[Strangely enough, those words resonate with Młynar. In a way, it’s the ideal that he believed in when he wandered the country to help the helpless. Soldiers fighting for themselves. Thinking for themselves. It feels like a distant memory, but it softens the old knight’s expression, and even brings the faintest shadow of a smile to his face.]

I like the thought. A soldier’s cause as their own, instead of one that’s been given to them by a faceless leader or company. It’s a liberating aspiration.

[By this point, the fish has become a beautiful golden-brown, marking its completion. It is delicate and flavorful, with a satisfying balance of salt and lemony acid. With a contented grunt, Młynar neatly deposits his tools on the small box beside him with a sharp *click,* before putting his creation on a plate for Cloud. Meanwhile, his expression shows clear respect for a fellow soldier- or ex-SOLDIER, whatever that might be.]

Here, eat up. Consider this my apology for a rude start to things. Sometimes this old horse becomes a little too ornery for his own good. Besides, I’m still curious about that weapon of yours. I’m still on the fence about whether I should call it a giant blade or a club.

[It’s rare for Młynar to apologize with such candour. In fact, he usually only ever did it for Toland, his old mercenary friend and war buddy. Perhaps it’s because the two of them were so alike in their philosophy?]