The next morning, Ravi woke to the rhythmic pulsing of the Thaumaturgic Resonance Monitor on his nightstand. It was like waking up next to a magical alarm clock that was also spying on you.
He poked it. It didn't stop.
"Great," he muttered. "Morning, Celeste. Hope you enjoy the data on my sleep habits."
He dressed quickly, careful not to rip his shirt buttons off, and headed into the city. Lyanna had promised to help him find a weapon, which sounded like a recipe for disaster, but he couldn't exactly say no. A warrior without a weapon was suspicious. A warrior with a broken broom handle was just pathetic.
He found Lyanna waiting near the smithy district, the clang of hammers on anvils ringing through the air. She looked eager, like a kid in a candy store, if the candy was made of sharpened steel and lethal intent.
"Ready?" she asked, not wasting time on pleasantries.
"As I'll ever be," Ravi replied. "Try to find something that won't... spontaneously sublimate."
She led him past the standard stalls selling mass-produced swords and axes. "Those won't do," she dismissed with a wave of her hand. "Iron is too brittle for... your style. We need something with magical conductivity. Something that can handle stress."
She stopped in front of a small, dimly lit shop tucked away in a corner. The sign above the door was a piece of driftwood with a single, blackened hammer burned into it.
"Master Dwarven Smithy?" Ravi read. "Seems a bit on the nose."
"Grumbar is the best in Aethelgard," Lyanna said, pushing the door open. "He doesn't care about flash. He cares about metal."
The shop was hot, smelling of coal dust and ozone. Weapons of all shapes and sizes hung from the walls, but unlike the shiny displays outside, these looked heavy, dark, and dangerous.
A short, stout figure emerged from the back room. Grumbar was a dwarf in the classic sense—beard down to his belt, arms as thick as tree trunks, and a face that looked like it had been carved from granite.
"Lady Stormforge," he grunted, his voice a deep rumble. "Broke your sword again?"
"Not this time, Grumbar," she smiled. "I need something for him." She gestured to Ravi.
The dwarf squinted at Ravi, his dark eyes assessing him. "Him? He looks like he'd struggle lifting a soup spoon."
"Appearances can be deceiving," Lyanna said. "He needs durability. Extreme durability. Weight isn't an issue."
Grumbar raised a bushy eyebrow. "Is that so?" He reached under the counter and pulled out a massive warhammer. The head was a block of black iron the size of a microwave. "Try this. Solid meteorite ore."
Ravi looked at the thing. It probably weighed two hundred pounds. He reached out and grabbed the handle with one hand. To him, it felt like a plastic toy.
He lifted it effortlessly. He gave it a little toss in the air, spinning it once, and caught it by the handle.
"Hmm," Ravi said, frowning. "Bit unbalanced. Top heavy."
Grumbar's jaw dropped. He looked at the hammer, then at Ravi's scrawny arm, then back at the hammer. "That... that weighs eighteen stone! You're swinging it like a fly swatter!"
"He has... unique mechanics," Lyanna interjected quickly, before Grumbar could start asking uncomfortable questions. "What about material strength? If he hit something with this... full force... would it hold?"
Grumbar recovered from his shock, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Meteorite is tough. But rigid. If he's... forceful... the handle might snap from the recoil. You need something flexible. Something that absorbs impact rather than fighting it."
He disappeared into the back room again, the sounds of rummaging echoing out. "Where did I put it... ah! The Widowmaker!"
He returned dragging—actually dragging—a long, wrapped bundle. He heaved it onto the counter. The thud shook the floorboards.
He unwrapped it.
It wasn't a sword. It wasn't really an axe. It was a polearm of some kind, a glaive, maybe? The shaft was made of a dark, reddish metal that looked almost organic, like twisted muscle. The blade was a curved, jagged crescent of black steel that seemed to absorb the light around it.
"Adamantite alloy core," Grumbar explained proudly. "Sheathed in Crimson Steel from the volcanic deeps. It's not just hard; it's dense. Impossibly dense. I forged it for a Titan-blood berserker ten years ago. He couldn't lift it."
Ravi looked at the weapon. It was ugly. It was brutal. And it looked heavy enough to anchor a battleship.
He reached out. The metal was cold, unnervingly so. He wrapped his fingers around the shaft.
He lifted it.
It had weight. Not much—to him it felt like a standard baseball bat—but enough that he could actually feel it in his hands. It didn't feel flimsy. It didn't feel like it would snap if he looked at it wrong.
"How's the balance?" Grumbar asked, his voice hushed.
Ravi gave it a test swing. The air whistled—a low, mournful shriek—as the blade cut through it. He stopped the swing instantly, the weapon halting dead in the air without a tremble.
"It's... good," Ravi admitted. A slow smile spread across his face. For the first time since arriving in this world, he was holding something that felt real. "I'll take it."
"It's not for sale," Grumbar grunted.
"What?" Ravi and Lyanna said in unison.
"It's not for sale," the dwarf repeated. "It chooses its wielder. If you can lift it, it's yours. Consider it a loan. I want to see what happens when you actually hit something with it."
Ravi looked at the terrifying weapon in his hand. "Thanks. I'll try not to break it."
"If you break that," Grumbar laughed, a sound like rocks tumbling down a hill, "I'll retire and become a florist."
They walked out of the shop, Ravi with the massive glaive resting on his shoulder as if it were made of papier-mâché. Passersby stared. Most adventurers carried swords or staves. Ravi was carrying a weapon that looked like it belonged to a raid boss.
"Subtle," Lyanna noted dryly.
"Hey, it's durable," Ravi shrugged. "And nobody is going to want to spar with me now. I can just look scary and avoid fights."
"Or attract bigger ones," Lyanna countered. "That weapon screams 'challenge me'."
As if summoned by her words, a commotion broke out down the street. Screams. The sound of shattering wood.
A massive shape was rampaging through the market. A Minotaur. Except this one was wearing plate armor and frothing at the mouth, its eyes glowing a distinct, unnatural purple.
"A rampage!" someone screamed. "Run!"
Guards were trying to surround it, but the beast swatted them aside like dolls. It was tearing through stalls, heading straight for a group of trapped civilians huddled against a wall.
Lyanna didn't hesitate. She drew her greatsword and sprinted toward the danger.
Ravi sighed. "So much for avoiding fights."
He hefted his new weapon. The heavy black blade gleamed. The Thaumaturgic Resonance Monitor on his belt began to beep frantically.
"Alright, Widowmaker," he muttered to the glaive. "Let's see if Grumbar knows his stuff."
He took a step, not running, but striding with purpose. The ground cracked slightly under his boot.
This wasn't a spar. This wasn't an act. This was a monster threatening innocent people.
And for the first time, he had a weapon that might just be able to keep up with him.