The small bell above the door jingled softly as Elara stepped into the weaponry, the scent of ozone and polished steel immediately enveloping her. The shop was surprisingly well-lit, not by magical orbs, but by carefully placed mirrors that amplified the light filtering in from the alley. Every surface gleamed, adorned with an impressive array of blades, axes, and various enchanted defenses. Her eyes immediately fixated on the sword she'd seen from outside – a long, slender blade with a hilt wrapped in dark, enchanted leather, pulsing with a faint, internal light. It felt ancient, yet alive.
A figure emerged from behind a towering rack of greataxes – a man whose broad shoulders and weathered face spoke of countless battles. His eyes, though old, held a piercing sharpness, and a faint scar ran from his temple to his jawline. He moved with the quiet grace of someone who had faced death and emerged victorious. He was clearly no ordinary shopkeeper.
"Looking for anything in particular, young one?" the man rumbled, his voice like gravel, yet not unkind. He gestured with a calloused hand towards the glowing sword. "Or has that one caught your eye?"
"That one," Elara confirmed, approaching the weapon with a reverence she rarely showed. Her fingers hovered near the blade, sensing the potent, ancient magic woven into its very core. "What is its price?"
The man's lips, surprisingly, quirked into a slight smile. "Ah, the Whisperwind Blade. A connoisseur's choice, even for someone as young as yourself. Its price, little mage, is astronomical. It demands not only coin, but respect, and a lifetime of dedication." He chuckled, a dry, raspy sound. "Let's just say it costs more than this entire shop, its contents, and perhaps half of your family's estate."
Elara felt a flicker of disappointment, quickly replaced by understanding. Such power wouldn't come cheap. "It truly feels alive," she murmured, still captivated. "Forged by a master, I presume?"
"Indeed. A master who walked the paths of old," the man confirmed, stepping closer. He picked up a simple training dagger, turning it over in his hands. "I know these lands, and I know what a true weapon means. You have the look of someone heading somewhere... untamed." His gaze sharpened. "The city whispers of your impending Rite. And your intention to venture into the Blackberry Wilds Forest."
Elara met his gaze, surprised but not deterred. "Word travels fast."
"Old adventurers hear things," he said, tapping the dagger against his palm. "I was a martial rank adventurer myself, in my younger days. Spent many a season in the Wilds. Faced things that would make lesser mages tremble." His eyes held a distant, almost nostalgic look. "A mage usually relies solely on their magic. Powerful, yes. But in the Wilds, against certain beasts, or when your mana runs dry... a sharp blade can be the difference between life and death."
Elara nodded slowly, her mind already racing. This man was a font of practical knowledge. "I'm preparing for the Rite, seeking to understand raw magic by facing true adversity. I already carry an enchanted knife, but I want to understand the... downsides of relying purely on magic. What are the practical weaknesses of a mage who depends solely on spells in a place like the Wilds?"
The man's smile widened, a grim, knowing expression. "Ah, a wise question. Most mages believe their power is absolute. But magic, young Elara, is fickle. It requires concentration. It can be disrupted. What if you're surprised from behind? What if a beast closes the distance before you can weave a ward? What if you're ensnared, and can't gesture? And what if, in the heat of battle, your well of mana simply runs dry? A blade, a bow, even a well-placed fist... these are always at your command, so long as your body holds out. Magic is power, but a weapon is certainty, when power fails."
Elara absorbed his words, a new perspective blooming in her mind. He spoke not of theoretical weaknesses, but of visceral, life-or-death scenarios. "So, a mage should cultivate more than just magical prowess?" she mused aloud.
"A true mage, heading into true wilderness," the old adventurer corrected, his eyes twinkling, "always does."