[With the fingers that curl into what could pass more for underwater foliage than hair, cold shudders down Komaeda's spine. It's a touch that could turn to violence in an instant, and the tang of iron in his mouth is proof enough of it; but still, he remains motionless, as if doing otherwise would set some predator instinct off in Lucius and coax him to attack. Rather than tempt fate, he continues with his quieted façade and apathetic mask.

If there is one thing Lucius seems to live off of, it's reaction—and Komaeda has more than enough experience in playing outside of the way others want him to.

So, he listens with his gaze following that figure silently, once more keeping him in his sights until Lucius' striding figure disappears behind his back. He soaks in those words and lets their flavor mask the blood in his mouth, digests them and compartmentalizes. He's thoughtful for a long moment, even after Lucius has ended his monologue with dramatic effect—and whatever impress that quest for perfection has instilled within him, remains close to his chest in the face of a capricious nature.]

You have a beautiful hope, Lucius-san. [Komaeda hums, his voice a lulling sing-song that seems less awed and more indolent. In reality, he is impressed. Few take their goals so seriously, and he can only begin to imagine what one step on that path must be like—but—]

But... I assume there aren't any swordsman as skilled as you in Ryslig. So doesn't that mean you're doomed to stagnate? [His gaze sharpens, that placid smile once more a taunt rather than submission.] I can only imagine how frustrated you feel... your legacy ending in a place like this.