Rhys nodded slowly, focus still stuck straight ahead of him. "Yes. That's the kind I mean." He trailed his eyes down to his lap. "It... probably sounds like a strange wish, coming from me. I never did like fighting. But..." A pain seeped into his expression. "...I'm starting to grow sick of being such a deadweight."

After the even, thoughtful tone that carried those quiet words, Rhys tore his vision away from his lap and landed it directly on Nabooru as he grew more passionate. "I know I haven't been doing mercenary work in a long time! I'm not surrounded by enemies every day, nor do I have to live in a state of constant preparation of a siege. But I think that's part of it. When I was with the Greil Mercenaries, I felt... I felt like I had a purpose. I felt like facing danger every day was a way to confront my weakness. And I may not have been much of a fighter, but whenever I saved the life of one of my comrades... I felt those worries wash away."

He showed more signs of embarrassment and had more trouble looking her straight on again. "Oh, but I'm missing the point here. I may be able to save lives, but I don't even know how to defend my own. I'm starting to wonder if... if I should just keep accepting my fragility. Everyone here is so strong... And some come here weak but find a way to become strong despite that. That's very inspiring to me..."