"A serious problem, huh…"
"Two days ago, a blacksmith here asked for my help and we went to the armory."
"To the armory?"
"Yes. He said to check the weapons needing repairs and pull them out. The first armory had fine weapons up front, but when I got ahead out of curiosity and opened a box labeled 'Swords'…"
I could guess what Giranox would say next.
"The weapons inside weren't usable. They weren't even worthy of being called weapons. The quality was abysmal."
"How bad?"
"Those swords couldn't cut through leather armor. Trying would hurt the wielder instead. They were the lowest grade possible."
"How about the front ones?"
"They were decent mid-grade, well-maintained."
Rage boiled inside me. Playing games with weapons that people's lives depend on?
"See how well managed, Armory Keeper?" I said to the keeper.
He looked stunned.
"Why does that matter?"
"It's obvious, isn't it? A scam."
I glared at the armory keeper, who stepped back.
"Why do you think it's a scam?"
"The front's pristine, but hidden in the back are junk. Classic bait-and-switch."
"Exactly. But why?"
I already knew, but I wanted Giranox to understand the gravity.
"To cheat people?"
"That's obvious. But think—who uses armory weapons?"
"Knights have personal weapons. So, soldiers and squires?"
"Yes. People without power to complain. That's who they're scamming."
The armory keeper's face turned ashen.
"Damn scum…"
"Sorry. You saw a rotten side because of me."
"No, it's not your fault."
Giranox's management was unrelated.
"But why so upset?"
"The real tragedy is this: lives are at stake."
I clenched my fist until it bled.
"Good weapons in front, trash hidden behind. Classic corruption."
The keeper's management was a sham.
"Why does it matter?"
"Those front weapons are for show. The real users—soldiers and squires—get the junk."
His eyes widened in realization.
"Without proper management from the armory keeper, the Marquisate is doomed."
The keeper trembled.
"Do you get it now?"
Giranox nodded, horrified.
"But there are places where legends hold true despite scrutiny."
I continued, my voice low.
Giranox muttered, fidgeting.
In my novel, I twisted legends to be mundane, but some retained their power.
"But why tell me?"
"You'll see."
Giranox looked puzzled.
"The armory's weapons are for the weak—who can't complain."
His face paled further.
"That's the real crime."
Giranox swallowed hard.
Next day, things escalated.
"But why?"
"Their scam hurts the powerless."
Giranox nodded.
"The armory keeper's in on it. Orders from above."
His eyes widened.
"Think—who benefits?"
Giranox pondered.
"The culprits pocket the difference from selling junk as quality."
"Exactly. But there's more."
"What?"
"The rot goes deeper."
Giranox listened intently.
"The armory's divided—front for inspections, back for actual use."
His jaw dropped.
"They're stealing from the territory's defense budget."
Giranox gasped.
"Lives lost in battle because of faulty weapons— that's murder for profit."
His face hardened.
"Now you see why I'm furious?"
Giranox nodded solemnly.
Things moved fast after that.
"Sorry to drag you into this."
"No, I'm glad I told you."
"We'll handle it."
Giranox looked relieved.
"But how?"
"Watch."
I smiled coldly.
The armory keeper's fate was sealed.