"I'm a fairly skilled shot, second in marksmanship in my class," Zechs told him. "I'll make do with the limited ammunition, and otherwise use a melee weapon if I can get my hands on one. I am a good swordsman as well, and there isn't a point in wasting firepower if we're in close enough quarters for a blade."

Just a regular statement of fact. A few years ago, it'd be a far cockier boast, but. He's a different man now. His arrogance was worn like a natural consequence of his skill, instead of something he had to show off at any moment.

His eyes narrowed. "What made him stop?"