Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School Chapter 126: Etholin's Gambit

The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts. The Hall of Champions. Local Ti: 1210 Hours.

Qiv

Entertainnt.

This was simply entertainnt at its finest.

The earthrealr versus the pronarthiarealr.

The battle of the brutes.

The struggle of the uncivilized.

The expectant ends of the two extres of barbarism, held within what could hardly be called a challenge, but instead the last remnants of a barbaric practice.

Physical violence, and indeed any sort of physical exertion wherein the sapient were reduced to their flesh and body, was an activity unbefitting of the modern sapient.

Yet despite this… I found myself inexplicably drawn to today’s brutish aims.

Does this not make , in a roundabout sense, an accomplice of the uncivilized?

Perhaps it does.

But alas, such thoughts are best reserved for the drawing room.

In this stadium of political ambition, it would be action which would co to dictate one’s place in the greater gas.

And in this case, it was the fate of the foolish Ping’s reputation that was on the line.

It was perhaps this fact which prompted my sudden and uncharacteristic investnt in this display of barbarism. The fact that his losses were my gains weren’t lost on , nor anyone paying attention for that matter. Indeed, in a strange twist of fate, I now found my interests aligning with the newrealr of all people.

Now the newrealr… that was a wildcard that I truly had no bearings on.

Her enigmatic nature extended to her aims, in spite of all her self-purported claims to the contrary.

Though frankly, it mattered little what her aims were in the grand sche of things. Her very nature was an elent of self-sabotage, and her actions spoke little to her aims in the greater gas. Therefore, so long as she remained a thorn in Lord Ping’s side, then she would remain useful in my eyes.

Lord Rostarion was adamant about that fact.

However, these thoughts, amidst many others, soon faded into the background as the Waltz began in earnest.

My eyes, non-elven as they were, remained poised on Ping’s opening moves.

The extent of which could only be described in a word befitting of the man himself — uninspired.

The pronarthiarealr had augnted his form, yet had only elected to barrel forwards, resulting in the newrealr sidestepping his opening assault in one effortless motion.

This was… impressive for reasons similar to the prior week’s gauntlet. However, I pushed those reservations aside for now, as it was clear Lord Ping wasn’t done with the newrealr just yet.

It would be his next move that truly drew attention not just from , but the discerning eyes amidst the crowd.

As the zealot, perhaps out of desperation, augnted his physicality beyond what should have been necessary.

Even from here, I could feel the desperation in the sheer influx of mana into the man’s manafield. A growth of potential in both magical energy and an emboldened will, which would have surely resulted in the newrealr’s demise. Or at the very least, ensure that he would make contact with this manaless beast this ti around.

My sense of assuredness, however… wavered.

As unlike the zealous Ping, my mind dared to consider the possibility of the impossible when it ca to this newrealr.

I watched on, my brows narrowing, as I shifted my focus entirely away from my manasight to the corporeal world before .

I dared not blink as I felt a surge of energy erupting from the field below.

The man had surged forward, his form nothing short of perfect, his tactics blunt and unforgiving, his victory seeming assured—

And yet… in spite of this, the newrealr was still able to react.

The sight was jarring. As I witnessed not a waltz, but a one-sided ballet.

The Crimson Waltz’s nasake was drawn from the back and forths between the manafields of both attacker and defender. With the forr party attempting to obfuscate their manafields, and the latter attempting to sense and interact with the forr’s in order to predict the course of an attack.

This ebb and flow of mana betwixt two adversaries painted a stunning display of light magic that the ancients likened to a waltz.

Yet all of that was absent today in this particular song and dance.

As I saw not a push and pull of manafields, but the maelstrom that was Ping’s projections crashing listlessly against the immovable mountain that was the newrealr.

Indeed, what had replaced this typically spectacular sight was nothing short of equal parts absurdity and foreboding.

A fact that continued and was exemplified as I watched as Lord Ping finally made contact with the newrealr… only to be tackled up and over her uncompromising form.

There was no beauty nor grace in the earthrealr’s movents. No sense of the martial arts to overco the deadness of her lack of participation in this waltz. Indeed, there was an overwhelming — nay, overbearing sense of frigidity in each and every one of her movents after her first evasion.

It was a coldness that bordered on lifelessness; a trait that I could only ascribe to the inanimate.

The newrealr had replaced even the grace of movent with a cold calculating efficiency which extended to each and every one of her grapples.

It was… frightening in a sense. Especially when one took into consideration the lack of a palpable manafield and the deadness of her armor.

A borderline sense of dread threatened to overtake as I watched the incorporeal tendrils of Ping’s manafield grappling and siphoning mana at distressing rates. Only to see these efforts result in a repetitive and seemingly assured defeat.

