Olberic tries to speak, but the only thing that comes out is a cough. Once, twice, upwards of four times, even, as he keeps one hand firmly at his side. The bleeding is less than it had been before, at least, but his gloves remain stained and damp with his blood from before the wound was dressed. âTis difficult indeed to hide wounds like that, which is only a good thing despite what he would say - and has said - in protest.
(He has endured worse injuries before, he can tend to his own wounds - the same old arguments that no one seems to listen to... Unrecognisable his old self may be, âtwould seem some things may never change).
â Sometimes--... something akin to recklessness is necessary to protect others, on the contrary. â He explains, his voice quiet as he tries to hide the strain. His attempts are, of course, a fruitless endeavour.
Again, his oaths repeat in his head, over and over he recalls saying those words in precise detail. Once again the ghosts coil their fingers around his throat and the poison seeps in. He has broken his oath from his incompetence - his hesitation - once before and it cost everything. He will not do so again, no matter the cost. A knight is to die for those they swear to protect.
Worrying Ophilia is the last thing he wants to do, however, so he avoids mentioning any of that as much as possible. (Not that he would have the words to do so even if he wanted to, alas. The bottle is sealed too tightly, guarded too closely).
â A battlefield is... too uncertain to make any promises, more acquainted am I with such a fact than anyone else among us, but--... I shall... attempt. For your sake, so that I may protect you for longer, if nothing else... â
