[ For a moment— just a moment— the feeling of steel in his skin seems to surprise him, as if there's something about it that seems eerily familiar. But it passes (what kind of warrior is afraid of getting hit, every now and then?), and grinds the heel of his hand against the open wound, stemming the flow by adding pressure.

Despite it all, he smiles. ]

Just a scratch. Don't trouble yourself, Master.

[ There's a red stain spreading through jade-green fabric, but Lancer shakes his head and gives an encouraging tilt of his head. ]

A Command Spell used, and yet I'm still on my feet. This is a good sign.