He drew his two-handed sword and mimicked a strike. Cara barely saw his sword flash; it shot out of its sheath, twisting, and he grabbed the sword and brought it down in an arc, all in less than a second.

It would have split a foe in two with the powerful blow. But in this tomb, it just passed through a coffin without so much as a scratch.

“I…don’t see much lightning.”

Ser Dalius looked abashed.

“Alas, my Skills seem to have deserted me in death. I still wear the armor I was buried in, and with some effort I can make my sword mimic the properties it had in life. See the quick-draw feature? And observe—I can control it so.”

He tossed the two-handed sword up and it flew back into the sheath on his back. Cara applauded politely. The [Knight] gave her a pleased bow.

“—But it is my nature as a ghost. In life, I had artifacts. For instance, my armor, upon being struck, would cause the striking blade or instrument to vibrate uncontrollably. This is just—a simulacra.”

He sighed, looking forlorn. Cara touched at her neck.

“You’re pretty dangerous to me.”

The blood had dried into a scar on her neck. Dalius regarded her and colored. Or rather—he gave the impression he did; his cheeks grew more solid and less transparent.

“I deeply regret that, Miss Cara. Had I even a drop of healing potion, I would heal it at once. Accept my apologies…”

“Wait, healing potions exist?”

“Dead gods! Don’t tell me you lack healing potions? What do you do when you sustain an injury?”

He recoiled from her. Cara hesitated.

“…Stitch it up, slap a band aid over it, and wait for it to heal without getting infected? We have shots, medicine…”

The ghost was appalled.

“Barbarians. So there’s no magic whatsoever?”

“None. But hey—we have stitches. Blood transfusions…”

She tried to describe the concept of a blood transfusion, surgery to the [Knight], but he nearly puked and made her stop.

“Horrible, how horrible! There are [Healers], of course, [Blood Mages], and all sorts who mend wounds in different ways. Not all can afford healing potions; they are expensive. But—but—cutting people open? Only the most terrible of [Doctors] do that. A mark of poverty. You don’t even have healing moss?

Dead gods, dead gods…”

He floated off. Cara sat on a stone casket to rest her aching feet. After a moment, he returned to scold her.

“Let the dead lie, Miss Cara! Have some respect for their graves!”

“You had no problem putting me on a lid when I fainted.”

She pointed out. The [Knight] huffily folded his arms.

“I placed you on an empty casket. There are a few around. Allow me to find one.”