Bab 123: Chapter 121: Igris' New Ability
The swordsmith's workshop was a place where the clang of hammer on anvil was a constant melody, and the glow of the forge a steadfast beacon. Yet, in the presence of the Yoriichi Zero Type, the room held a hushed reverence. The swordsmith, a man whose hands were more accustomed to the heat of the forge than the delicacy of preservation, stood before Jon with a furrowed brow and a voice tinged with worry.
"Jon-san, this is the Yoriichi Zero Type you requested. We have tried our best to preserve it during this time, but after all, it is a doll used for training. Moreover, since it has been passed down from the Sengoku period three hundred years ago, it is now badly damaged!" The swordsmith's words were heavy with the weight of responsibility.
"I heard from our lord that Jon-san, you can repair it? If that's the case, that would be wonderful. My ancestors have been guarding the Yoriichi Zero Type, and if it were to break on my watch, I would be uneasy for the rest of my life!" His eyes, reflecting the flickering flames of the forge, searched Jon's face for reassurance.
Jon approached the artifact doll with a silent, almost spectral grace. His eyes, sharp and discerning, took in the Yoriichi Zero Type's form—a testament to the legacy of the Demon Slayer Corps. Without a word, he reached out, his fingers wrapping around the doll's head, and with a swift, deliberate motion, he pulled it off.
Crack!
The sound of cracking wood echoed through the workshop like a thunderclap. The swordsmith's heart lurched, his body shuddering as if struck by an unseen force.
"Jon-san, what... what are you doing?!" The swordsmith's voice was a cocktail of shock, surprise, and burgeoning anger.
His mind raced with thoughts of dishonor and failure. 'Didn't he say he could fix it? Why did he pull off its head without saying anything? I just said that if it broke, I would be uneasy for life, and in the blink of an eye, he dismantled the doll's head.' The swordsmith's heart was a cacophony of fear and confusion.
Jon remained silent, his focus unbroken as he reached into the hollows of the doll's body. His hand emerged clutching a sword, its blade cloaked in rust and the vestiges of time, yet it hummed with a faint black glow, whispering of hidden power.
[Ding! Side quest completed: Find the swordsmith village, acquire the Yoriichi Tsugikuni Nichirin sword, receive 600 penalty points.]
A slight smile played upon Jon's lips as the system prompt chimed in his mind. The swordsmith, still reeling from the shock, caught sight of the black sword in Jon's hand and gasped, his hand flying to his mouth.
"That... that sword is..." His voice was a mere whisper, a breath of disbelief.
"Yoriichi Tsugikuni's Nichirin sword," Jon replied, his voice steady and sure. "It's a pity it's too damaged to use, but no matter, this is not a problem for me."
With a flourish, Jon summoned a torrent of hellfire, its crimson and black flames dancing around the blade. The swordsmith watched, wide-eyed, as the hellfire licked at the sword, not consuming but caressing, transforming. When the flames receded, a brand-new sword, gleaming with potential and power, lay in Jon's hands.
The swordsmith's astonishment was palpable, his eyes reflecting the reborn blade's luster.
Jon then turned his attention back to the Yoriichi Zero Type. He reattached the head with a care that belied his earlier actions, his hands moving with a craftsman's precision. He waved his hand once more, and the hellfire enveloped the doll. This time, the swordsmith did not protest; he stood in silent witness, his skepticism giving way to a budding hope.
As the last of the hellfire vanished like mist under the morning sun, the Yoriichi Zero Type stood restored, its presence commanding the room with newfound vigor. The swordsmith's eyes were wide with wonder, his earlier distress replaced by awe.
Jon, with a nod of satisfaction, put away the Yoriichi Zero Type. The swordsmith, now a believer in Jon's mysterious abilities, knew that the legend of the Yoriichi Zero Type would continue, its legacy preserved by the hands of this enigmatic stranger.
***
Jon stood at the edge of the swordsmith village, the soft murmur of the forge fading behind him. He took a moment to glance back, his eyes lingering on the place where history and craftsmanship intertwined, where he had once again proven his abilities. With a nod to the past, he turned and walked away, his steps carrying him towards his next great adventure.
Tamayo, the wise and gentle demon who had aided him in his quests, stood by, her expression a blend of melancholy and pride. "Jon-san, your journey here has been a beacon of hope in a world shrouded in darkness," she said, her voice soft yet resonant.
Jon paused, offering her a smile that spoke volumes of the respect and camaraderie forged between them. "Tamayo-san, your guidance has been invaluable. This world, with all its chaos and beauty, will remain with me wherever I go."
With a final bow, Jon turned his back on the Demon Slayer world, his mind already reaching out to the familiar pull of the Marvel Universe.
