Becoming The Villain Is My Dream-Chapter 40: Weapon Store (2)

The following morning, they climbed out of the underground chamber, blinking as daylight poured through the cracks. The inn was in shambles—broken furniture, blood smeared on the floors and walls.

"Ma’am, what should we do?" one of the girls asked, her voice trembling.

"Clean everything," the head girl ordered, masking her fear behind authority. "We’ll reopen when it’s done."

"Yes, ma’am," the girl replied and hurried off.

Meanwhile, Alex and Raphael were inspecting the damage when the golden-haired girl approached them.

"Please," she said, her pink eyes pleading, "help us. We can’t keep hiding forever. I know you’re strong—you can save us."

Alex’s expression hardened. "I’m sorry, but I’m not interested in helping anyone here. Find someone else." Without another word, he walked away.

Outside, Derek was waiting by the car, speaking with the head girl. As Alex and Raphael approached, he turned to them. "Are you ready to leave?"

"Yeah," Alex replied curtly.

"Good," Derek said, then turned back to the woman. "Lisa, I understand what you’ve told me. We’ll think of something."

"Thank you, Derek," Lisa said gratefully, then looked to Alex and Raphael. "And thank you both." She smiled faintly and returned to her inn.

"Why’s she thanking us?" Raphael asked.

"Because I promised her we’d help eliminate the threat," Derek said.

Alex stopped in his tracks. "You did what? You promised her we’d help without even asking us? What if we’re not interested?"

Derek met his glare steadily. "It’s not your place to decide. It’s mine. Do you still question my authority?"

Alex didn’t reply, though his silence said plenty. Raphael looked away.

"Good," Derek said firmly. "We’ll destroy those creatures—but first, we find weapons."

Without another word, the boys followed him to the car, and they drove off toward the town’s market.

The streets bustled with noise and life, a sharp contrast to the horrors of the night. "We’ll look around for a weapon shop," Derek said as they stepped out. The market was sprawling—vendors shouting, carts rolling, the smell of metal, spices, and dust filling the air.

Raphael noticed Alex constantly glancing around. "The way you keep turning your head, I’m guessing this is your first time in a place like this?"

"I’ve never been outside before," Alex admitted quietly.

Raphael nodded, understanding. "That’s rough."

"Yeah," Alex murmured. He’d never cared for crowds or company, and now he was in the middle of both.

"Let’s try that one," Derek said, pointing toward a small shop tucked in the corner of the street. The sign above the door read Ironfang Arms.

They ducked through the low doorway and found an old man with snow-white hair polishing a blade. He looked up and smiled faintly.

"Good day, travelers," the man greeted. "What can I get you?"

"We’re looking for weapons—something durable," Derek replied. "Mind if we take a look?"

"Of course," the old man said warmly, beckoning them inside. "Come in. I’ve got just what you’re looking for."

The old man led the trio through the weapon shop, his steps slow but steady as he pointed out the polished blades glinting beneath the soft lantern light. The walls were lined with countless weapons—swords of every shape, slender spears with gleaming tips, double-edged axes, gauntlets engraved with runes, even whips and throwing knives arranged neatly on a long counter.

"This here is an alloy blade," the old man said proudly, patting the edge of a broad silver sword. "Made from pure steel from the mountains of Galdor. Durable, sharp, and balanced. Perfect for young warriors."

Raphael inspected a few of the weapons, running his fingers across their smooth handles. But Alex... Alex wasn’t impressed. His crimson eyes scanned each sword with quiet disinterest, as though none of them were even worth touching.

After a few minutes, Raphael finally picked up a sword with a crimson blade that shimmered faintly in the light. "This one feels right," he said, giving it a light swing through the air.

The old man nodded approvingly. "Ah, good choice. That one’s called Red Fang. Forged with firestone dust—it burns slightly when it cuts."

But Alex stood silently with his hands in his pockets, unimpressed by everything he saw.

"Nothing catches your eye?" Derek asked, raising a brow.

"Not yet," Alex said plainly, his tone flat. Then he turned to the old man. "Are there other swords—somewhere else? Maybe an old collection?"

The blacksmith blinked in surprise. "Other swords? Well... there’s a back room with the old ones. But I doubt you’ll find anything good there. They’re outdated and dull. Why would a young man like you want those when I’ve got new ones here?"

"I just want to look," Alex replied calmly. "Maybe the one I’m looking for isn’t new." 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

The old man sighed but gestured for them to follow. "Fine. Come along then."

He led them through a narrow passage that smelled faintly of iron and oil until they reached a small storeroom behind the main forge. The room was dim, illuminated only by a single lantern hanging from a crooked hook. Dust floated in the air, and the smell of rust was thick.

Old swords, spears, and broken shields were piled haphazardly across wooden racks and the floor.

