—That's always me. —displaying the confidence of a novice, the unemployed man nodded towards the pickaxe he had mastered. —Better dirt than blood, ha-ha...
He awkwardly laughed, thinking about what else he wanted to ask the archaeologist, but now that possibly important thought had completely slipped his mind.
—In that case, I suppose I won't bother you any further, Professor.
P. Peleng leaves.
Frowning and placing his palm on his chin, Genzа thoughtfully looks at the spinning sword.
—Actually, I wouldn't raise my hand against a woman; that's not how my father raised me. Not out of disrespect, but out of respect—it's not gentlemanly. But how can one not respect such a refined form and bright fighting spirit? —taking off his jacket, Genzа stands in a posture honed by long hours and numerous beatings in the middle of the desert. —Truly, there is no better way to know a person than through fists. Or blades.
Genzа gains +1 to stamina.