The blacksmith spent several hours, Zell glued to the movements and abilities of the old man's blacksmith techniques, before suddenly, after hours of silence, a hoarse old voice filled the room.
"Take it!"
His old wrinkled hands, dark black skin with countless scars and bumps from what seemed to be his hard work and long life.
'Why does it feel like he probably has a super handsome form, that this old man image is just his hobby?' Zell thought as he observed the blade with entranced eyes.
A large sword, with a black blade, silver guard and pommel, with a crimson jewel inlaid in the pommel.
The wonderful black leather grip, with wonderful patterns and grooves, all for holding it to feel even more comfortable.
'This sword is so beautiful! It needs a female name!'
