The shop door was heavier than Arin expected.
When he pushed it open, it produced a deep metallic creak, as if it were a warning… or a welcome.
For a brief moment before stepping inside, he hesitated.
Why do I feel like I have to enter?
It wasn't ordinary curiosity.
It wasn't just admiration for weapons.
It was a faint sensation… like a thread pulling him from somewhere deep inside.
He frowned.
Don't exaggerate… it's just a weapon shop.
Still, he stepped in.
The smell of iron and oil greeted him first.
The light inside was different. Crystal lamps hung from the ceiling, casting a soft glow upon the blades displayed on the walls, making them appear as if they shone from within rather than reflecting light from their surface.
The walls were covered with carefully arranged weapons.
Heavy broadswords with thick tips.
Long spears with silver heads sharp like fangs.
Curved daggers resembling the teeth of beasts.
Even bows made from dark wood engraved with delicate patterns.
At the other side of the shop, the elves were speaking with the shop owner. Their voices were calm but clear.
As for him…
The silent elf stood alone near the right wall, looking at the weapons without touching them.
His posture was straight.
His silver hair fell neatly down his back.
As if he were part of the place itself.
Arin ignored him.
Or at least… he tried to.
He walked toward the opposite wall and began examining the weapons.
His eyes widened slightly.
The variety here… isn't normal.
His gaze fell to his waist.
The wooden sword.
He chuckled softly to himself.
"Heh… I guess I really do need a real weapon. This is the first step."
He sighed.
"Since I've only trained with a sword… there's no point gambling on a weapon I don't understand."
Then he added quietly, almost whispering to himself:
"I need to rely on myself more… on myself alone. I came to this world alone… and I'll leave it alone."
There was no sadness in his voice.
Only a cold truth.
He ran his hand across a row of spears, testing the weight of one before setting it back.
He touched the hilt of a heavy sword… then shook his head.
Power without speed… isn't for me.
Then—
He suddenly felt someone close.
He turned his head.
The elf.
Standing beside him.
Silent.
His eyes were fixed directly on him.
Arin quickly looked away, as if he had been caught doing something he didn't want to admit. He stepped aside… then another step along the wall.
Don't look at him. There's no reason to.
He breathed slowly.
He began touching other swords.
Then—
He stopped.
In front of a different one.
A slender sword.
A long straight blade, pure silver without excessive decoration.
The handle was pristine white, wrapped in delicate ivory-colored threads.
The guard was simple, slightly curved… almost like a smile.
The sword wasn't loud.
It was calm.
A smile formed on Arin's face without him realizing.
"Heh… this sword feels a lot like that elf."
He reached out.
The moment his fingers touched the hilt—
He felt something strange.
Not energy.
Not flowing mana.
But… comfort.
As if the sword did not resist him.
As if its weight had been balanced specifically for his hand.
"…"
"A fine choice."
The voice was deep and steady.
Arin turned.
The shop owner stood beside him.
A dwarf in the later years of his life. His beard was thick and copper-colored with strands of gray. His eyes were small but sharp, carrying the intelligence of a craftsman who had watched countless weapons pass through his hands. His forearms were broad, and old scars covered his hands.
He looked at the sword.
"This isn't a sword chosen by someone looking to show off."
Arin replied calmly:
"I don't like weapons that scream about their power. A sword that needs to prove itself… usually doesn't trust its wielder."
The dwarf raised an eyebrow.
"Hm. And what do you see in this one?"
Arin looked at the blade.
"Balance.
Light enough for maneuvering, but not fragile.
Its edge is precise, meant for swift cuts rather than brute smashing.
And the grip… comfortable. It was made to be used for long periods, not hung for decoration."
A sideways smile appeared on the dwarf's face.
"You noticed all that from a single touch?"
Arin answered calmly:
"A weapon is an extension of the body. If the body doesn't understand the weapon from the first moment… they'll never truly agree later."
The dwarf let out a short, deep laugh.
"Mature words… for a human."
Arin looked at him steadily.
"A weapon doesn't choose race. It chooses the one who carries it well."
The dwarf fell silent for a moment.
Then he said more quietly:
"This sword was forged here in Rotana, but it isn't the type most visitors buy.
It requires speed… focus… and composure."
He lifted his gaze to Arin.
"And you have all three… or at least the seed of them."
A short silence followed.
Then he suddenly added:
"Human… you are perceptive.
And perception isn't the only thing that sets you apart."
