ah. ares has pegged him correctly; his thirst for a war is palpable, shown only in how his tone changes when his sword is mentioned. the blades themselves are lovely, and the other man handles them with a profound, dexterous knowledge. ares is about to ask him about the steel, but he's challenged, and ares does his best not to chuckle. felix would be outmatched, and he doesn't want to best him so quickly. he is interested in seeing his prowess, however, so ares tips his head to one side and trails a single finger along the sharpened edge of the blade.

"i don't doubt you, young swordsman. my name is lord ares, and where i come from, i am the god of war. people like you usually call upon me for the tides of war to turn in their favor. one thing to remember, young myrmidon, is that there will always be someone better than you."

ares finger slides off of the tip of the sword, drawing the smallest drop of blood that rises from his skin like smoke.

"i would love to see your finesse, though not against me. surely you have some form of practice space you can share?"