He scanned the windows of nearby shops, but his search didn't last long. A large storefront with dozens of swords and weaponry displayed in its window quickly caught his attention. A rusted metal sign swung in the gentle morning breeze above the door, identifying the building as Bilbur's Blasted (B)weaponry.
Noah stepped inside the store and was instantly greeted by the smell of ozone and gunpowder. He scrunched his nose, letting the door thunk shut behind him, and took in the store. True to its name, weapons covered every single surface. They littered the floor in large piles and hung from the walls, many shimmering with energy. Several of them had paper wrappings around the hilt or blade.
A strikingly short man that didn't even come up past Noah's hips sat on a tall stool, polishing a sword with a stained rag and whistling to himself. His stool had a ladder leading up to it on the back, and put him above Noah's eye level.
"Hello," Noah said. "Would you be Bilbur?"
"Damn right I'm Bilbur," the man said, looking up from his project. "And you're a greasy little twig with no sword. Trying to fix that?"
That's one way to get a sale. Not sure how effective it is, but it's a way.
"Depends. I'm looking for a flying sword," Noah said. "You have any of those?"
"Any sword can fly if you throw it hard enough."
Noah stared at Bilbur. The short man burst into snorting laughter.
"That 'un never gets old. Yes, you stringbean. I've got flying swords. You see that beauty on the wall behind me?" Bilbur twisted and pointed his sword up at a large golden plaque hanging behind him. It was trimmed with a silvery-white metal, and a beautiful sword was suspended upon it.
The blade was made of a pitch black material that strongly resembled obsidian, and it was studded with deep red rubies. The hilt twisted up in a flourish and the pommel was wrapped in golden thread.
"It's beautiful," Noah agreed. "And almost certainly out of my budget."
"It's only five thousand gold!" Bilbur exclaimed. "You're a teacher, aren't you? What rank are you, cheapskate? Three? Four?"
"One."
Bilbur stared at Noah, his smile fading away. "What?"
"I'm Rank 1. Is that a problem?"
"And you're not rich?"
"Afraid not."
Bilbur let out a heavy sigh. "Lovely. What's your budget, twig? I can already tell this is going to be a waste of my time."
"How about something that costs less than five gold?"
If glares could kill, Noah would have dropped dead on the spot. He matched the man's look without flinching. No matter how irritated Bilbur could look, it was nothing compared to the fury that the beady eyes of a Slasher held.
Bilbur broke their standoff first and glanced down. "I've got some beaters. Nothing great, and it might not fly too hot, but it'll fly. Two gold."
"That's exactly what I'm looking for." Noah rubbed his hands together. "Let me get one of those. Wait, if you've got cheaper swords, what about shields?"
Bilbur pierced Noah with a flat glare. "The cheapest one I've got is four hundred gold, and it's failed more times than it's worked. It's for testing."
"Right. Nevermind. Back to the swords, then. Two gold, you said?"
"Aye. You sure?" Bilbur asked. "When I say they don't fly well, I mean it. I'd sell you one in a heartbeat, but I'm not giving you a refund if you don't like it."
"They won't cut out on me mid-flight, will they?"
"No, nothing like that. More like it'll jerk around. Have a bit of an attitude. That kind of thing. It'll get the job done, but it just won't be a fun ride."
Noah shrugged. He could deal with that. If the sword wasn't malfunctioning, as long as it got him around the forest faster, it would be a valuable investment. "That's fine. I'll take one."
Bilbur tossed the sword he'd been polishing into a pile of scrap metal. It landed with a screech and a crash, and Noah winced. He could practically hear all the work Bilbur had put into the sword go up in an instant.
Entirely unbothered, Bilbur slid down the ladder on the back of his towering stool and stormed across the ground up to a pile of rusted weapons. He dug through it, tossing them to the side until he spotted one that caught his fancy.
The sword in question was nearly more rust than metal. It was a solid copper color, with a plain blade and pommel. It didn't even have a hilt. Noah gave it a suspicious glance.
"You're sure that'll fly?"
"If you throw it–"
Noah's glare silenced Bilbur before he could finish the sentence. Bilbur cleared his throat.
"Yeah. It'll fly. Not great, but it'll fly. Two gold. Imprinting Runes isn't easy, twig."
Noah pulled two gold coins out and held them out to Bilbur. Bilbur grinned and snatched them, then offered up the sword in response. Noah carefully took the blade, holding it before him like a torch.
"Is there a sheath that comes with this?"
"No."
"Ah." Noah grimaced. "How do I use it?"
Bilbur, who was halfway back up the ladder to his stool, squinted through the bars at Noah.
"Seriously? You can't use a flying sword?"
"Just humor me."
"You stand on it. And, assuming you were smart enough to have a Wind Rune or something else that enables flight, you imagine flying." Bilbur spoke as if his answer were the most logical thing in the world. "Any more questions? Want me to show you how to tie your shoes?"
"Let's put a rain check in that. Pleasure doing business with you," Noah said. He raised a hand in farewell and got a rude gesture involving a middle finger in response.
It's good to see some traditions have somehow manifested themselves on both Earth and whatever this new planet is. Some things never change.
Noah exited the shop and stepped out into the street. The sun was still barely starting its trek through the sky. Tim would already be at his usual spot, of course. He'd been there every time Noah had come to use the transport cannon.
I've still got some money. Should I buy something else that'll be useful, or save up? Then again, I don't even know what I actually need. Potions are a waste for me, as are Shields. Guess there's no point spending money without knowing what I need, though.
His path decided, Noah set off to find Tim, excitement bubbling in his chest. It was time to practice - and to kill monkeys.