THWWOOOMP!

Ti—

THUD!

—and ti—

BONK!

—and ti again.

Each defeat, dealt by the hands of a being that simply did not care.

It was this… casualness of callousness, coupled with a lack of participation in the manafield waltz, that truly beckoned a nacing aura from the newrealr.

Though strangely, this didn’t seem to be the only peculiarity of the afternoon’s proceedings, as my eye spotted movent from the bleachers below.

I shifted my gaze, watching in silent fascination at the polite dash undertaken by Lord Etholin Esila as he made his way across the entire swath of the student body just to reach Lady Ladona of all people.

This newfound developnt was a welco sight, especially as Ping had reached his limits at around the fifth or so round.

It was a sha, though, that both were wise enough to deploy a privacy screen before I could discern anything other than whispers over Lord Ping’s performance.

Despite that, one thing remained abundantly clear to — whatever the outco, I would remain a spectator to sobody’s fall.

The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts. The Hall of Champions. Local Ti: 1235 Hours.

Chiska

I slled blood in the air. Proverbial blood, but blood all the sa.

The lack of a waltz made this fight feel more genuine, as a lack of any noble predispositions painted a gritty, realistic depiction of the way skirmishes truly panned out in the real world.

That was to say, it was unpredictable, ugly, and most of all, it rewarded the party with the most tricks up their sleeves.

The earthrealr, by her very nature, was playing the part of the master tactician. By no ans of her own skills at this particular junction, of course, but by sheer force of enigmatic presence.

She was, quite literally, an unknown force for any opponent.

But this was by no ans a slight against her current opponent’s capabilities, as Lord Ping was hardly a slouch, my corporeal vision and manasight alike taking note of the man’s impeccable form. A form that was naturally suited to the physical arts, as the augntation of his body via magic seamlessly complented his natural beastly strengths. Moreover, the man’s zealotry produced a sheer and unbridled tenacity that I believed rivaled and even surpassed the earthrealr’s.

Yet it was by this very tenacity that I watched as the man fumbled forwards into repeated defeats.

My heart raced, beating harder and harder as I saw these precocious attempts at snatching victory from the jaws of defeat… only to witness the near golem-like motions of the earthrealr’s martial prowess.

Unlike her first opening moves, there was sothing… rehearsed about these latter moves that I simply could not put my finger on.

It was as if she’d practiced this very move, ti and ti again, to the point where she’d mastered this one motion.

And yet, in any other instance, such dedication to the arts would’ve made one a master of their craft.

Not a re student.

And especially not a candidate who was expected to beco a novice of all trades in preparation for their Nexian pilgrimage.

When coupled with whispers through the faculty and her peculiarly rehearsed speaking mannerisms, it all painted the newrealr with inclinations far beyond what even the most seasoned of favored adjacent realms could muster.

This notion was reaffird yet again, as the match was reset for an eighth ti, and I watched as Lord Ping was yet again tackled.

Though most would’ve seen his attempts as nothing more than repetitive, I could note that the man was trying sothing different in each and every round.

Slight modifications to his form, such as the angle of his opening step, the manner in which his arms were raised, and the twisting motions of his elbows — all of it pointed to a man ready to snatch the newrealr by either her waist or legs, all in an attempt to utilize her weight and heft against her.

All in an attempt to force leypull to do half of his work.

But in spite of this, and in spite of ti slowing to a crawl as I watched the critical junction that was physical contact, I was yet again witness to the earthrealr’s stunning reaction ti. As her arms first gripped the pronarthiarealr’s elbows, sliding up to his upper arms, taking the initiative before lowering her own form, completely circumventing Ping’s plans as she once again gripped his waist for a tackle.

There was… a thod to what most would see as simply repetitive madness.

A thod that I noted was also a complete spit in the face of the crimson portion of the Crimson Waltz.

For whilst I did sll blood in the air, it was in fact taphorical.

Lord Ping was bleeding his own manafield dry, so to speak. Burning through his constitution, whilst Cadet Emma Booker continued conserving energy whilst preventing injury.

It was that latter part that was truly remarkable too.

This was the point that delineated her golem-like nature, demonstrating that there was indeed a sapient mind, or perhaps soul, hidden beneath that armor.

Each and every maneuver, as practiced as they were, were all committed to limiting injury not just to herself but her opponent.

Cadet Booker could have very easily broken, twisted, or even snapped sothing that would’ve led to first death following the third or fourth round.

A fist to the face at high speeds.

A grapple of the man’s upper form, forcing impact on his head or neck.

