Brushing the snow off his body, Liszt had recovered his usual elegance. Despite a lingering hint of having been suffocated on his face, his gaze was exceptionally clear.
A vigorous battle was enough to dispel the restlessness stemming from physiological urges.
He picked up the greatsword that Paris had dropped on the ground and found that, despite many collisions, the blade had not worn at all: "Your greatsword, the craftsmanship is exquisite. We've fought over a dozen times, and I've never seen it damaged; it must be more than just fine steel."
Paris took back her greatsword, with traces of flush still on her beautiful face and the sound of her slightly panting breath exuding a uniquely feminine laziness.
Her eyes sparkled brightly: "This greatsword comes from the collection of a viscount in the Maple Leaf Duchy. I'm not sure about the level of its craftsmanship, but it caught my eye, so I took it." After all, as a female thief, she spoke of pilfering as if it were only natural.