Episode 29: The Knight and the Impossibly Heavy Sword

The shop door creaked open, and in marched a knight whose armor groaned under every step. His heavy gait was almost comical. He halted at the counter, glaring at a massive sword lying on a velvet cushion.

"I am Sir Percival Ironstride!" he declared, his voice strained as he attempted to lift the sword. "I demand an unbreakable blade fit for battle—and one I can actually wield!"

Felix eyed the weapon. "Ah, the Sword of Eternal Durability. Unbreakable, yes—but apparently designed to double as a boulder."

Sir Percival grunted. "I've tried hoisting it. It barely budges. I feel like I'm training for a weightlifting contest rather than a joust!"

Zira arched an eyebrow from her perch. "Maybe you should invest in a gym membership instead."

Felix snorted. "Or… we could try lightening it up a bit."

He took the sword to his workbench and began muttering arcane adjustments. After several minutes of tinkering—and a few sparks that nearly singed his eyebrows—he presented the knight with a modified blade.

"Behold! The Sword of Balanced Burdens. It should adjust its weight to match your strength."

Sir Percival grasped the hilt. Instantly, the sword seemed to grow lighter—so light, in fact, that it floated off the counter and began orbiting around his head like an overenthusiastic drone.

"Ah—what sorcery is this?!" the knight bellowed, ducking as the sword whirled by and smacked a suit of self-ironing armor.

Felix raised a hand. "Not quite what I intended. It appears the weight-adjustment enchantment got a little overzealous. One moment it's as light as a feather, the next it's trying to take flight!"

Zira cackled. "Sir Percival, looks like your sword's practicing its own version of jousting—against your head!"

After a flurry of adjustments (and a few more airborne sword swings that sent Felix's teapot clattering), Felix finally produced a refined version. He handed the blade back with a cautious smile.

"Try now. The Sword of Balanced Burdens should now maintain a constant, manageable weight—unless it decides to go on a joyride, which, admittedly, is a minor quirk."

Sir Percival wrapped his gauntleted hand around the hilt and gave a test swing. The sword felt perfectly weighted—a harmonious blend of might and practicality. He lifted it without breaking a sweat.

"At last! This feels like a proper weapon, not a medieval dumbbell."

He marched out, sword held firmly—and this time, it remained anchored to his hand rather than orbiting him like a lost satellite.

Felix shook his head with a grin. "I suppose even unbreakable magic has its quirks."

Zira quipped, "Maybe next time Sir Percival will ask for a sword that doubles as a dance partner—at least then, if it floats away, you can waltz after it!"

As the door closed behind the satisfied knight, Felix mused, "One thing's for sure—at The Enchanted Wrench, every weapon tells a story… even if it occasionally tries to take off without its owner."