"Here you go," the old man said. "These blades have seen their years. Not much use left in any of them."

Alex stepped forward without a word. He began examining each sword one by one—lifting them, testing the balance, observing the shine (or lack thereof). But none seemed right. None felt right.

Minutes passed before he frowned and turned toward the exit. "Let’s go. Nothing here."

He was halfway through turning when he suddenly froze. His sharp eyes narrowed slightly.

Something... called to him.

It was faint, almost unnoticeable at first—a pulse, like a whisper in the air. A dark, ominous energy that brushed against his senses from the left side of the room.

"Wait," Alex muttered.

Raphael blinked, confused. "What is it?"

But Alex didn’t answer. He walked toward the far corner of the storeroom, weaving between broken crates and tangled racks of old weapons.

"Kid, what are you doing?" the old man asked, curious now.

"I’ll be fine," Alex said without turning around. "Just... let me check something."

The closer he got, the stronger the strange aura became—like a heartbeat echoing faintly in his mind. He crouched and started clearing away old, discarded blades until, at the very bottom of the pile, he saw it.

An old, dust-covered sword. Its sheath cracked, its hilt dark and worn from age. Yet even through the dust, something about it breathed.

He picked it up. The weight felt perfect in his hand—neither too heavy nor too light.

"Kid," the old man said, his brow furrowing. "Don’t tell me that’s the sword you’re choosing."

Alex didn’t respond immediately. He ran a finger along the blade’s edge, feeling a faint vibration—like a pulse of life.

"Mr.," he finally said, eyes fixed on the weapon, "what kind of sword is this?"

The old man sighed. "That’s a Soul Sword. Its previous owner died decades ago, leaving it ownerless. Once a wielder dies, the sword loses its soul connection. It’s useless now—just a relic. No one’s ever been able to wield it since. You’d do well to throw it away."

Alex didn’t even blink. "I like it," he said simply. "I’ll take it."

Derek stepped forward, arms crossed. "Alex, that sword looks like it’ll crumble the moment you swing it. Pick something better. You’ll be laughed at when you get back to school."

"I don’t care if they laugh," Alex said, slipping the sword onto his back. "I’m taking this one, and no one’s stopping me."

He turned and walked out of the storeroom.

The old man chuckled dryly. "Strange kid. That blade isn’t worth a copper coin."

Derek sighed, pulling out some cash. "How much for the sword?"

The man shook his head. "For that? Keep your money. It’s old junk."

"Appreciated," Derek said, tucking the money away. He nodded politely and followed the boys outside.

---

Outside, Raphael was admiring his red blade in the sunlight while Alex stood still, turning the old sword in his hands, almost... listening to it.

Derek approached them. "So," he asked, "where to next?"

"I’m starving," Raphael said, rubbing his stomach. "Let’s eat before heading back."

Derek nodded and turned toward Alex, who was still lost in thought. "Let’s grab some food, before that ancient blade turns to dust."

Alex didn’t answer, still staring at the sword. Derek shook his head. "He’s hopeless," he muttered and began walking.

A few steps later, he realized Alex wasn’t following. "Hey! You coming or what?" he yelled.

"Huh? Oh, yeah!" Alex called back and jogged to catch up. Raphael chuckled quietly.

They soon found a small eatery at the corner of the marketplace—simple, crowded, filled with chatter and the aroma of roasted meat. The moment they stepped in, several people turned to stare.

But most eyes landed on Alex—and his sword.

"Look at that thing," one man whispered to his friends. "Must be an antique. Poor kid probably couldn’t afford a real one."

"Nonsense," another replied. "Look at their clothes. They’ve got money. Maybe the older man’s just stingy."

"Stingy? Yeah, I can see that. Look at his face—screams miser," another added, pointing subtly at Derek.

Alex and Raphael heard every word but pretended not to. Derek, on the other hand, clenched his jaw, visibly irritated.

They sat at an empty table, and a young waiter hurried over. "Good afternoon, sirs. What will you have?"

"Three plates of food and water," Derek said curtly.

"Right away, sir."

When the boy left, Derek turned to Alex, still scowling. "Could you please put that rusty thing down? Those idiots are mocking us because of it."

"Teacher," Alex said calmly, not even glancing at him, "why waste energy on ignorant fools? Let them talk. They’re free to showcase their stupidity however they like. I don’t care."

He said it loud enough for the nearby table to hear.

One of the gossiping boys shot up. "Hey! Did he just call us fools?"

"Yeah, he did!" another replied. "We’ll deal with them once they leave. Don’t want to break anything here—we’d have to pay for the damages."

"Right. We’ll wait outside," said the leader, glaring at Alex before they all stood up and walked out.

Derek sighed. "They’re going to cause trouble."

"I’ll handle it," Alex said simply, his tone flat and confident.