He nodded, before undoing his armor, and then pulling his shirt up to show the massive bruise on his shoulder and the other on his chest from another glancing hit. "If I hadn't rolled as I had, that shoulder blow would have shattered the bone, making the arm useless. Without magic, there is no way for the body to heal correctly there, meaning this arm would have been useless. And if I couldn't get to a healer in about a week, it would have started healing, assuming we could have splinted it right so I could ride without either passing out from the pain or trying to not scream at every step of the horse."<br/><br/>She could see several other scars, bullet wounds from his heroic action back in Afghanistan. "Scars, nightmares, and a drinking problem. That is what most professional soldiers get from this job princess. Battle is the last option of any decent ruler, when every other one has been exhausted. Unless you have a large population of people and no way to feed them. But then you are just culling humans to avoid food riots."<br/><br/>He smirked, and then pulled the shirt back down, and re-attached the armor, before resuming healing. "And the smell of a battlefield. Combine a slaughterhouse, a charnel pit, and a cess pool, and you begin to approach it."