Swinging, stabbing and cutting with Liam's Black Blade a couple of times, the old man heaved a long sigh.
It was clear that he wasn't a swordsman.
He didn't even seem like a fighter of any kind.
"It's simple, really. You've added nothing to this weapon. Nothing at all! It has no individuality. It's just a sword that you swing left to right, up to bottom."
Liam pursed his lips, as though he was thinking deeply.
"Now, correct me if I'm wrong," Liam said, "but last I heard that's exactly what a sword is."
"Ha!" the old man laughed. "You lack creativity, son."
A moment later, the man's expression grew heavy and serious.
"A sword is what you want it to be. You could be the sword itself! If your two hands can change one shape into another, what stops you from changing the idea itself?"
There was a moment of silence.
Liam didn't even know the old man's name yet.
