Lying on the bed, Berserk thought back to the designs the Adventurer had gathered up one by one. It was not a particularly good sign.
“Great Warrior?”
The girl, who had been busily arranging daggers, spikes, and other weapons beside her, tilted her head.
“What are you thinking about?”
“I am wondering whether to follow reason or emotion.”
Rationally speaking, yes. She did not want to wield a weapon made by that irritating bastard. She knew the Grandmaster’s weapons were of excellent quality, but to her, the quality of a tool only made the difference between something being a little more comfortable or a little more inconvenient to use. The trade-off was hardly worth enduring that much displeasure.
“Mmm. If you pick either one, which choice would be worse?”
“Who knows.”
Emotionally, however… damn it, one of the designs the Adventurer had shown her simply refused to leave her mind. It was rather ridiculous. It was not even the actual weapon, merely a fragmentary image drawn on paper, yet it had managed to capture her heart.
“If I exclude the part where I would have to bow my head to someone I dislike and accept a weapon from him, the former is worse overall.”
“…Oh, you were worrying about a weapon?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll go ask for you!”
“Don’t. One must take care of one’s own weapon. Never allow anyone else to arbitrarily choose your weapon for you.”
“……?”
“You may receive advice or recommendations, but the final decision must belong to you and you alone.”
“O-Okay,…