Or even a well-placed impact on his major bones, leading to massive and life-threatening bleeding that would’ve required a healer’s imdiate attention.

She had every opportunity and every right to deliver the man serious injuries.

Did you know this story is from ? Read the official version for free and support the author.

And yet, the only injuries she gave him were directed towards what probably hurt most — his ego.

It was by the ninth round that I noted Lord Ping’s deteriorating constitution.

The writing was on the wall as it were, and there was little chance of him moving forward at this junction.

This… truly was his last stand, a fact that the man seed to understand, as he took far longer to prepare for this final altercation.

I could feel the discordant thrums of desperate siphoning tugging and pulling at the latent manastreams.

I almost felt sothing akin to an excessive degree of magical potential, alerting my senses to the possibility of cheating.

However, a quick glance at his person and his uniform revealed nothing out of the ordinary. No illegal enchantnts, no hidden artifacts, nor anything that could provide unfair advantage.

This… truly was a final last burst of potentially injurious actions, prompting to keep a closer eye not only on Ping but also on his intended target.

Ti slowed to a crawl as I counted down the seconds.

“Ready.” I beckoned, my eyes darting back and forth.

“Steady.” I continued, as I could see the motions of Ping’s muscles and manafield both corporeally and intangibly.

I held a breath, glancing briefly towards the stoic and unyielding Booker.

“GO!”

I felt a massive disturbance in the manastreams. Then, in quick succession, a degree of speed and untempered motion resulted in injuries to Ping as he overextended himself prior to even reaching the earthrealr.

Yet that didn’t stop his gambit, as the resultant forces of his grapple were felt by the earthrealr in full.

Or more specifically, on her hands in full.

I heard a sound that in any other instance would’ve been trivial, but in the earthrealr’s instance, sent shivers up my spine.

CRRRK!

My heart skipped a beat as I blinked over towards her direction in a single motion.

Should sothing compromise her suit, there is nothing you can do. Vanavan’s warnings rang loud, clear, and resonant in my mind.

The signs of harmonization should be clear, crisp, and tangibly visible. You cannot miss it. I scoured for disruptions in the manafield… finding nothing, save for the small disruptions in its currents from the squirming and injured Ping.

“Healer!” I yelled for Ping’s sakes whilst still attempting to ascertain Emma’s condition.

Only to see her raising a hand, watching as its fifth digit was bent backwards in a way that it clearly wasn’t designed to do.

However, that single motion was enough to assuage all of my concerns.

Any motion was indicative of her survival, as harmonization would’ve simply been an instantaneous death.

There was no threshold for injury, only a closing encounter. Of the third kind too.

In contrast, even first death was reversible for Ping.

Speaking of which—

Poke!

I felt a small note flying and then landing in one of my pockets, interrupting my trail of thought.

I turned to the bleachers, finding the source of this disruption in the gas, and narrowing my eyes at the man whose decision had instigated this challenge in the first place.

Whilst the two students remained squirming on the ground, I quickly opened up the letter, only to find a simple ssage that completely upended this entire challenge.

With a silent nod, I moved to summon my whistle and in a single motion, I raised both the letter and breathed out a sharp, shrill tune.

“Challengers!” I directed my attention at the pair, before turning to face the bleachers. “Witnesses! I hereby call this challenge annulled! Under grounds of voluntary forfeiture by one Lord Etholin Esila!”

The air tensed, as I cleared my throat for this next formality. “Does anyone find issue with Lord Etholin Esila’s terms?”

The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts. The Hall of Champions. Local Ti: 1235 Hours.

Ilunor

A FORFEITURE?!

My whole body trembled as I was t with the expectant eyes of tens of gold-hungry students.

“I am quite certain that a compromise can be reached in which this challenge may—”

“I recognize Lord Etholin Esila’s terms and consider this challenge moot.” A student spoke, which triggered a cascade of agreeable nods and similar sentints from a whole swath of the student body.

“NO! NONONONO! I FIND ISSUE WITH LORD ESILA’S TERMS!” I scread out, harmonizing with a few of Lord Ping’s fervent supporters, but finding my voice overruled by the sea of those who I’d very nearly successfully pilfered from.

NO!

My purse subsequently exploded, releasing piles upon piles of gold which were swiftly returned to their ‘rightful’ owners.

I felt my heart clench and my eyes narrow into pinpricks upon this, as I eventually found myself letting out a long and drawn-out cry.

“NOOOOooooooooooooo!”

That squirmy rchant had done it again.

Perhaps in so futile effort to garner recompense following my decision to bookkeep independently from his services.

The man was simply getting back at .

I took this now as a declaration of war.

The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts. The Hall of Champions. Local Ti: 1235 Hours.

