Cyril looked to the side, a quick glance into the forge to make sure that everything was normal and his shop was not in imminent danger of burning down. It was a nervous tick, one that was born out of the fact that if he got anxious, it was probably a way of his body telling his mind that something was off. That was usually because something was burning.
Nothing was out of place, and he looked back at the knight. "Create a sword? No, I cannot do that." It was a simple assessment of his skills, he was much better at fixing things, improving things, rather than building from scratch. "Repair and customization is more where my skills fall." He shrugged as if in apology, but he did not feel terribly apologetic. It was not something that he considered a great failure, he was old, he could only learn so many things.