Episode 17.3-4 (1/2)

”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.

”Stay there.”

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.”

”Mwu.”

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.”

”Umu.”

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.

Aah.

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.