Damian looked at the three swords floating before him, a wide grin spreading across his face.
Just like with [Recna, the Spear of Torment], the swords refused to let his hand get close to them.
They released threatening auras, especially [Darmung, The Devastation Bringer], which unleashed a speck of sword aura when Damian tried to touch it.
The aura left a large, deep cut on his arm, which, of course, healed within seconds.
Just as he had done with the Spear of Torment, Damian dripped a few drops of his blood onto the three swords, waiting nervously and wondering if the weapons would accept him as their master.
If they didn't, all his efforts would be wasted.
This was the only downside of owning ultimate-grade weapons; they had minds of their own.
It wasn't the wielder who chose the sword; the sword chose its master.
Without acceptance, they were nothing more than fancy display pieces.