He takes the sword, looking over it with some degree of reverence. No one's ever given him a gift like this before. He turns it around in his hands, getting a feel for the weight of it. Heavier than the sword he'd been given at the party, but not too heavy for him.

"You really want me to have this?" he says, though it's mostly rhetorical because Darcy's not the type to pussyfoot around, "...Thank you."

He steps back, slashing at the air. He has the dexterity and strength (well, for his age, at least) but he uses it like he'd use a knife.