[Return countdown begins: five, four, three, two, one, begin return...]
As the countdown in Jon's mind concluded, a bright gate shimmered into existence, a portal conjured by his will alone. It unfolded like a flower greeting the dawn, and Jon's consciousness, eager and unyielding, was drawn into its embrace.
The transition was seamless, a dance of worlds and memories that twined together before releasing him into the comforting embrace of his own bed. Jon took a deep breath, the air of his room filling his lungs, grounding him in the reality of his return.
"Finally back," he murmured, a sense of accomplishment threading through his words. "Let's see what I've gained from this world!"
With a thought, Jon summoned the panel in his mind, the translucent screen hovering before his eyes, eager to reveal the fruits of his labor.
[Main quest: Judge the Demon King Kibutsuji Muzan (completed), receive 3000 penalty points.]
[Side quest: Eliminate the Twelve Demon Moons (completed), a total of 10800 penalty points received.]
[Side quest: At least eliminate ten ordinary demons (completed), receive 800 penalty points.]
[Side quest: Find the swordsmith village, acquire Yoriichi Tsugikuni's Nichirin sword, receive 600 penalty points.]
[Legendary quest: Judge a thousand deeply sinful souls across the myriad worlds, current progress (73/1000).]
[In this traversal, you have gained a total of 1900 penalty points through the Soul Sacrifice function feature.]
[In this minor world, you have gained a total of 17100 penalty points.]
[The Demon Slayer universe store has been opened, where you can purchase items from this universe.]
Jon's lips curved into a satisfied grin as he reviewed the settlement panel. "Although it's not as much as the last time in the Men in Black universe, it's still good!"
Jon's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts as he lay back, the weight of his eyelids tempting him towards sleep. But a spark of realization jolted him awake. There was a crucial experiment he had yet to conduct—an experiment that could redefine the boundaries of his power.
Glancing at the clock, its hands creeping past midnight, he knew the world outside was draped in the silence of the night. Annie, his ever-curious companion, would not interrupt him at this hour. With a sense of purpose, Jon reached for the magical suitcase, an artifact that defied the laws of space, and stepped inside.
The interior of the suitcase unfolded into a vast expanse, at the center of which stood his wooden hut. The Yoriichi Zero Type, a silent sentinel, added a touch of solemnity to the otherwise sparse surroundings.
"Hmm... this is my refuge in the copy world," Jon mused, his eyes scanning the space. "The decor is indeed a bit random, but aesthetics were never my strong suit... perhaps I'll conjure up something later."
Shaking off the trivialities of interior design, Jon focused on the task at hand. He accessed the Harry Potter plane store and, with a swift transaction of 3000 penalty points, acquired a Hungarian Horntail—a dragon renowned for its ferocity and might.
With a flick of his wrist, Jon summoned Igris, his loyal and formidable companion, and set the stage for a clash of titans.
This was not a test of strength; Jon was well aware that Igris, empowered by hellfire, was beyond the Horntail's league. The true purpose of this confrontation was to probe the depths of Igris' potential.
The battle was swift and decisive. The Hungarian Horntail, for all its primal fury, was no match for Igris' infernal flames. In a dance of fire and fang, the dragon was subdued, its will crushed beneath Igris' overwhelming power.
"Devour!" Jon commanded, his voice resonating with authority.
Igris responded with a roar that shook the very air, its wings unfurling as it lunged forward. With a final, crushing bite, the dragon was slain, and Igris began its feast, consuming the creature in its entirety.
Jon watched in silence, his eyes sharp as he noted every subtle transformation. Igris grew in size, its scales thickening, its wings taking on a new, more menacing shape. It was clear that the essence of the Hungarian Horntail was being assimilated, its strength becoming Igris'.
"The more it devours, the stronger it becomes, and it can even consume its own kind," Jon pondered, his mind racing with possibilities. He had been cautious, wary of the dangers of cannibalism, but this experiment was a resounding success.
"Let's see what changes will occur after devouring other creatures," Jon said, a hint of excitement coloring his tone.
He returned to the store and procured a menagerie of magical beasts, each one a unique reservoir of power for Igris to tap into. As the creature consumed its varied prey, its form swelled, its presence grew more imposing, and a plethora of new abilities unfurled before Jon's eyes.
Though Igris had yet to reach the legendary stature of dragons like Smaug or Deathwing, the trajectory was undeniable. With each creature it absorbed, Igris was evolving, becoming a force that would one day stand shoulder to shoulder with the titans of myth and legend.
Jon's smile widened as he contemplated the future. With Igris by his side, the possibilities were endless, the realms of power within their grasp ever-expanding. This was just the beginning, and the path ahead was fraught with potential and promise.
