As he drew closer, he noticed her violet eyes sparkling like gemstones, and her short hair of the same hue framing her face with effortless charm.
She didn't appear to be someone who neglected her appearance. Everything about her was balanced—no excess, yet no lack of elegance. It was as if she walked a fine line between toughness and poise.
As he approached, she opened the door to the shop, inviting him in. And as he crossed the threshold, it felt like he had stepped away from the outside noise and into a space pulsing with calm—like an ancient temple dedicated to weaponry.
The lighting was soft, created by small oil lamps strategically placed along the ceiling and walls, casting flickering shadows across the array of weapons mounted and propped up. The air was rich with a distinctive blend of aromas: polished metal, fine leather from the scabbards, and aged oils used for sharpening blades. The atmosphere evoked both antiquity and reverence.
The walls displayed a wide range of weapons, each one more a work of art than a mere tool of war. Long swords with ornate hilts, sharp daggers that gleamed like beast fangs, and finely carved bows—every detail spoke to the craftsmanship behind them. There were no cheap or cliché weapons here; each piece looked like a masterpiece.
The girl moved behind a wooden counter at the back of the shop. She leaned forward slightly, placing her hands on the surface before greeting him in a tone of practiced professionalism:
"Welcome to Lucky Star Armory!!! How can I help you, sir?"
At that introduction, Ace raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. He hadn't expected the girl to be the owner. He had assumed he would find an elderly man here—a seasoned artisan with cracked hands bearing the marks of decades of hard labor. He had thought she was merely a receptionist or a shop assistant, perhaps helping while the real blacksmith worked in the back.
Yet here she stood, confidently—as if reading his thoughts, waiting for his response. He didn't have time to dwell on his surprise. He needed to make the most of this opportunity to gather as much information as possible before other customers arrived. He stepped closer to the counter, his eyes scanning the weapons, analyzing every detail and weighing each option before he met her gaze and said:
"I'm looking for a sword suitable for fighting a large monster, with a budget of no more than 100 silver coins."
As soon as he said that, the girl raised her eyebrows, examining him carefully. He looked every bit the novice adventurer, as his badge confirmed. That made her question his request for a massive sword, especially given his smaller frame, which didn't suggest the strength needed for such a heavy weapon. In a friendly tone, free from judgment, she asked:
"E-excuse me, sir, would you prefer a medium-sized sword? Or perhaps a standard one? As you know, large swords are very heavy, which makes swinging them quite difficult. Have you considered that?"
Ace didn't hesitate, as though he had anticipated the question. He replied firmly:
"No, I want a large sword. And if that's not feasible, I'm open to any suggestions."
His gaze was serious, and his expression revealed no doubt. For a moment, the girl felt a wave of uncertainty. Large swords weren't ordinary weapons—they were forged from the densest steels and often came at a high price. She re-examined the young man: his simple clothes still bore scorch marks, and he stood like someone still trying to prove himself in this unforgiving world.
Then, with a graceful motion, she gestured toward a set of large, gleaming swords leaning against the wall. Some were adorned with engravings, others with glittering stones, while a few were plain, made purely for function with no ornament. Still, even the simplest among them seemed far beyond his budget.
"Would you be able to increase your budget, sir?"
He shook his head and responded with a dry tone, tinged with slight embarrassment:
"I'm a beginner adventurer. I don't have much money."
A silence settled between them. Her mind raced for a solution. She didn't want him leaving empty-handed, yet reality was clear—none of the displayed swords met both his request and budget. Disappointment began to creep into her heart. He was her first customer since opening the shop, and now she faced a dilemma that could mean a rough start to her venture in town. She looked into his eyes and saw a genuine determination. Taking a deep breath, she said:
"It's difficult to find a heavy sword within the budget you mentioned, but…"
She paused, glancing behind her, then added with a voice tinged with hope and hesitation:
"Wait a moment, sir. I might have something that'll interest you."
She turned and disappeared through the door behind her—perhaps into a storage room or her private workshop. Silence reigned for a few moments before the sound of metal scraping echoed faintly, followed by a muffled clatter, as if someone were struggling to lift something heavy. The wait didn't last long before the girl returned, slightly breathless, dragging a massive black sword behind her.
Her face was flushed red, and sweat poured heavily from her forehead, streaming down her cheeks and gathering at the edge of her chin. The sword she dragged behind her was a massive black blade—wide, thick, coated in a dense layer of rust, and covered in scratches that spoke of past battles. It was not just a weapon; it was a companion in war.
She gripped its worn handle with trembling hands before letting it fall to the ground. The sound of its impact echoed through the room, shaking even the weapons and tools hanging on the walls.