Arin's eyes narrowed slightly.
The dwarf continued:
"I have the feeling that you're not an ordinary human like the ones I've known.
I don't know why… just the instinct of a craftsman who spent his life watching the people who touch his weapons."
He smiled faintly.
"Anyway… I wish you a good journey in life.
Take your time in my shop. Look for anything that catches your interest.
You'll find me here if you need something."
Arin stayed silent for a moment.
Not an ordinary human…?
Did he notice something?
Or was it just intuition?
He pushed the thought away quickly.
Then he smiled politely.
"I appreciate the effort you put into this… and I thank you for it."
The dwarf nodded and walked away.
Arin turned back to the white sword.
But before he picked it up again—
He felt a gaze.
He slowly turned.
The silent elf wasn't looking at the weapons.
He was looking at Arin's hand.
At the sword.
And a very faint smile passed across his lips.
As if he had been waiting…
for Arin to choose that very sword.
Arin stepped away from the wall, leaving the white sword in its place for the moment.
Don't act like you've already chosen it…
He told himself that, as if he feared the elf had somehow read his thoughts.
He moved calmly between the shelves, brushing his fingers lightly over other blades without real interest. He tried to appear busy… normal… not observant.
But as he approached the middle of the shop, he passed near the other elves.
He had no intention of stopping.
Yet a single word caught his attention.
"…the tournament."
His steps slowed without stopping.
Their voices were low, but clear enough for someone paying attention.
One of them said seriously:
"The order came directly from the royal capital. This isn't just Rotana's leader acting on his own."
Another replied more sharply:
"Forming a new force for the Kingdom of Khazad isn't a simple matter. It means the borders aren't stable."
"Or that something is moving in the shadows."
A brief silence followed.
Arin stood near a rack of spears, pretending to examine one while focusing entirely on their voices.
Another elf continued:
"I heard the competition won't be just one-on-one duels.
They'll test mana control, the ability to fight in formations, and endurance under real pressure."
"Yes. Rotana's leader will personally supervise it. Chaos and meaningless killing won't be allowed… but anyone who thinks it's safe is a fool."
"Participation is open to all races, right?"
"Humans, dwarves… even people from distant tribes. As long as they can prove their combat ability."
Something tightened slightly in Arin's chest.
All races…
Another voice added:
"Only the elite will be selected. Not just those physically strong… but those with the potential to grow."
"They're not looking for ordinary soldiers… they're looking for long-term investments."
The word echoed in Arin's mind.
Investment.
He pretended to inspect a dagger while his heart began beating faster.
"Will you participate?" one asked.
"Of course," another replied calmly. "An opportunity like this doesn't come twice. If I'm chosen… my entire path will change."
"And if you're not?"
"At least I'll learn my true place among fighters."
Silence followed.
Then someone said quietly:
"But I also heard… some participants didn't come just to join the new force."
"What do you mean?"
"This gathering… so many fighters in one place… it's the perfect opportunity for someone who wants to test something."
Arin didn't fully understand what that meant.
But the words stuck in his mind.
Test something…?
At that moment he felt like he was no longer just a passing listener.
It was as if the conversation… was getting closer to him.
The discussion ended when one of the elves noticed movement behind them, and their voices lowered before they changed the subject.
Arin slowly walked away, pretending nothing had happened.
But he wasn't the same as he was a few minutes ago.
A combat tournament… supervised directly… selecting elites…
A faint heat rose inside him.
Curiosity.
Excitement.
And challenge.
This… might be what I need.
Not just to fight.
But to know where he stands.
To test himself outside Ray's shadow.
If I want to build a future here… I can't stay a spectator.
He stopped for a moment.
Then, without realizing it, he turned.
Toward the silent elf.
And that was the moment…
when time seemed to freeze.
The elf wasn't looking at the weapons.
Nor at the other elves.
He was looking… at him.
Directly.
His calm expression hadn't changed.
His eyes were steady, deep, like a lake untouched by wind.
Then—
A faint smile appeared on his lips.
Very small.
But unmistakable.
Not mocking.
Not friendly.
But…
Like the smile of someone who had just confirmed something he had expected.
Arin's heart suddenly beat faster.
Was he listening too?
Or…
Had he been watching him from the beginning?
The elf didn't break the gaze.
And he didn't speak.
But that single smile alone…
made Arin feel that entering this shop…
had not been the result of simple curiosity.
But a step…
someone had been waiting for him to take.