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(A/N: If you want to see more chapters, go to my Patreon to see +20 chapters ahead.
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Bab 124: Chapter 122: The New Transmigration Mode
Upon his return to the Marvel world, Jon's first order of business was checking the Demon Slayer world store in system's Universal Emporium, a place where realms intersected and the wares of other universes could be procured. His purpose was singular and clear—to arm the Yoriichi Zero-Type doll with weapons befitting its formidable design.
The Yoriichi Zero-Type wielded six swords with a precision that belied its inanimate nature. However, five of these swords were mere ordinary blades, unworthy of the doll's potential. There was one exception—the heirloom sword of the Yoriichi lineage, a blade steeped in history and power, which Jon had meticulously restored to its rightful splendor.
In the store, Jon's eyes appraised the selection with the discernment of an expert. He chose five new swords, each one a masterpiece of the swordsmith's art. These were not the mass-produced blades of the common foot soldier; they were the work of a master from Swordsmith village, imbued with a quality that promised unyielding sharpness and unbreakable will.
With great care, Jon replaced the Zero-Type's ordinary swords with these new acquisitions. The swords varied in length, curve, and design, each one reflecting the light with a promise of lethality. The Yoriichi Zero-Type doll, now fully equipped, was not just a replica—it was a warrior reborn, its six arms ready to wield the high-quality swords with deadly grace.
However, as night fell and the world outside his window grew quiet, Jon prepared for rest. His mind, however, was far from peaceful. The day's acquisitions lay neatly arrayed before him, silent sentinels in the dim light of his room. It was then that the system's prompt sliced through the silence, a beacon in the dark.
[The Multiverse Transmigration Portal has been fully upgraded. A new transmigration mode is now available. Please click to view.]
Jon's heart skipped a beat. "A Transmigration Mode?" His voice was a whisper, a mix of curiosity and caution. He reached out, almost hesitantly, and clicked to open it.
"A Free Transmigration Mode..." The words tumbled from his lips, a quiet echo in the stillness of the room. His eyes scanned the instructions, a frown of concentration etching his features. Minutes ticked by, each second a brushstroke painting his understanding of the new function.
This Free Transmigration Mode was a stark contrast to the system's original method. Gone were the rigid tasks, the unforgiving deadlines, the relentless push to complete objectives within a set time. This new mode offered freedom, a tantalizing taste of autonomy. It allowed him to enter a chosen world at the cost of penalty points, and when the transmigration limit approached, he could pay his way to remain, to extend his stay amidst worlds unknown.
As for the legendary task, it was an eternal task to judge the souls burdened with deep sins, remained ever-present, a constant undercurrent to the adventure.
Jon's gaze fell upon the panel, its text a simple declaration of the possibilities that lay before him.
[Multiverse Transmigration Modes.]
Two options beckoned: [Default Mode] and [Free Transmigration Mode]. The former was a path well-trodden, now grayed out and unresponsive, a chapter of his life concluded. The latter, however, was vibrant, inviting, a door ajar to worlds untold.
The temptation to dive into this Free Transmigration Mode was a siren's call, but Jon's body was a leaden weight, his mind a whirlpool of fatigue. The instance he had just completed had taken its toll, draining him of his vigor. With a resolve that was part determination, part resignation, he decided to yield to his mortal needs.
***
In the early morning, when the city was still rubbing the sleep from its eyes, a figure emerged from the shadows, as if he was a part of them. Wrapped tightly in a black trench coat, he stood on the street corner, an island of dread in the sea of the waking world. His wide hood was a shroud, hiding a face marred by scars that spoke of violence and burns that whispered of past agony. Beneath the long sleeves of his coat, a secret was tightly bound—a bio-mechanical arm, a fusion of flesh and steel, not meant for the eyes of the unsuspecting public.
The street was silent, save for the distant hum of the city awakening. Then, a van rolled up to the curb, its arrival as silent as a shadow. The door slid open with a hushed whisper, and without a word, the man stepped inside, swallowed by the darkness within.
The van moved through the streets with purpose, stopping before the stoic facade of a bank. The man, along with his masked companions, disembarked with a predatory grace. They were phantoms in a world that was just beginning to stir.
Without hesitation, the man entered the bank and cast back his hood, revealing a visage that was the stuff of nightmares. His face, a tapestry of scars, was a terrifying testament to a life marred by violence and survival.
He was known as the Executioner. Since the fall of Kingpin, who was exterminated by Jon, the Executioner had been cast adrift in a world that no longer had a place for him. Once a loyal subordinate, he now found himself hunted by the very underworld forces he had served, as well as the relentless pursuit of the government. With no master to serve, no cause to champion, he had turned to the only skill set he had—his prowess in combat and strategy—to rob banks.
Bang!
