Primordial Expanse: I have the Strongest Talent!

Rothwind glared at them, wiping the sweat and soot from his hands as he huffed, clearly not impressed with Alex or Mira's presence. His irritation was obvious, but Alex remained unfazed, and Mira crossed her arms, watching Rothwind with mild disinterest.

"Ya think this is some kinda' tourist stop, huh?" Rothwind grumbled, turning his back to them as he shuffled toward a cluttered workbench.

"People come in here, flauntin' their fancy tokens, thinkin' they deserve somethin' special. Well, let me tell ya, I don't give a damn 'bout what you did to get that shiny piece of metal."

Alex smiled slightly, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword. "We're not looking for special treatment. Just curious about the place. The mission reward led us here, so we figured we'd see what Rothwind Smithy had to offer."

Rothwind didn't respond immediately, busying himself with some tools on the table. Mira sighed impatiently, clearly not in the mood for Rothwind's theatrics.

But just as she was about to make a snarky remark, Rothwind turned, his eyes narrowing as they landed on Alex's hip.

It was subtle at first, but there was a clear shift in the old blacksmith's demeanour. His gaze locked onto the sword at Alex's side, and his scowl faltered for a brief second before returning, though this time with more intensity.

"That sword..." Rothwind muttered, almost as if he didn't realise he'd spoken aloud. His gruff tone softened, but only slightly. "Where'd ya get it?"

Alex raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by the sudden change. He looked down at the blade hanging from his belt, he knew just how special it was, but from the outside it looked just like any other sword, so he was surprised Rothwind was able to tell so easily.

"This? I've had it for a while now. Why?"

Rothwind stepped closer, his earlier irritation completely replaced by curiosity. He extended his hand, palm up, his voice low and insistent. "Lemme see it."

Alex hesitated for a moment, exchanging a look with Mira, who shrugged. Finally, with a cautious nod, he unbuckled the sheath from his side and handed the sword to Rothwind.

It wasn't like Rothwind would be able to steal it for himself or something like that, Virtue's Edge was already tightly bound to Alex.

The old blacksmith took it with surprising gentleness, his rough, calloused hands running over the hilt with a sense of reverence that seemed out of character for him. His sharp eyes traced the intricate patterns carved into the blade, and he tilted it under the forge light to catch the subtle shimmer of the metal.

Rothwind's frown deepened, but this time it was one of focus rather than irritation. He turned the sword over, inspecting every inch of it with the trained eye of a master craftsman.

"This ain't no ordinary blade," he muttered, half to himself. "Where'd ya say you got this again?"

Alex crossed his arms, watching Rothwind's reaction closely. "Found it during a mission a while back. Why? Does it mean something?"

Rothwind grunted, his fingers tracing the glowing runes along the edge of the blade. "This is masterwork, beyond what most smiths in this city could ever hope to create. And these runes... they ain't just for show. Whoever made this sword, they knew what they were doin'."

He looked up at Alex, his gaze sharp and suddenly filled with a new kind of intensity. "This sword's got power in it. Real power. You feel it, don't ya? Like it's got a will of its own."

Alex nodded slowly. "You're right about one thing but wrong about another. The sword does have a will of its own, but it's not the work of a master."

Rothwind gave a low grunt. "What does an inexperienced brat like you know about swords! I tell you —"

"It's the work of a Grandmaster, Grandmaster Mikhail to be exact."

The moment the name 'Grandmaster Mikhail' left Alex's lips, Rothwind's entire demeanour shifted.

His usual scowl vanished, and his rough exterior melted into something that resembled awe.

His hands, which had been steady and practised as they examined the sword, began to tremble ever so slightly as he set the blade down carefully, almost reverently, on the workbench.

"Grandmaster Mikhail…" Rothwind repeated, his voice barely a whisper, as if saying the name out loud carried a weight on its own.

"You're tellin' me… this blade was made by him!?"

Alex, taken aback by the blacksmith's sudden change in attitude, nodded slowly.

"Yeah, that's what I just said. Grandmaster Mikhail crafted it. In fact, it was his last creation before he disappeared."

He narrowed his eyes slightly. "You've heard of him?"

"Heard of him!?" Rothwind looked up sharply, his eyes filled with a mix of disbelief and admiration.

"Lad, every craftsman worth their salt in this world has heard of Grandmaster Mikhail. He wasn't just a legend — he was THE legend! The finest swordsmith to have ever lived, and a genius that no one has ever come close to. His work is the stuff of myths."

Mira raised an eyebrow, glancing at Alex. "Seems like this Mikhail guy was kind of a big deal."

It was clear that her intentions were to irritate Rothwind further with this comment.

Rothwind gave a snort, but this time there was no irritation in it — just raw, unfiltered respect.

"More than a big deal, lass. They say his swords could channel the very essence of the elements themselves. That each blade he made was a masterpiece, with its own soul, capable of feats beyond what even the greatest warriors could dream of."

He turned back to Alex, a newfound sense of respect in his gaze.

"And here you are… wieldin' his last ever work…"

Alex blinked, not used to this kind of reaction.

"Yeah, well… it's been with me for a while. But I'm confused about something, Rothwind."

He gestured around the smithy, his brow furrowing as he took in the rows of armour, dusty and forgotten.

"You're not a swordsmith like Mikhail. You're an armoursmith, right? So why are you so interested in my sword? What's the connection?"

Rothwind hesitated for a moment, glancing around his own shop, as if seeing it through Alex's eyes for the first time. Chapter Read:

The soot covered walls, the piles of neglected armour, and the distant glow of the forge all seemed far removed from the elegant craft of sword making.