The Berserker's Shattered Greatsword gleams with a pale, moon-stained edge, its blade split into long, ragged facets that catch the light like ice cracking on a winter lake. Each shard seems to glow with a memory of a furious charge, as if the weapon's broken surface holds a map of battles etched in cold silver. The fuller runs with dark, smoky grooves, and the runes along its spine are half-erased by time, giving the weapon a voice that is at once ancient and restless. The grip is wrapped in scarlet leather, now worn from countless hands, and the guard bears the jagged silhouette of a snarling beast that seems to recoil as the blade remembers its former owner. When you draw it from its sheath or drop it into the dust of a battlefield, you feel the weight of a story more than metal. The shards hum with a quiet fury, a kind of tension that tightens the air around you as if the sword itself breathes in time with your heartbeat. It is a weapon born of ruin, yet still hungry for the next moment of frenzy, and that hunger is part of its charm. The Shattered title is not merely a name; it is a reminder that power here costs something — patience, restraint, the willingness to trade a moment of calm for a surge of raw, unbridled momentum. In practical terms, the Berserker's Shattered Greatsword asks a player to lean into aggression. It rewards bold crowds, wide arcs, and the unstoppable rhythm of a fighter who believes that every clash is a chorus and every miss is a drumbeat missed. Its cracked structure seems to amplify the weapon’s roar on the ground slam, the sweeping horizontal strike, and the brutal overhead cleave that sends splinters of stone and shield drops spinning into the air. For a build that pursues ferocity, the blade pairs perfectly with gear and runes that favor power and critical chance, letting fury rise in tandem with every hit. The lore echoes in its use as well — a warrior’s oath forged anew after a village’s fire, a weapon that speaks to those who fight not just to win, but to set right what chaos once tore apart. Price negotiations at Saddlebag Exchange are a social dance, a handshake written in coin and rumor. It sits between gleaming commitment and wary restraint, a sought-after relic that promises not only damage but narrative heft. The right buyer sees it as a cornerstone of a legend in motion; others walk away with a tale of a blade that refused to stay broken, becoming a weapon that completes its own story in the hands of someone ready to wield it. In the hands of a true berserker, its broken facets stop being blemishes and start becoming a map of what can still be built — not from perfection, but from the courage to swing again, and again, until the world itself learns to listen to the roar of the blade.