The streets of Erandel were as alive as ever.
Sunlight poured over rooftops, glinting off signs and banners swaying in the breeze. The scent of grilled meat, fresh bread, and brewing potions mixed in the air, giving the town its familiar chaotic charm.
Renji walked through the busy town square, his dark coat fluttering slightly as he moved past stalls and adventurers alike.
People were starting to notice him now.
"Is that the guy who beat the Forest Howler?"
"He's the one who took down Kaine, right?"
"He looks like just another quiet kid though…"
Renji ignored the whispers. His destination wasn't fame.
It was preparation.
He turned onto a quieter street tucked between two inns and a potion shop.
A faded wooden sign creaked overhead:
[Old Fang – Weapon Emporium]
"…Not exactly what I expected."
Renji muttered, glancing at the chipped door.
Still, something about it tugged at him.
He stepped inside.
The shop was dimly lit and smelled of dust and oiled steel. Rows of weapons hung on the walls — most of them old, worn, or rusted. Nothing sparkled or looked particularly new.
Behind the counter stood a hunched old man with a gray beard and squinted eyes. He glanced up slowly.
"Hmph. You're not one of the loud ones."
Renji stepped closer.
"I need a sword. One-handed. Light, reliable."
The old man stroked his beard.
Without a word, he walked to the back, rummaged through a pile, and came back with a sheathed blade.
It looked… ordinary.
The hilt was wrapped in faded black leather. The guard was chipped. The sheath was scratched with age.
"That one's been here for years,"
the old man said gruffly.
"Nobody wanted it. Too plain. Too old. But it's sharp. Balanced. Won't break."
Renji took it and drew the blade halfway.
To his surprise, the steel was untouched. Pristine. No rust. It gleamed faintly — not with shine, but… with something else.
"…How much?"
he asked.
"Thirty silver,"
the old man replied, then added,
"but don't come crying if it shatters on you."
Renji handed over the coin and strapped the sword to his belt. The moment he did, a strange sensation pulsed through his palm.
A faint hum.
Like the blade had… acknowledged him.
Outside, a pair of adventurers walking by noticed the sword.
"Hah, what's that? A relic from a junk pile?"
"Poor kid probably got scammed."
Renji glanced at them briefly, then walked past, silent.
"It might look old… but it doesn't feel that way."
He rested his hand on the hilt.
Something told him this sword had a story—one that no one had uncovered yet.
Just as he turned toward the north path, a voice called out:
"Yo! You're that guy from the guild, right?"
Renji turned to see a boy his age jogging toward him — energetic, with messy blond hair and a wooden staff strapped across his back.
"Name's Lark! I saw you drag those thugs into the guild yesterday. That was wild!"
Renji nodded politely.
"Just doing what needed to be done."
Lark grinned.
"You heading out again? What's next? Goblins? Bandits? Giant slimes?"
Renji smirked faintly.
"Something a little bigger."
Lark's eyes sparkled.
"Whoa… let me know if you ever need backup!"
"Maybe."
With that, Renji turned down the road leading toward the northern ravine, his coat catching the wind and his hand resting lightly on the worn hilt of the sword.
To everyone else, it was just a scrap of steel.
But Renji could feel it — This sword wasn't ordinary. It was waiting for the right wielder.
And now… it had one.
Then Renji walk out the guild.
"Now....It time to begin my first step!!"