His meeting with Hiroto was unfortunately unfruitful. While the man had indeed heard of many reports of Tyrants - and even rare cases of Alphas - appearing across the continent, he had nothing on the location of Sources. Hell, he hadn’t even known what a Source was until Brock had explained it to him.

It did mean that Brock could now go and seek out the roaming Alphas that had seemed to have begun appearing, though there was still no certainty that any of them would be able to speak. Granted, he had no idea if another final boss of a Source would speak like Ur’Kahn had, but it was his best idea so far.

Afterwards, he bid the man farewell, and they went their separate ways. Nice bloke.

As Brock walked down the street toward the smithery, a familiar presence pinged in his aura senses. Several blocks down, atop a roof, he could detect Mio, gazing down on him. He didn’t bother to look at her, as he knew that she knew that he had found her. He’d need her anyway to take him to New Paris.

He felt a knot of worry build in his gut with every step he took. Was he really just going to go out into the world like this and grasp at straws? He liked gambling, but there was a stark difference between gambling your pay check, and gambling your life.

Brock growled at himself through clenched teeth, and the few people walking around him moved to give him a wide berth. Life is so hard.

A brief silence followed, and he sighed.

He had three months left to live, and he was going to spend it running from place to place, desperate for a chance at life? Maybe. But what other choice did he have? After all he’d been through, after all the challenges he’d overcome, he refused to just lie down and wait for death. All the hardships he’d faced until now wouldn’t let him.

There were still so many things he wished to do and learn. He wanted to experiment with his aura further and find his mother. Have a fulfilling life once all the murder and desperate survival passed him and their planet by. He wished to grow in power and savour the feeling of freedom. He hoped to save many more lives.

So that meant that even if he had to leave like he was, weakened and desperate, he would. Comfort was the privilege of a man far from dead.

The sensation of heat to his aura senses brought him from his thoughts and back to the real world. He stood out the front of Donte’s Smithery, his third time visiting this place of metallurgy. The symbol of two crossed hammers still radiated fiery energies, although it had weakened considerably. It seemed Donte hadn’t infused it perfectly, and some of the energy kept leaking out.

Or something like that. Either way, it’s interesting…

Brock knew that neither Minerva, nor Donte had teachers for how they applied their aura. The shadow scouts were kinda different, as they had Jane’s Sight. But that aside, it meant that if they could teach themselves how to do things like this, then so could he. And that thought made him giddy.

He pushed the doors apart, and for the first time, the clerk was waiting at the counter. Brock raised his brows, but otherwise didn’t comment. The teenager, on the other hand, widened his eyes, and a stupid grin crossed his face.

“I saw your fight the other day!” he shook his head in disbelief, seeming like he was still trying to wrap his head around it all, “That shit was so cool! You doing ok, though? What happened to you at the end?”

Clerk, as Brock had decided to name the still unnamed child, furrowed his brows in concern. The sound of hammer hitting metal echoed from the back ceaselessly. It spoke of fervour and the joy of creation. The customer moved forward and shrugged as he leaned to try peek into the back. It was futile, guarded by a wall.

“Oh, you know. I’m just dying slowly. The usual, I guess.” Brock waved his hand dismissively and backtracked from the counter to look at a particularly shiny hatchet. The wooden haft was polished to perfection.

Clerk narrowed his eyes in confusion, “…Dying? What?”

“Long story,” Brock shrugged again, evidently not all that willing to elaborate further, “how’s my weapon going? It ready?”

As if doing so actually made a difference, Clerk moved away from the counter and peered around the door. His head tilted this way and that as he attempted to get a better view, and eventually, after a few long seconds, he turned back.

“Nah. Looks like it’s still a week or two off.” This time, it was Clerk’s turn to shrug.

Brock grimaced. He… didn’t think he’d be able to go out without a weapon. He was already void of Techniques and Augments, and that was bad enough. He couldn’t wait for another few weeks either, as time was of the essence. Each second he wasted inched him closer to his death.

He sighed heavily and ran his finger over the edge of the hatchet he was studying. It drew blood, “you got any knives then? Good ones?”

Sure, Brock had Ur’Kahn’s knives in his inventory, but their make was questionable in comparison to his current power level. He had a sneaking suspicion that they wouldn’t be all that reliable in a pitched fight.

An awkward silence fell over the shop, and after several seconds, Brock turned around to face Clerk. The boy had a wry smile across his face. The sound of the door opening and someone entering broke the quiet.

“One second please!” Clerk said with all the enthusiasm of a five-year-old at a Lego convention, before focusing back on Brock, “Yeah, after your duel in the arena, everyone suddenly wanted to practice with knives, so…”

“You sold out of knives?” Brock said, disbelieving. Clerk nodded slowly, “I didn’t even use it.”

Clerk chuckled, “People are weird.”

Idly, Brock glanced at the other customer, an older woman, maybe in her mid-forties, who was browsing a particularly nice-looking mace. She wore bulky combat armour that rattle as she walked. They’re out of the one weapon I fucking need.

“We do have swords? They’re like knives, but far longer.” Clerk ventured, rather hopeful in his tone.

Silently, the older man considered his words for a second, and as the lady looked at him in askance, he waved her toward to counter to buy her mace while he pondered. A Shard coalesced upon her palm, and she passed the pink radiance over to Clerk, who absorbed it into himself as a mist of the same colour.

