"Old man, how much is this?" he asked, his voice filled with a newfound excitement.
The shopkeeper, an elderly man with a wizened face and piercing blue eyes, emerged from the back room, his gaze settling on the sword in Dakrea's hand. A knowing smile spread across his lips.
"Ah, so you've found the Shadowreaver," he said, his voice raspy but filled with a certain warmth. "A fine choice, young man. It's a powerful weapon, but it demands a strong wielder."
Dakrea nodded, his grip tightening on the hilt. "I can feel its power," he said, his voice hushed with awe. "It resonates with me, in a way no other weapon has."
The shopkeeper chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "It's not a weapon for the faint of heart," he warned. "It's forged from the essence of shadow and imbued with a touch of demonic energy. It can amplify your strength, but it can also corrupt your soul if you're not careful."