The Executioner lifted his sleeve, revealing the cold, metallic sheen of his bio-mechanical arm. With a mechanical whir and a surge of power, he fired a heavy cannon shot, the force of which tore through the air and blasted a gaping hole in the bank's wall. Plaster and dust filled the air, a tangible cloud of fear that settled over everyone inside.
This was his warning, a declaration without words: stay put, stay silent, or face the consequences.
His accomplices, faces hidden behind masks, moved with a practiced efficiency. They approached the bank counter, brandishing guns with a casual menace. Bags were thrust forward, and the threat was clear in their cold, hard eyes: "Put the money in the bag!"
The counter staff, their faces pale with fear, raised their hands in surrender and began to fill the bags with trembling hands.
Bang!
A gunshot shattered the tense silence, and a bank employee's head burst open in a macabre display. Blood and terror painted the walls, a gruesome tapestry of the consequences of disobedience.
"Who the hell told you to hit the alarm?" one of the robbers bellowed, his voice a harsh growl that echoed through the bank. "This is what happens to anyone who doesn't cooperate!"
***
The cacophony of gunshots and the shrill cries of terror were a stark contrast to the mundane rhythm of the morning commute. Jon, on his way to work, found his attention snatched away by the chaos unfolding at the bank to his left. His eyes narrowed as he recognized the figure through the glass window—the Executioner, a ghost from Kingpin's past, a specter he knew all too well from the memories of a fallen subordinate.
A smirk played on Jon's lips. "Just in time," he murmured, his voice a low growl of anticipation. "I wanted to test the combat power of the Yoriichi Zero-Type. You'll be the perfect test subject!"
Bang! Bang!
Inside the bank, the Executioner stood with cold indifference, his gaze sweeping over the scene as his subordinates stuffed their bags with ill-gotten gains. But his confidence was shattered as the bank's doors and windows slammed shut with a resounding bang, plunging the room into darkness.
"What devilry is this?!" the Executioner muttered, his scarred face twisting in confusion.
A portal, glowing with an otherworldly light, tore through the darkness. From its depths emerged a figure clad in the garb of the Sengoku period, a swordsman with six swords strapped to his waist and back. The Yoriichi Zero-Type, with its six arms, moved with the jerky precision of a doll brought to life.
"Who are you?!" the Executioner demanded, his bio-mechanical arm raised in a threatening gesture.
The Yoriichi Zero-Type offered no response, only the silent draw of six blades from their sheaths—a dance of steel and intent.
Slash!
The Executioner, sensing the imminent threat, braced to unleash the fury of his bio-cannon. But he was too slow. The Yoriichi Zero-Type, swift as a shadow fleeing the light, struck with a precision that was both beautiful and terrible.
As the swordsman sheathed his blades, the Executioner crumpled, his body a canvas of blood and defeat. His subordinates, gripped by panic, unleashed a hail of bullets, but their efforts were futile against the relentless advance of the Yoriichi Zero-Type.
[Ding! Soul Sacrifice Function used successfully, soul exchange completed, you got 100 penalty Points]
From a safe distance, Jon watched the swift conclusion of the battle, a satisfied nod the only sign of his approval. The Executioner, a formidable force in the Marvel world, had been dispatched with a single, decisive blow. The Yoriichi Zero-Type had proven its worth.
With a casual gesture, Jon summoned a portal and recalled the swordsman doll back to his side.
***
The day passed in the comforting routine of his repair shop, a welcome respite from the relentless battles of the instance world. The Marvel world, with its relative peace, was a sanctuary for Jon—a place to breathe, to live.
In the evening, after a meal shared with Annie and Ayla, and a brief interlude with the television, Jon prepared for his nightly ritual. At ten o'clock, he opened the system panel, his mind set on exploring the new transmigration mode.
[Ding! Random search for worlds is done!]
[The available world is American Horror Stories.]
[Teleporting to this world requires 10,000 penalty points. Do you want to enter this world? Yes/No...]
Jon hesitated, the cost steep even for him. "So expensive..." he muttered, a frown creasing his brow. American Horror Stories was an unknown variable, a world shrouded in mystery and potential terror.
But the thrill of the unknown beckoned, a siren call to his adventurous spirit. "Whatever," he decided with a reckless grin, "it sounds like a horror movie. Maybe it could serve as a good meal for the Ghost Rider! And I can afford the 10,000 penalty points anyway."
With a decisive click, Jon chose "Yes."
"Here we go again!" he declared, his voice a mix of excitement and challenge as he stepped into the portal, ready to face whatever horrors awaited him in this new, unexplored world.
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(A/N: If you want to see more chapters, go to my Patreon to see +20 chapters ahead.
patreon.com/TheMightyZeus
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