A Bad Sign

"I'm in need of a custom-made sword," Braydon Neal declared, specifying his requirements. 

"The blade should measure three feet and three inches in length, with a frosty cold edge and a slightly thicker body."

The young man pivoted and called out, "Blackie, fetch that black sword! We have a customer looking to purchase a blade!"

"On it!" 

Another attendant hurried over, retrieving the Northern Army military sword from its display.

Accepting the sword, Braydon inspected it before offering a smile. 

"This blade feels a tad light. Could you craft a new one for me, but make it 500 pounds heavier? It needs to be perfectly suited to me. Here's the deposit. Once it's forged, send it directly to the Oracle Palace."

"Rest assured, sir. I'll have it forged within the day!" 

The young man assured him, accepting the bag containing not only spirit crystals but also something more peculiar.