"Get me a sword."
"There's a bunch o'er there."
"Better sword than those."
"We ain't no dealing in Grace swords."
"I don't need Grace swords. I want a proper sword forged by a proper blacksmith."
The thin shopkeeper with prying eyes looked up to Lecan doubtfully before twisting his lips. His white mustache got lifted up to near his nose. Hard to tell whether he's angry or laughing.
After a while, he brought back a sword that had a, while plain, tightly built scabbard, emanating a quiet presence to it.
Lecan drew the sword.
It's a good sword.
Lecan didn't use <Appraisal> on it.
An amateur doing <Appraisal> in the presence of an expert is discourteous and also pointless.
He could simply ask the shopkeeper in front of him if he wanted to know about this sword.
"Fumu. It's a good sword."
However, it's not enough.
This sword is one, two levels below <Sword of Rusk> in sharpness, sturdiness and most likely ease of use.
Lecan put back the sword on the counter, took his <Sword of Rusk> along with its scabbard and put it on the counter.
"I want a sword as good as this."
The shopkeeper took the <Sword of Rusk> out of its scabbard. Then his eyes opened wide.
"A-ain't this. Ain't this <Sword of Rusk>"
"Hou. You could tell without <Appraisal>."
"'s obvious if ya look at the way these lines formed, the blade's color and the scabbard's construction. Didn't think I'd get to look at <Sword of Rusk> once again at this age..."
The shopkeeper stared the <Sword of Rusk>'s blade for quite some time before putting it back into its scabbard.
"Been roughhousing this sword ain'cha, eh."
Lecan himself considers his handling careful. But thinking again, Lecan's entire style of combat itself is forceful, thus even though he intended it to be careful, it was likely not in reality.
"Lemme keep this sword. I'm gonna sharpen it and tighten the grip for ya."
The shopkeeper's squinted and glared at Lecan with an awfully stern look on his face before eventually spoke up.
"Mate. Come inside."
Lecan was led outside the shop through the back door to a warehouse-like building behind the shop's building.
"Here it is. Won'tcha take a look at this sword 'ere."
There was a sword.
It's a huge sword.
Looks quite heavy.
A sword without any decoration.
But it's beautiful.
Grips of swords for knights are made of expensive metal, adorned with complex engravings. Which is useful for friction, but it also serves as a vaunt to show off the bearer's rank.
This sword has no such ostentatious ornaments on it.
The grip is made of unknown material wrapped by some sort of fiber.
It looks to be spider thread from a dungeon wrapped by yet another thread. It appears dyed, of deep indigo color.
That boorish forceful wrapping made Lecan's heart go aflutter.
Such one gigantic sword is sheathed inside a flimsy-looking scabbard like it's just there, but it feels truly well built. It must have some kind of stuffing inside the leather.
Lecan just up and touched the sword.
The way his hand moves is even more delicate than when he's handling children.
The sword's grip pleasantly accepted Lecan's hand.
Lecan gradually put more strength before eventually lifting the sword up powerfully.
What a gripping sensation.
The indigo thread had this firmness and mysterious elasticity to it, fitting so well in Lecan's hand.
This sword surely won't slip off his hand even when it's full of blood. It will definitely follow Lecan even to the depths of hell.
His left hand grabbed the scabbard as he drew the gigantic sword out.
Lecan was intoxicated as he gazed upon a beautiful brutal blade that emerged out.
As the tip of the blade parted with the scabbard and the entire blade came into full display, Lecan instinctively groaned.
Swords present a conundrum.
Sharpness and sturdiness.
Sharp swords break easily, unbreakable swords do not cut well.
In addition, to Lecan, swords aren't just for cutting things, they're also a shield, a hammer and a spear. Lecan doesn't simply swing the blade around, he drives his sword at his enemy from all angles. The one sword capable of enduring all that is the perfect sword to Lecan.
How about this sword then.
This sword appears to be sturdy in all directions.
And yet it seems to possess a formidable sharpness.
No, its sharpness is not apparent by looks alone.
However, this sword will surely demonstrates incomparable sharpness when wielded with the appropriate strength and speed. Lecan could just imagine the sight of it.
His eye turned to the scabbard.
At first he thought it was completely black, but there's actually a slightly blue tinge to it. And the surface of the scabbard which he considered plain at first actually hid same colored strong thread that stealthily emerged and submerged over the entire scabbard, engendering its utilitarian nature. Charming Lecan's heart like a lap pillow of a virtuous wife.
Lecan went out of the warehouse with the scabbard still in his left hand and the sword in his right hand.
There's a small space between the warehouse and the shop. That small space is exactly the one thing Lecan wants most right now.
He lifted the sword up high.
Lecan had no memory of him raising the sword.
It's as if the sword raised itself up in order to pierce the heavens.
Lecan put his will into the sword in his grip.
(Heed my commands.)
(Tear everything apart!)
BWOON! Thus the great sword got swung down, cutting the air and stopping in mid-air while cutting nothing.
No, not exactly.
Had there been something in the sword's trajectory, it would have been cut in half no matter what that something is.
Lecan swung down the sword with the intention of cutting everything in this world, so long the sword followed Lecan's will, the world had been cut.
"By golly. Whodda thunk there's someone out there who could wield that sword one hand."
Lecan was pulled back to reality with the shopkeeper's word.
"<Sword of Agost>."
"<Sword of Agost>, eh."
"Agost was a son of Rusk."
"Was a promising blacksmith himself. But guy went and croaked before his dad did."
"S'why swords made by Agost are mostly gone now."
"Did he forge this sword for a custom order of some kind."
"I got no clue. Ye'd normally think someone made the order for such a specific sword like that, but none came forward to take it after Agost's death. Then after Rusk also kicked the bucket, the wife of late Agost put it on sale to put food on the table."
"And you bought it off her, shopkeeper."
"Righto. Didn't think it would ever sell tho'. Call it a youthful passion if ya will. Even just takin' the thing back here was an ordeal ya know."
"How much is this sword."
"15 gold coins, or maybe not, 12 and take it. Sorry bout this, just cannae' go any lower. Would be an insult to Agost if I did."
Lecan put <Sword of Agost> back in its scabbard, grabbed his just sorted out gold coins and put them on his left palm piece by piece. Once it got to 15, he handed them to the shopkeeper,
"Y-ya sure, mate."
"This sword is worth that much."
Lecan told the shopkeeper about his dungeon exploration, left <Sword of Rusk> to the shopkeeper and departed the shop.