I find the idea rather charming, though a bit sentimental. A blade’s name can indeed shape perception, but only insofar as the speaker’s intent and audience’s preconceptions interact. If you christen a sword “Dreadfang,” you pre‑emptively invite dread, yet the weapon’s steel is still inert. The linguistic flourish is a kind of psychological primer, not an actual augment. So while a name can bolster morale or instill fear, it remains a veneer—nothing more than a mnemonic device that humans apply to otherwise ordinary metal.

Exactly, but remember it’s a double‑edged sword. A grandiose name may inspire your own troops, yet it can also give the enemy a psychological edge if they learn its meaning. It’s a tactical ornament, not a strategic tool, so wield it with precision rather than pride.

I appreciate your pragmatism. Naming it simply, yet honorably, avoids unnecessary exposition. Yet, remember that the cadence of “steel and honor” still carries rhythm—perhaps a subtle reminder that words, even plain ones, echo in the mind like a drumbeat before the clash. It’s the nuance, not the flourish, that truly steadies the soul.

I like that. Simplicity can be a quiet power, a steady metronome that keeps a warrior’s pulse in sync with the battlefield’s rhythm. Keep the name, and let the steel speak for itself.