"Your Grace," Vargas sidles up to Deus. "I've been watching our fighters and wondering: do they have what it takes to make their weapons sing? For instance, milord von Himmel — he's very skilled in marksmanship; I myself could barely dodge his attacks. Yet the quartermaster issued him a stock bow. As a result, he couldn't snatch victory from milady Stefania, for whom my respect knows no bounds. Of course, skill prevailed here, but one can also feel that equipment might have played a role to some small extent. Or, for example, milord Yin — he always helps us, is exceedingly gallant, I love him more than anyone. But there's something about it, as if he's lacking a bit of impact. Exclusively in comparison with other colleagues — who have artifact upon artifact — and they don't hesitate to use them for victory," he glances at scout Orvald, who is changing his barding. "Just a thought, nothing more. I'm guilty of my own observant nature."
Happy Life
My sword, my trusted ally, unphased by my aspect.
