Alan and Williams spent the next few days either training, studying in the library, or exploring the city. One evening, while having dinner, Alan spoke with Uncle Andrew about fixing his sword hilt.
"Uncle Andrew, can you refer me to someone who can replace my sword's hilt?" Alan asked. George inquired, "What's the matter?"
"Great uncle George, I received my sword from Grandpa John on my 10th birthday, and now it has become a short sword, and the hilt feels cramped," Alan explained.
"Oh, then the best person for it is Mr. Steve, the famous blacksmith in the inner city. He's a grumpy old man but forges the best weapons in town," George suggested.
"Thank you, great uncle. I'll make a trip tomorrow morning. Wil, are you coming with me?" Alan asked.
"Why not? Let's go after breakfast," Williams agreed.
The next morning, they headed towards the blacksmith's shop. After 20 minutes of travel, they arrived at a large brick building with a chimney billowing smoke and a sign that read "Steve's." Entering the shop, they found an entrance hall filled with various weapons neatly arranged in glass cases. The craftsmanship amazed them, and their eyes shone with excitement at the sight of so many top-notch weapons.
"Do you like them?" a young lady around 25 asked them with a smile. "These are all beautifully crafted by our master blacksmith, Mr. Steve, himself."
Impressed, Alan apologized, "Sorry, miss, but I was looking to replace the hilt on my sword," presenting his weapon.
The lady took it, inspected it, and suggested, "It's a short sword. Why not try our exquisite swords? They are the finest and even look stylish."
Alan smiled, "Thank you for your input, miss. The man who uses the sword defines the weapon, not the other way around. Besides, swords are deadly weapons; if used wisely, even poorly made ones can look exquisite. If used unwisely or in the wrong hands, even the most exquisite sword looks ugly."
A booming laughter came from the hall, and a bear of a man, around 65 years old, approached. Solidly built with a thick beard and mustache, he introduced himself, "Well said, kid. I'm Master Steve." The girl bowed, and Steve waved his hand to her.
"What's your name, kid? Your words are rather mature for your age. How old are you?" he asked Alan.
"I'm Alan, Master Steve. This is Williams. We're both 12 years old."
"Hmm... give me your sword, let me take a look at it," Steve said. Alan handed it over, and after careful inspection, Steve nodded. "Good, this sword has served well. I can smell blood on it." Alan confirmed, "It has become an inseparable part of me and has come to my aid many times."
Steve smiled, "It's good to know my creation is being put to use properly. How is John doing these days?"
Surprised, Alan and Williams asked if Steve forged the sword and how he knew it was bought by Grandpa John. Steve proudly stated, "I know each weapon I create and who buys it. Even in a thousand blades, I can point out my blade from the rest."
Realizing they were John's grandsons, Steve acknowledged it as John's gift and asked if the hilt felt cramped. Alan nodded, and when asked about his fighting style, he explained, "I generally use this sword single-handedly but sometimes grip the pommel with my left hand for extra force or support."
Steve shook his head and said, "That won't do. Come with me," waved his hand for Alan to follow.
They entered a yard. Steve returned the sword to Alan, instructing him to perform basic sword movements. Alan did it slowly but gracefully, only about a quarter of his normal speed.
Steve observed with sharp eyes, "Why did you hide your strength, boy? Do it properly at your normal speed."
Alan glanced at Williams, who shrugged. Taking a deep breath, Alan started moving gracefully, turning it into a dance rather than mere weapon movements. Each step and swing were flawless.
Steve smiled broadly, "Now that's what I wanted to see." Leading both boys inside the hall, he took them to the other side from where he had come.