There was a point long ago where Dyon stopped caring about the strength of his weapons. Often, he would even choose to battle with a common grade one. Sometimes he wouldn't even use a weapon at all but would rather forge something from his wills like his flame spear, for example.
The grade of a weapon simply didn't mean much to him anymore. This was mostly because he had been spoiled early. How many others could claim access to a vault filled with transcendent grade weapons without stepping a single foot on the cultivation path yet? Yet, those had been Dyon's circumstances.
This was all to say something very simple. The weapons… No… The craftmanship of dwarves was on a level Dyon had never seen before. The calculated elegance, the refined presence, the indomitable commitment to each precise detail… It made him feel respect from the bottom of his heart.