What did Brock actually know about swords? Not much. Hell, he barely knew anything about knives, even now. From what he did know, they were murder sticks, swung around and thrust. They were much like a knife, in that regard, albeit a bit more unwieldy with the increased mass, weight, and altered balance.

Though, with his enhanced Strength, he knew that wouldn’t pose much of an issue to him, if at all.

Adopting a sword, at least for now, certainly wasn’t a terrible idea. He felt it was a bit of a bad choice to learn a new weapon amidst his period of weakness, but what else could he do at this point? It was either that or take some unreliable daggers with him.

The choice was tough. Knives felt like second nature to him now, an extension of himself. He felt like they were fused with his fighting style, and the closest weapon to him emotionally. He had fought and feared with a knife at his side, and he’d never forget that.

Brock let out a long sigh as the door reopened and the lady left, a content smile on her face as she wielded the mace experimentally, “Yeah, ok. Show me what you got.”

A wide grin spread over Clerk’s face, and he told Brock to wait here for a second. The hammering in the back actually paused for a few seconds as Clerk entered there, and Brock heard the boy and his father exchanged words. The hammering started back up a few seconds later, and a dozen seconds after that Clerk returned with several sheathed swords in his arms.

As he approached the counter, he let them collapse onto its surface and spread out with a dull thump, “Here you go. Dad makes… a lot of weapons every day. These are all only the recognised swords though.”

Brock nodded and panned his eyes over the collection of blades. There were seven, all of drastically varying lengths. Some - only two - were no bigger than an exceptionally large dagger, while the other ranged from normal size to even the length of a greatsword. Wafting off from each of them, Brock could see traces of aura, each somewhat different.

Tenderly, he reached out and grasped the handle of the sword closest to him. While he knew he’d probably choose one of the dagger like swords, he was curious. With a glance, he could see that the item closely resembled a katana.

Taking it out of the sheath was oddly satisfying, and he held the green tinted edge up to his eyes, admiring the way the light glittered off its polished surface. It felt weightless in his grasp.

Gurzanite Katana (Uncommon)

A high-quality sword that has been recognised by the System as an Item. Forged by a budding, yet skilled blacksmith, it possesses an incredibly sharp edge and is almost weightless, though in return, it is rather brittle. Suitable for F Grade.

Immediately, Brock sheathed the weapon and put it back. It was a beautiful blade, and undoubtedly looked sharp as shit, but the deal breaker was the brittleness. Brock didn’t trust himself to wield the weapon with enough skill to preserves its durability, and knew he’d probably break it in a few days. Plus, he liked his weapons to have a bit of weight to them anyway.

Clerk seemed rather surprised at his dismissal. He didn’t comment, however, and instead pulled out a chair from under the counter and sat atop it, watching on curiously.

The next sword was more typical to what he knew. A guard, a thicker, double-edged blade, and a leather wrapped handle. Like the mace he’d seen all those days ago, it was made of the blue ‘Skyrite’ metal and could amplify force. It was also ‘immensely durable’, and Brock placed it to the side, in a pile for consideration.

Maybe I’ll keep some different weapons just in case. Never know who might need one. He glowered, remembering the complete destruction of James’ bracer. Or when I’ll need one.

There was another Skyrite sword that was literally identical, apart from being pristine quality instead of high. It replaced the only weapon in his consideration pile. He saw a high-quality Orichalcum Longsword and put that in the pile too.

One of them was made from another new metal, Zerrnak, and was a light tint of crimson. It was only an average-quality weapon, but he found the unique effect extremely interesting and still decided to pile it. He shifted through another katana and placed it with its brethren in the ‘no’ pile.

The first of the daggers – shortswords, Clerk had told him - was made of Gurzanite, though it possessed a noticeably thicker blade than the katana. Most probably, it was an attempt to keep some semblance of durability. Along with that, the edge was probably the sharpest he’d ever seen, and it found its way into the pile.

That left only one weapon lying there. Unlike the others, its scabbard wasn’t just rough leather, but was instead inked with murals of dragons and demons in gold and crimson. He saw Clark move to snatch it away, the expression on his face making it clear that it wasn’t meant to be brought out, but Brock moved faster, and got it first.

“That one isn’t for sale!” Clerk called out.

Brock calmed him down with a hand, “I’m just having a look. Don’t worry.”

The boy still looked rather worried but did calm down noticeably. He didn’t settle back into his seat and remained standing as he watched Brock wrap his fingers around the handle. With the scabbard nestled in his other armpit, Brock pulled the sword free, the metal ring soothing to his ears.

The blade was red, much like the other Zerrnak sword he’d found. A quick check over it showed that its blade was an inch or so wider than the other shortsword and a few centimetres shorter, sitting at around 36cm. It seemed to be some sort of a cross between a dagger and a shortsword in build, being somewhat stubby.

Brock held it up to the light, finding the crimson to be a few shade darker on this weapon. The handle was made of pressed bone, polished and smoothed into an ivory handle that felt cool to the touch.

Brock ran his finger over the edge, finding blood to be drawn after only the barest amount of pressure was applied. He grinned and prompted the description to open up for him.

Lament (Rare)

To mourn is the trademark of those who have experienced sacrifice. Forged with blood and sweat, this pristine-quality shortsword has been recognised by the System as an Item. Death, destruction, blood. Revel in it. Suitable for F Grade.

Bind to unlock this weapon’s perk.

“How much?” Brock asked, meeting Clerk’s eyes with an intensity that made the boy flinch.

He stumbled back, “H-huh?”

“How much for this weapon?”

Brock grinned.