It felt lighter in his hands than he expected, and as he twirled it around in his wrist, he was struck by a feeling of rightness. More than a knife in his hand, a blade like this seemed to stick. It seemed to flow with all the naturalness of a river, as though it was born to sit in his palm.
"I take that to mean you're satisfied with it?" Greeves said, watching the boy toy with it, completely enamoured. He was half glad to see him like that, for he'd expected him to offer a significant amount of resistance towards the moved-up Hobgoblin date. "The day after tomorrow then, you're going to bring me victory, aye?"
Beam finally spared the merchant a glance. "I'm not exactly in good shape, but I do not intend to lose. Make no mistake though, merchant. The victory won't be for you."
