Chapter 23: Take Your Pick
Velren blinked, staring at the array of weapons lining the walls. His gaze drifted from the gleaming blades to the assortment of bows, staves, and daggers.
"Wait... by 'take your pick,' you mean... a weapon?"
Gramps gave him a flat look.
"What else would it be? We ain't here to shop for pastries, kid."
Velren's lips parted, then closed again. Right... obviously.
"Uh, I mean... armor? Potions? Something?"
"Armor?" Gramps snorted.
"Like hell you'd manage to move properly in those bulky things. You rely too much on gear, and you'll forget how to use what you already got. And potions? What, you plannin' to chug 'em every time you get a scratch? Waste of coin. No—if you're gonna survive, you'll need something that complements you. Not something that'll weigh you down or make you soft."
"But... why now?" Velren asked.
"I mean—suddenly giving me a weapon is kinda out of nowhere. Did something happen?"
Gramps sighed, rubbing his temple.