"It isn't the work of a noble, though," Lasha said, joining him. Her statement sounded more like a question. She seemed to think there was a deeper meaning in what he was doing, as though it would be some hidden part of what it took to be a grand swordsman.
"That makes our nobles rather weak then, don't you think?" Oliver said, as he plonked the heart down into the snow, and then went searching for a liver. "These are important tasks. If you can't do something yourself, why would you expect it of your retainers? Mm, maybe that's a bad argument… I don't know anything about smithing, but I'd still expect a smith to make me a sword. Maybe my point is just that being able to do something is better than not being able to do something?"
It wasn't exactly profound, and he frowned at his own lack of eloquence on the matter, but before he knew it, Verdant was kneeling next to him, nodding solemnly, and setting to work on removing the Hobgoblin's tongue.
