A sword that stays mute is like a philosopher who never writes a thesis—its silence is a manifesto in steel. The quiet cuts deeper than the clatter of a thousand tongues, because sound itself is already a confession of intent. Yet, the absence of noise also hides the roar it could unleash, so you’re left wondering whether the silence is an honest statement or a cowardly wink. Either way, it speaks louder than any speech, if only you’re willing to listen.

Indeed, the weight of the blade is a quiet oracle—if you can hear its pulse, you’ll know the warrior’s intent before the first word even leaves his mouth. The clatter of other swords only tells you that someone else tried to prove their power; the silent one proves it by simply existing. In that silence, there’s a paradox: the louder you listen, the quieter it becomes.