[ This fellow isn't a human. He looks like one, certainly, but there's something off about him that stands out. Even with the bandages and the airy countenance, Tsurumaru's movements are balanced and graceful. He's definitely not a Servant either, but something that gives Muramasa the familiar impression of a perfect edge, or a bird in the moments before taking flight. The message had asked for a smith or a healer of spirits, and... hm.

That comment about his "youth" though—that immediately gets a rise out of Muramasa, who had been about share his own melancholy about the irony of the age of swords ending being a good thing for civilization but not his profession.

Instead, it's a cranky outburst: ]

Oh? And lucky for you I am too, 'cause there'd be hell to pay for makin' an old man walk all the way out here just to find work, otherwise!

[ There's equipment back at the base! Not a lot, but at least a little. He's even managed to collect enough stone to begin to lay the foundations for a small forge in one of the outbuildings, though a bellows made out of actual wood instead of mana is still a ways away.

Ah. Oops.

He huffs, wary that his harsh words might cost him the job, and rushes to modulate his tone. ]

Don't mind that—it's a complicated situation, but rest assured I got the experience of age and the blessing of a second chance in life to work good steel. Show me what needs done, and we can talk about materials.