Muramasa's eyes stayed on the broken blade.
He didn't speak right away.
Didn't move.
Just stared at the jagged edge half-buried in the dirt, like it offended him.
Jin pushed himself up to a knee, catching his breath. The bruises were fresh, but nothing was broken—at least not physically.
Still, he stayed quiet. Instinct said Muramasa wasn't done.
"You carry that sword like it's an afterthought," Muramasa said at last. His voice was quiet. Distant. "A blade in that condition… and you dare let it touch the ground?"
Jin blinked, then reached for the katana and pulled it free of the dirt. He held it with both hands now, careful.
"I didn't really plan on landing face-first in your sacred ground," he muttered.
Muramasa's eyes narrowed.
"A weakling like you shouldn't have drawn a sword like that in the first place."
Jin didn't rise to the insult. Just stood, steady but cautious.
"Believe me," he said, "if I had a better one, I'd be using it."
"That's not what I meant."
