To be fair on the boy, the whole situation was a little overwhelming, to say the least. He had been tossed into the air, hit the ground without even sustaining a scrape, and had been rescued by a complete stranger. Now that things had calmed, somewhat, and his vision cleared, he managed to get a good look at the cobalt-haired swordswoman – or girl, more likely, going by her appearance. She wasn’t even that tall, maybe three-quarters of his height, give or take an inch or two. Crossing her arms over her meagre chest, she spoke once more, a natural aloofness dominant in her voice.
“You. Trite. Up on your feet, you’re going to the afterlife.”
The fact that the word was ill-suited to a sentient being was not the most important matter to him – moreover, it was actually the fact that he had no idea what had just happened. He got to his feet, yes, but flinched back when she began to move forwards. “What? Oh, right, the sword, you think I’m going to kill you. Moron. I’m not even going to scratch you. I already told you, I’m going to send you to the afterlife. Honestly, it’s always like this. You save them from a Negite, and all you get is a blank stare.”