight into seclusion in the forge room to begin crafting the next Cursed Tool.
He brought out the Chōchin-obake, switched it to its Yang fire side, and with a surge of Cursed Energy, a wave of reddish-orange flame burst from the gourd's mouth.
He took full control, channeling the flame with precision.
After a short period of heating, the modern metal material began to show signs of melting. Once it was fully liquefied, Sōjun Minamoto formed a life-size clone connected by a single strand of hair behind its head.
The clone stepped into the flame and began to endure the burn.
Gradually, flesh and sinew melded into the bone, while the liquid metal seeped deep into the skeleton.
Impurities in the materials were forcefully expelled, evaporating bit by bit in the intense heat until only a silver-white skeleton and a pool of silver-white liquid remained. The fluid rolled across the forge table like molten mercury, moving with his gestures.
Sōjun Minamoto unrolled his blueprint and activated the machinery. His methods were unlike any other forgemaster in the jujutsu world—a completely new approach.
Under pneumatic hammers, the metal and bone structure rapidly reshaped, forming the rough frame.
Due to the complexity of a scythe's structure, it underwent multiple rounds of heating and hammering. Finally, the single-piece war scythe took form.
Next came grinding and refinement.
He began with grindstones and a wheel grinder, smoothing out burrs and rough spots from the forging process. Then came the finer polishing, giving the weapon a sleek, even finish.
He repeatedly compared it against the blueprint, making precise adjustments to avoid even the slightest deviation—ensuring the weapon's dimensions and contours were exact.
Bit by bit, the war scythe came into its full shape.
Then came the heat treatment—quenching to boost hardness and toughness, and tempering to reduce internal stress and brittleness.
Here again, the flame proved vital.
With the participation of cursed fire, threads of blue Cursed Energy fused into the weapon. The flame, the material—everything aligned perfectly. Sōjun Minamoto moved seamlessly through the process, and the resulting war scythe reflected that precision in every detail.
He finished it off with careful carving, anti-slip features, a handguard, corrosion resistance enhancements, and more.
At last, the final product was complete.
As he gripped the semi-bone handle, a warm, almost instinctual resonance flowed through his hand, merging that sensation with the hardness and texture of metal.
A tap of his finger produced a crisp, pure ring from the blade—utterly untainted.
He gave it a casual swing. The blade effortlessly cleaved through a heavy metal bar beside him. The cut surface gleamed like a mirror.
Sōjun Minamoto studied the war scythe inch by inch, growing more convinced of its compatibility with him.
"What is this?" Shiko Mishima eyed the strange-looking scythe.
The entire weapon gleamed silver-white, its lines sharp yet elegant. Where the blade met the shaft, it was fused with half a human skeleton—clearly visible skull, twelve pairs of ribs, and a spine that extended downward into a long, slightly curved shaft for easy gripping. A short spike jutted from the end, and the blade emerged from the back of the skull, shining cold and crescent-like.
She felt the warm texture in her hand and accidentally locked eyes with the skull.
A chill ran down her spine.
"What is this?" she asked again.
"The Scythe of Death," Sōjun Minamoto nodded in satisfaction. "I remember some guy from a Funeral Parlor used one like it. Thought it'd suit you."
"What, you don't like it?"
"Well… it's not about liking or not…" Shiko Mishima glanced between him and the weapon. "It's more like—he's that kind of guy, and I actually kinda like him. But this skeleton—there's something off about it."
Even without flesh or muscle, just looking at the bone structure—this was another Sōjun Minamoto.
Don't think turning into a skeleton means I won't recognize you.
She gave the scythe a couple of test swings, and right away, it felt like a perfect match.
She nodded, pleased. "Got a name?"
"You can name it."
"Then how about Sōjun Minamoto?"
"No."
"Sōnushi?"
"…??"
"Fine, then I'll call it the Scythe of Damnation!" Shiko Mishima's expression brightened. She gave the skull a light pat, then ran her hand slowly along the spine-like handle.
The whole cursed tool radiated a sense of death and decay that matched her aesthetic perfectly. She'd only played with it briefly, but it already felt amazing to wield—Grade 1 level, no doubt. She was very satisfied.
Seeing this, Sōjun Minamoto felt a twinge of regret.
"Drip a couple drops of blood into the skull's eye sockets," he said.
Shiko Mishima pricked her finger and touched it to the eye sockets.
A silver-white light shimmered—the Scythe of Damnation vanished, shrinking to the size of a thumb.
With interest, she flipped it around a few times, then suddenly picked it up and drove the tail spike into her left earlobe.
She leaned close to Sōjun Minamoto, turning her face side to side.
"Looks good?"
He shook his head slightly. Women… always so shallow. Is it always about whether it looks good?
"It looks good, it looks good," he said, gaze fixed on the scythe-turned-earring.
"...Wanna spar?" Shiko Mishima raised an eyebrow.
The Scythe of Damnation had the potential to become a Special Grade Cursed Tool. It was sharp and durable, of course—but also had the ability to strike at the soul, and even provided some healing to its wielder.
Sōjun Minamoto knew the weapon well—and he knew her well, too.
Shiko Mishima was a perfect fit for a war scythe.
He hardened his arm and blocked a slash. Blood welled up instantly—proof that the Scythe of Damnation surpassed even the Split Soul Katana in sharpness and strength.
His soul body felt nothing.
Stability was its greatest trait—not something a weapon like this could shake.
Sōjun Minamoto moved like a precision scale, feet rooted, dodging the remaining strikes with the slightest shifts of his body.
He shook his head.
A long-handled war scythe relied on the waist. You needed to sweep, hook, cut, slash, spin—all with full-body coordination. Power had to be gathered and directed, every muscle engaged.
Shiko Mishima was excellent at channeling power. Once she gripped the scythe, her entire body came alive with motion, her energy wild and aggressive.
But she was used to swords. All she knew was how to slash...
"Yo, training, huh?" came Satoru Gojo's voice from outside.
"Mind if I join in?!"
His voice grew louder—until it was suddenly right next to them.
"Come on, Satoru. Read the mood." Suguru Geto's voice followed lazily, as he and Shoko Ieiri appeared at the door.
The second-year trio had arrived.
Sōjun Minamoto paused, glanced at Shiko Mishima, then back toward the others.
After a brief thought, his expression lit up.
Perfect. He could give her a demonstration.
"Sure," Sōjun Minamoto said with a smile.