the unsettled case

A weapon was more than just a tool of war, it was an extension of oneself, a silent companion in the dance of survival. Though these blades might not withstand his full strength, he intended to find one that could accompany him, even if only for a time, to serve his true purpose.

Nyxander's gaze swept over the weapons laid out before him, his sharp eyes tracing the polished edges and intricate engravings. Unlike the usual merchants who peddled failed products disguised as treasures, Tristan's wares were freshly forged, each crafted with deliberate precision.

He lowered himself into a squat, running his fingers over the cold steel, from wickedly curved axes to compact knives and slender blades of varying lengths. The metal hummed faintly beneath his touch, a silent testament to their craftsmanship, yet none of them called to him.

"It seems you find all of these… unsatisfying," Tristan noted, his tone light but observant.