Meikyuu Toshi no Antique Shop

"Hey, you have high eyes.

Yes. That's quite the Devil's Sword.

Whatever, the original owner is a master of a tremendous sword. Because it's like the bards are going to tell you that name.

Of course. The ability of the sword is powerful there. It is a delicacy that can be cut off like butter, whether it is rock or steel.

... but yeah. The great thing about this sword isn't its ability.

A certain 'qualification' will be required to deal with this. That is not an exaggeration when it comes to some kind of talent, something that no one, however skilled, can possibly hold that way.

I mean, if you can handle this, that person could be a master of a tremendous sword, right?

That's why I have a lot of customers I want, but I can't really show up and honestly sell them out.

What kind of 'qualification'?

Yeah, let me tell you something. That's... "

◆

Blood-coated skeleton (Red Skeleton).

A monster whose skeleton (skeleton) continues to take countless lives and is supposedly transformed as a result of massive blood exposure.

Cursed, that deep red seems to have strong resistance to all attacks.

The man cursed in his heart the bad luck of getting out with such a monster.

There have already been more than a hundred attacks, but the body of the bloody skeleton (Red Skeleton) is still unable to even damage one shard. This nasty bone monster couldn't even seem to hurt with just a sword.

My breath hurts. My arms are heavy.

My body was worn out.

I didn't know if I could wield another blow, but I didn't think it made sense where I tried that.

Hurry and drop your hips.

An enemy passing by like a stroke on his forehead - a massacre of bloody skeleton (Red Skeleton).

Colour-in.

The dripping blood wets my left eye.

And there comes a relentless pursuit.

A second blow from the tarnishing upper level - a brain slaughter.

I can no longer move my legs.

I couldn't avoid it.

The man regrets it again.

I wanted to go the way of the sword.

I started exploring the dungeons in the middle of nowhere because I couldn't eat just that.

As it turns out, I was the farmer's son.

I guess an outrageous man was punished for dreaming big about it.

And at the moment when the rough blade of the Great Jubilee approached, it was - for whatever reason - numerous bittersweets and curses thrown at him so far.

◆

"The son of a peasant is a peasant."

Distant memory.

I want to be a swordsman. For the strongest swordsmen. The words of my father, who vomited to tell me such child-stained dreams with his eyes straight when he stopped sifting his hands, denied that they were merely facts.

I remember it was harder than playing a prank and getting beat up.

"You're like you're not talented."

The first time I held a wooden knife, a young man who wanted to go through made fun of me for saying it in half.

He was said to be a delicacy once in a decade, a masterpiece he was called 'Undoubled' at a young age.

Since then, the word has become as damaging to my heart as a curse for decades.

'I won't say anything bad. You should give up and go back to your hometown. "

The words of the Master when he gestured and showed them in the dojo he tried to get started.

His seemingly pathetic face resembled that of a monk when he examined his father invaded by terminal illness.

"I can't believe I have someone I can beat."

Words at the dojo, when I finally lost to a child who had just arrived in ten.

From then on, no one will be able to put on an archery, and they will only be forced to pretend barely.

I think I've got the habit of pretending to be bareback here as long as I have time.

"Now you've lost three months of New America with your sword in your hand."

The man who faked his name, his identity, and was beside him when he lost the qualifying round for the martial arts tournament he participated in.

I felt that the five years of holding the wooden knife without rest had been settled.

Then I remember seeping tears into my eyes and continuing to waver until I had finished three days and three nights.

'You're kidding me. The dungeon isn't a place for suicide, is it?

Words officials have told me to throw up when I made up my mind to be an explorer to eat with my sword and show my bare hands in the registration review of the Explorers' Union.

Since then, I've had the habit of thinking extensively about what was wrong until I had a fever.

"Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha.

Reunion with acquaintances who aspired to the same path. Words because he was drunk as he drank alcohol and blossomed into swordsmanship rigging.

I was reminded of an immature self who had nothing to gain enough to talk about.

I indulged in remorse and made a desperate smile.

"You don't deserve it when you do, so I'll turn you into a liquor bill."

