"Take a look and see which one you like."
Claire's gaze shifted to the three swords laid out before her. Each blade was sharp and straight, they all seemed finely crafted, but one in particular caught her eye, a gleaming one among them.
She reached for it, gripping the handle firmly before giving it a quick swing. With a smooth motion, she performed her basic sword skill to test its balance.
The brief display was enough to leave the shopkeeper's eyes wide open.
"Such skill! And at such a young age!" he exclaimed, clearly impressed. Picking up one of the other swords, he knocked on its blade, producing a sharp metallic *ting*.
"This sword, it's perfect for someone like you, miss. Best aura conductivity you'll find for this price, I guarantee it."
Arthur seated on the chair before, glanced briefly between the sword and Claire. Her expression as always remained unchanged, calm and neutral.
Making it hard for Arthur to deduce, if she liked it or not, so he finally decided to directly ask. "Claire, what do you think? Do you like it?"
Claire's gaze flickered to him briefly before returning to the sword in her hand. She gave a small shake of her head.
"It's a good blade, but it doesn't feel right for me."
The shopkeeper chuckled, "Nonsense, miss! For a delicate lady like yourself, this delicate sword is ideal!"
Claire ignored his comment and walked toward the sword display on the far side of the shop. Her eyes landed on something entirely different, a broad, massive blade, far larger and heavier than any of the swords presented earlier.
It was extravagant, the kind of weapon that even a strong, muscular man would struggle to wield with ease.
"You're interested in that one?" The shopkeeper blinked in surprise. He glanced at her slim frame and then back at the oversized weapon. The idea of her swinging it was almost laughable to him.
"Wouldn't a sword like that be uncomfortable for your fighting style?" he asked with a polite smile.
Arthur was just as confused. "Claire, are you sure about this?"
She gave a subtle nod. "I want a blade like this, but… maybe cheaper."
Arthur gave a cocky smirk. "Claire, you don't need to worry about the price." His tone remained steady as he turned to the shopkeeper. "How much is it?"
"Ah, for a talent like hers, I'll include a special discount!" He quickly grabbed a calculator, tapping away before announcing the final price. "Only 69,000 W! A great deal for such quality."
Arthur chuckled quietly, a taunting chuckle directed at himself than anything else.
And of course, he indeed has made a joke of himself now...
"Actually, forget that. Just show us the cheapest one you've got."
"Understood, sir." The shopkeeper exchanged an awkward glance with Arthur before giving a quick nod and stepping back.
Arthur turned to Claire with a reassuring tone. "I'll buy you that sword after the next mission."
But Claire shook her head slightly, her voice calm and steady. "No need. It's not the sword that matters, it's the skill of the one wielding it."
"Still—"
Before he could finish, a soft, almost melodic voice interrupted him.
"But I think for a delicate lady like you, one of those thinner swords would have been more fitting,"
The voice came from the entrance, drawing Arthur and Claire's attention. A tall man with striking white hair flowing past his shoulders walked in.
His frame was slender, almost frail, yet his sharp, handsome features and confident attitude made him stand out.
Twin short swords hung at his hips, which gave in already, he was indeed a warrior despite his appearance.
With a sly smile, the man approached and stopped a little too close to Claire. Yet Claire remained unfazed, her sharp gaze rolling up to his eyes.
"And you are?" Arthur asked, his brows furrowing with suspension.
The man turned his focus briefly at Arthur, tilting his head slightly as if remembering something. "Ah, how rude of me," he said, stepping back just enough to give Claire space. His eyes, however, never left hers.
"I am Ado Ganma, from the Phoenix Guild's Tenth Squad."
Arthur's eyes widened in disbelief. "Phoenix Guild?"
'What's someone from the Phoenix Guild doing here?'
The Phoenix Guild.
The ninth-ranked guild of the Human Nation. Renowned for their high success rate, Arthur frowned in confusion because guild involvement was practically unheard of in an area dominated by criminals and outlaws.
As most relied on the guild's more greyer counterparts, bounty hunters or mercenaries instead.
Arthur was lost in finding a possible reason but he didn't have to wait long for an answer.
Ado's polite demeanour shifted in an instant. His soft smile curled into a cold, malicious grin as he again stepped closer to Claire.
Before Arthur could react, Ado's hand gripped Claire's neck firmly but without enough force to harm her.
"Who would've thought, that such an innocent-looking delicate beauty would be hiding a sinister nature? Even serial killers don't kill that many, so nonchalantly,"
❁❁❁
"Dandote Dandote tocando calentandote encia Viniendota Al olio Grimiendo yro la sigo Enarmo,"
A man with long black hair cascading down his handsome face sat before his laptop, earbuds in his ears as he hummed along to the song he was listening to.
His fingers tapped rhythmically on the desk following the beat.
If anyone saw him now, they'd never believe this relaxed music lover was the same man known for his stern, intimidating demeanour.
Someone who is called by terrifying titles such as Demonic General and Duke of the Northern Lands,
The man himself Ragnar Volford.
The room he was sitting in was vast, a grand hall with rows of empty seats lining both sides of an imposing table.
Usually, the silence was only broken by the occasional shuffle of papers and the faint hum of his music.
But soon his reverie was abruptly interrupted by the urgent voice of his subordinate reporting through the intercom.
"The Sword God wishes to visit the palace!"
He paused his music, pulling out the earbuds as his expression shifted to one of focus now. Straightening his posture, he stretched briefly before responding in a firm, commanding tone.
"Let him in."
Moments later, the grand iron doors at the end of the hall creaked open, their metallic hum echoing through the room, revealing an old but seasoned face.
He had a long, flowing white beard and a bald head that clearly displayed his old age and yet, those rugged, muscular build of his suggested otherwise.
Ragnar's face softened into a smirk as he stood up.
His footsteps echoed across the polished floor as he approached the table's other end, extending a hand in greeting.
"Welcome, welcome, to the palace of honour, great sir, Sword God," he said warmly. His tone carried both respect and genuine excitement.
"To think, I'm meeting my childhood hero, my idol, the Sword God himself."
Chuckle~