The girl took a deep breath, trying to catch her breath. Then, she lifted her hands behind her back and bent like a bow, her spine cracking. She wiped the sweat from her brow, her eyes reflecting exhaustion. Still, she tried to maintain her composure as she spoke in a breathless voice:
"This sword has been neglected for years… No one's wanted to buy it… It's far too heavy and rusted… I don't think you'd want it either, but..." She paused, as if searching for the right words, then continued, "I can sell it to you for just 50 silver coins, if you're going to take it."
Ace bent down to examine the sword more closely. He ran his fingers over the handle wrapped in worn leather, feeling its rough texture. His eyes studied every detail, as if reading a personal history hidden within its form. The girl swallowed hard, watching him in silence. She had witnessed this scene dozens of times. And she knew exactly what would happen next.
Every time she had presented this weapon to large, muscular adventurers, they always looked at it with initial excitement. But the moment they tried to lift it from the ground, they realized the task was impossible—as if the one who forged it had not intended it for combat, but as a test in and of itself.
She had tried to sell it many times, but it always ended the same way: sweat and effort in vain. Disappointment would spread across her face as customers walked away, leaving the sword behind for her to drag back into obscurity.
It wasn't just the idea that hurt—it was the feeling itself, weighing down her spirit every time she thought about it. How could she part with a sword that had cost her so much? The sword that had accompanied her through every shop she'd opened, each time with great difficulty. It was more than just a hunk of steel; it was a part of her past—a piece of her unfinished story. A story about achieving wealth through selling weapons. She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and tried to accept the truth she had always been afraid to face. Then, in a voice soft, almost apologetic, she said:
"I'm sorry, sir. Perhaps you'd be better off looking in another shop. You might find something more suitable there."
She hadn't even opened her eyes when the reply came—calm and confident:
"Why? I believe I've found exactly what I need."
She opened her eyes in disbelief at what she'd heard—but what she saw was even more shocking. The young man stood steadily, holding the massive sword in one hand as if it weighed almost nothing to him. She froze in place, mouth slightly open, eyes wide, her thoughts colliding in her mind.
There wasn't a trace of strain in his face—no trembling muscles, no bent back. He wasn't even pretending to be strong, like so many others did. It looked perfectly ordinary to him, as if he were holding a light weapon—not the same sword that had overwhelmed the strongest of men.
A cold shiver ran through her limbs. She couldn't utter a single word. She felt like she was living a dream—or perhaps a nightmare. How could this be possible? She had seen massive men try to lift the sword, only to put it down seconds later, dripping with sweat, faces etched with frustration and defeat. They'd try to hide their weakness behind a mask of disinterest, pretending they didn't want to buy it.
But this young man was nothing like them. His body was ordinary, not one of a giant, and he bore no signs of possessing or using extraordinary strength. Yet, somehow, he had done what they could not.
He began to swing the sword before her. Every motion sliced through the air with force, causing whirlwinds that made the surrounding weapons tremble. She watched him in awe, unable to comprehend what she was witnessing. The laws of strength and weight seemed to be rewritten before her eyes. How could he move such a heavy blade as if it were a stick? Without using any magical force? Her mind boiled with questions, but her body remained motionless, afraid to shatter the moment with a single wrong move.
Finally, Ace stopped swinging. He let the sword fall slowly to the ground, lifted his head, and looked at her before saying quietly:
"It is heavy indeed… but it can be used."
His words pierced her daze, but she needed a moment longer to grasp them. She was still gathering her thoughts when he spoke again—and this time, what he said truly snapped her out of her trance:
"I'd like to buy it."
She should have been happy in that moment, overjoyed even, to finally see the sword sold. But instead, a bitterness crept into her chest. She had named a low price before realizing the young man could actually wield it. If only she'd waited… If only she'd kept silent a moment longer and witnessed the wonder with her own eyes, perhaps she could've raised the price, demanded more money... but she hadn't.
She couldn't go back now. Attempting to raise the price at this point would make her seem greedy. Worse, this adventurer could spread word of his experience to others—adventurers who valued merchant flexibility in their dealings.
But she wasn't ready to lose everything. She quickly rearranged her thoughts, then put on a smile that carried the cunning of a seasoned trader and said, in a seemingly innocent tone, though layered with salesmanship:
"That was incredible, sir! How about adding just 50 more silver coins, and I'll restore the sword for you? I'll remove the rust, and craft a sheath that fits its size. What do you say?"
She said this while closely observing his face, trying to read his reaction before he even gave it—trying to see whether he'd accept or decline. She knew this moment would decide whether she walked away with something worthwhile—or with a loss she wasn't prepared for, even if it wasn't really a loss anymore. A moment of hesitation flickered in his eyes as he considered the sword, then he said softly:
"Please, do that."