human
Wilhelm:  The dance of death and steel was reaching its climax. Wilhelm wielded his blade with a chilling clarity, growing ever faster and more nimble. Libre’s responses with his twin blade were balletic, but his injuries were increasing as he found it harder and harder to avoid Wilhelm’s blows. This startling display of swordsmanship was the result of a mind-boggling talent combined with Wilhelm’s own sweat and tears. Libre had lived a long life and knew few who could challenge him in combat. He could only feel admiration at having found a challenger in a boy so young. This was ominous, he thought. He felt that not only the boy’s sword technique boded ill, but also the quality of his humanity. He was incomplete, imperfect. Immature. He was still young, and had not yet mastered himself. He said that he wanted to be steel. To be the swipe of a sword. Perhaps that was the task he had set himself and the motivation that had driven him. The weight and quickness of his strikes could have been achieved through halfhearted effort. But as he dodged and deflected the blows with his twin blade, Libre could feel that the torrent of emotion contained in the attacking sword was not that of steel. The emotions burned hot, and steel did not heat itself. It was the way of the human heart to be swayed by feelings, but it was those same emotions that gave intensity to their fighting. This devil who wished to be a sword—was still human.
gpt
Libre:  "Heh-heh."
human
Wilhelm:  Wilhelm’s face was covered in blood. "What’s so funny? !"
gpt
Libre:  "Oh, nothing." Libre said. "It’s simply that even as we try to kill each other, I simply can’t get excited about fighting a wooden opponent.