D.

They set the ground rules.

Dante and Master Mott agreed to spend one day crafting their respective swords. This was suggested by Master Mott, likely because he assumed that even if Dante learned how to create swords, the boy wouldn't have the ability to do so in a single day.

Dante gave Master Mott a knowing smile as he agreed to every term proposed, every rule and condition. For example, Dante and Tobho would only be assisted by those who offered their help. This meant that Dante couldn't get the same amount of helpers as Tobho during their competition, as all the apprentices chose to help their master.

The only one to help Dante was Gendry. So it was, two 12 year old boys vs. Master Mott, assisted by four apprentices, most of whom older and stronger.

They got started immediately. Gendry's anxiety grew as he watched Master Mott and his legion of apprentices get to work. Dante simply stood and observed, seemingly not too fussed about falling behind.

"What are we doing?" whispered Gendry, "Shouldn't we..?"

"We're watching," explained Dante, "I want to see what materials Master intends on using."

"Why's that?" asked Gendry.

"Say two cooks challenged one another to see who makes the best pot of brown, a master and his apprentice. Say that the apprentice uses completely different ingredients and the crowd names him the better cook after tasting both pots. Would you accept the victory?"

"Of course," answered Gendry, "A win's a win, ain't it?"

"True, but it doesn't have quite the same effect. Now, if that apprentice used the exact same ingredients as the master, and after the crowd tasted, they still named the apprentice the better cook, would you not say that is more satisfactory?"

Gendry scoffed, "Bullocks. You just want to embarrass the master."

Dante smiled at that. He'd long since conquered vanity in his past life. He wondered what had changed, "A win's a win, ain't it?"

So it was; the boys got to work using the same materials as Master Mott. Gendry proved to be a fantastic assistant in the forge. Even when Dante searched the memories of his past life, he could count the number of great assistants he met on the one hand.

They were to forge a longsword. Dante reckoned it was a longsword and not a short sword because, again, Master Mott assumed the bigger the blade, the more work required, and the more Dante could mess up during the process. The only reason why they weren't forging a great sword was likely because Master Mott didn't want to set aside more time than necessary to settle a silly wager against a silly apprentice.

Regardless, Master Mott took the competition very seriously. If he won this, Dante's life would be his. What great blacksmith wouldn't want a slave polisher?

Blacksmithing was hard work, no matter your size, strength or skill. But Gendry found an endurance he'd never known was in him. The reason for this newfound reserve of energy was simple — Gendry felt inspired watching Dante at work. It was like Dante's actions as he gracefully worked the forge was an unspoken language, a language of which Gendry recognized, though he knew not how or why.

Gendry searched his soul for the words. Something nostalgic — this return to simpler times, an overwhelming sense of fulfillment. But no matter how hard Gendry tried, there were no memories of such a feeling in his lifetime. Why did everything seem so right? It was like Gendry came back home after being away for so long that he forgot it even existed.

A smile formed on Gendry's face, and when he looked up, he saw that same smile on Dante's.

The duo made a good team. Dante assumed the role of the master, instructing Gendry where and when to hammer. They used a nonverbal system that many blacksmiths used to communicate: If Dante hit his hammer on the anvil, that instructed Gendry to hammer in the exact place he hit before. If Dante hit his hammer on the steel piece, that told Gendry to that new location. Two hits on the anvil meant it was time to stop.

On and on it went the pounding and hammering. Sparks cracked from the forge like fairies in flight, and heat densified the air.

Master Mott may have had more help, but Dante had Margaret on his side. She made it her mission to keep the boys hydrated and conveniently lost her hearing when team Mott asked for the same treatment. Then Dante told Margaret to walk the street of steel and spread word about the wager. He wanted a big crowd in attendance tomorrow.

A big crowd he got, and earlier than expected! They gathered outside of Tobho Mott's shop, catching glimpses of the two boys taking on their famed master.

The work continued well into the night. They would have worked nonstop were it not for Gendry needing to stop and take breaks. The frantic pace and anxiety settled once they got past the forging stage, as Dante no longer required Gendry's assistance for the most part.

Dante did the tempering, polishing, making of the scabbard and assemblage of the sword itself. The part Dante savored the most was when he signed the blade. In his past life, Dante signed each blade with the kanji of his name, Hattori Yozo. That signature made all the difference; people would kill to get their hands on Hattori steel.

Opting to keep things simple, Dante etched into the steel a lonesome 'D.'

Then the next day came.

"You ready, boy?" asked Tobho Mott, his completed longsword in hand, yet to be revealed from its sheathe.

Dante smiled as he picked up the neat bundle of fabric that so preciously wrapped his newly-crafted weapon.

"Ready when you are."

Then he flicked Gendry and Margaret on the forehead. The two slept on chairs, exhausted from their efforts.

"Hmm?" Gendry woke, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, "Wha?"

"It's time," said Dante.

Exiting the shop, a crowd containing every smith in the city gasped with anticipation.

"How should we settle this?" asked Tobho Mott, not confident with his sword skills.

"There is a way," replied Dante, sensing Tobho's concern, "Down by the rush. We'll each place our swords in the river and see how well they cut the passing debris."

Happy with that, Tobho Mott nodded.

And so, the street of steel was closed for the afternoon. Every smith in the city, from masters to apprentices to servants, all marched through King's Landing, a procession of craftsmen. This gathered a crowd as the smallfolk instinctively followed along. By the time they went through the Mud Gate, passed by the Fishmarket, and continued downriver to the outskirts of town, practically half of King's Landing seemed to have gathered.

"Are you ready, Master?" said Dante as he crouched by the Blackwater Rush.

Tobho Mott gulped as his eyes scanned all the faces of people who had formed a large semi-circle around him and Dante, "You first."

"Very well."

Dante unsheathed the longsword, and the sun shined against its gleaming steel. At the base of the sword, the signature of 'D.' caught the eyes of onlookers, so delicately engraved yet so easily visible.

Then he walked to the end of the wooden platform — too small to call it a dock and too small to be called a pier — dipping the sword in the water.

Next to him, Tobho, Margaret, Gendry and the other apprentices all watched with anticipation, alongside eager onlookers of smiths and smallfolk alike, whose combined weight threatened to collapse the platform.

It was there under the midday sun that they witnessed sharpness like no other. Without doing anything, powered with only the force Blackwater Rush provided, Dante's edge faced the current and cut through any fish or leaf that brushed on by. The sight of things being cut so cleanly was so comical that onlookers would have laughed, but whenever a laugh did try release, their laughs turned to woe as they imagined what would happen if such a blade was used on a person.

"I've made my point," said Dante before wiping the blade and sheathing it, "Your turn, Master."

"Very well…."

Tobho Mott revealed his longsword, and its gleam paled in comparison. In the water, sure, the sword could cut, but its sharpness was nowhere near the level of Dante's. This fact was so clear that even the distant spectators had no question.

Dante had won.

The crowd cheered Dante's name. Gendry and Margaret jumped with joy and hugged, all the while, Master Mott fell to his knees in disbelief.

"Impossible," uttered Master Mott.

Dante placed a comforting hand on his master's shoulder, "Don't despair, master," he said, in that way he liked to tease, "I had a good teacher, after all."

That's how a boy, not even 13 years of age, became the best swordsmith in the country.

That would be also be the day when Dante made his mark on the world. As such, that sword became known as Dante's Mark.

"Gendry," said Dante, holding Dante's Mark, "I want you to have this. Thank you for helping me. I couldn't have won without you-"

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Next Chapter: Dante's name spreads like…. Wildfire?

P.S. Thanks for the reviews.

P.S.S. The events in this chapter are inspired by the life of Muramasa.