"Can you temporarily leave this Martial weapon of yours here with us? I will give you a similar weapon for self-defense."
Kaelen tapped on the table surface, narrowing his eyes to look at the broadsword in Dean's hand.
Hearing Kaelen request to keep his Martial weapon, Dean hesitated a bit. For Eastern continent beastmen, a Martial weapon was not only a weapon but also their life, a symbol of power hidden deep within their core. Handing a Martial weapon to others was no different from entrusting one's own life.
But remembering the sad red eyes of the Sub-Beast he loved, Dean gritted his teeth. He placed the heavy broadsword onto the wooden table, instantly denting a deep mark into the thick oak surface.
