[A sword by his father...? Some familiarity flickers across Mandricardo's face, a gut-deep stabbing of reminded sorrow.]

...My father also had a sword that I searched for, high and wide. That was stolen from his corpse.

[That he eventually stole back. But of course, this is different - he's merely echoing the feelings deep inside. The name "Muramasa" seems familiar. Something in a history book, perhaps. A sword maker? He doesn't know the details.]

Did...did your father know what it was?