The first long sword full of blade spills in his hand was unravelled by bandits on the road for three days.

Caused, it was nothing but my immaturity that was lightly taken up before I set up.

"Bullshit," "Husband, you've often made me live like that," "Sadly Clumsy Man," "Come on, will you be serious?" "You better give up now."

Complaints.

Curse.

Care.

Taunt.

Pity.

Many pathetic, hard words a man has ever been thrown at in his life.

They circle the back of your brain like a running lantern.

◆

- But.

My arm bounced naturally and when I noticed it, I was groaning to get a big bang.

Only my body denied it.

Somewhere in my head I hear another voice.

I'm sure it's not a curse.

He said it was not a shackle.

That it is all a blessing to reprimand, inspire, and train oneself.

The bloody skeleton (Red Skeleton), who missed a decision hit, murmured something bitterly. It was a curse by simple ancient language that even men could understand.

That was needlessly light compared to the heart-to-heart words we had received so far, and it was unlikely to be as if it were a reason to stop hands.

Twist yourself out of the motion after you rip it off and slap it. The sword goes straight to the ribs of the bloody skeleton (Red Skeleton) as it slips.

I won't lose. I'm not going to die.

I'll keep typing you in for hundreds or thousands later.

At that moment of such determination, the long sword glows blurry and blue and white.

Surprised.

I thought it was a product, so I picked it up. Apparently it was a grant tool.

Slash - The body of a bloody skeleton (Red Skeleton) that should be strong is not bounced when touched with a sword body.

On the contrary, the blade slashed in without any resistance.

That's as light a touch as the illusion that you put a shovel in the open soil.

Creepy golden cuts are raised.

I got through.

The man who thought so then kept waving his sword like crazy. Even, just, repeat the attack until the scream stops.

And I noticed that the bloody skeleton (Red Skeleton) had disappeared from my sight. Instead, massive pieces of shattered red bone are scattered at your feet.

Oh......

I knocked him out.

I was able to survive.

The man went from relief to frightened and went into the spot for a while.

He doesn't know yet at this time.

That the sword in your hand recognized the gift of obtaining only a very limited amount.

To eat, the fact that the quest for the dungeon he started is gradually building up his arms.

The growing number of hierarchies that we can trace is spreading his own name to the Labyrinth City.

And how long is it destined to be called a swordsman?

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Identification Card "Iron Slash Sword (Luxury)"

"Tell him that he will not fail in the archery of ten thousand days, to give three thousand seven hundred and twenty-five drops of blood - and the world shall put them on ten thousand degrees, and stab them a thousand degrees, and tear them a hundred degrees, and punish them with one and all, and with the sword of the owasamo."

The maker was Barried Winchester, known as the 'Blacksmith'. He is a stranger, more committed to the construction of the weapon itself, which becomes the material, than to the granting of abilities, and sometimes allegedly entered the workshop himself and waved the hammer.

He also said he offered the work pleasantly to whoever it was, but instead demanded an odd 'qualification' or 'price' from the owner. Says, "By continuing to use it for more than fifty years, humans can get illusion effects," "You can't use it unless you're a boy with powerful ambitions," "If you meet God, you'll always be cursed if you don't get slashed," etc.

They were supposedly inspired by the Far East martial arts books he supposedly read. He seemed to have a strong vision for an island nation that was engaged in endless national theft matches.

And this' iron slaughter sword 'can be described as a work of intense taste. Because the warriors of the Far East deal with a uniquely shaped sword - a knife. Because it was built with a focus on that design idea that made me specialize in' slashing '. The shape is the common long sword bearing in mind that' slap it and kill it ', but it is possible to cut it no matter how hard it is. Even dungeon stone walls, thick steel armor, shields fortified by witchcraft, and those rare highest hard mineral misrills at the end should be easy to slash and tear.

Now, this sword, formerly used by a well-known master of swords, has not been found since. Honestly, 'qualifications' are too strict to sell. In a way, it's a restricted age.

So much for this sword, which is under strict conditions of use, but if anyone is confident, be sure to try it in our store!