Etholin

Trade and comrce flows through you, but you have yet to have shown promise outside of theory and amicable spirit. As it stands, you’d make an excellent bookkeeper, son. Perhaps even a right-hand of a rchant lord. But to trulybea rchant lord, to beco the master of House Esila, you must understand that there exists an underlying art to comrce and trade. Intelligence can only get you so far, but charisma andwisdommust be at the centerpiece of your crown. And while you have adorned your repertoire well thus far, I fear you have chosen to fulfill all requirents but the most important one of all.

I understood now what father ant.

There were tis where split second decisions must be made.

Bold decisions. Perhaps even foolish decisions, but decisions that would co to shift the dynamics of dynasties and houses.

I was presented with one such decision following the end of the first few rounds of Lord Ping’s disastrous performance.

A decision that promised to completely flip our fortunes in exchange for the sacrifice of our reputation.

The conversation with Lady Ladona was the only hurdle towards these ends.

However, the longer we sat and watched, the more it beca clear that my offer was the only ans of averting yet another disaster against Lord Ping’s favor.

“Do it, and take the fall. I shall consult with Lord Ping on the nature of your recompense following your forfeiture.” Was all she said in response. Though frankly, discussions with the anurarealr were no less imposing then they were with her group leader. For despite her frail form, she still managed to exude a nacing aura of power akin to Lord Ping’s.

I wished to have consulted Lord Rularia over these proceedings too, but given his preoccupation over the financial gains from this event, I doubted I could break through to him in ti before Ping’s defeat.

Following Professor Chiska’s acceptance of my terms, I quickly found myself singled out by the entire student body, their eyes and ears focused on what it was I had to say.

I had a choice. An opportunity to simply remain quiet, allowing public discourse to settle their suspicions amongst themselves.

However, I knew that for this gambit to work, I needed a plausible rationale. Otherwise, it would be Ping who would shoulder the bla of acquiescence.

No, I needed to commit to this narrative. One in which he was not to bla.

And what better reasoning than one which singled out bla not to my group, but to my person.

“I have co to the conclusion that I have made a grave mistake.” I began.

“I relinquished what should have been my own responsibility, my own duty, to that of my betters. In doing so, I have lost sight of my self-respect, allowing surrogates and volunteers to fight what should be my own battles. For that, I wish to apologize to all involved. To those I have wasted the tis of—” I paused, bowing to the student body around . “—to Professor Chiska’s precious efforts—” I paused once more, bowing in the professor’s direction. “— to my surrogate champion, and to my opponent, to whom I owe a great apology for having dragged her into this ss of my own creation.” I bowed twice more, once towards Lord Ping and the next towards Emma Booker.

There was… a calculated strategy in doing so.

For despite the loss to my own face, I had earned sothing perhaps far more valuable in return.

I had gained Lord Ping’s debt, normalized my relations with Emma Booker, and demonstrated to my peer group that I was ready to take the helm of peer group leader, taking personal responsibility for my actions, be they positive or negative.

A few seconds elapsed following that speech.

Afterwhich, a series of dissatisfied sighs soon erged.

I felt the familiar weight of social derision bearing down on .

Yet despite this, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief washing over — a realization that I’d ultimately exchanged our fates for the better.

The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts. The Hall of Champions. Local Ti: 1240 Hours.

Emma

A ss of emotions ran through as I watched the ramifications of the backroom political gas bringing this challenge to an abrupt halt.

Still, despite the lack of a clear win, I still got what I wanted…

A spot on the Quest for the Everblooming Blossom.

Moreover, I got so decent combat data for the EVI to chew on now.

I got all of this for what the EVI was rapidly assessing to be a superficial break of a few of the fine and gross motor actuators, as well as the chanical limiters within the ExoDex’s fifth digit.

A simple repair rather than a complete replacent was possible.

Which was probably more than what I could say for Ping who struggled to stand on his two feet following the whole debacle.

I… was rather surprised how easily he accepted the whole forfeiture thing. Though frankly, the fact he was a stickler for the rules probably ant he was just operating within his strict programming.

What’s more, I could tell this was a convenient out for what was quickly becoming yet another at grinder to both his reputation and his physical body.

Things moved quickly following the forfeiture however, as Ping was quickly ushered away by a familiar water elental who quite literally turned his limp into a natural and healthy gait in a matter of minutes.

anwhile, Chiska quickly turned her attention towards as she looked up and down with a worried expression. “Cadet Emma Booker, I am afraid this is an instance in which I must acknowledge my professional limits and must defer to consultation. Are you well? I see your hand has suffered injury, though thankfully, not to the extent that would be life-threatening.”

“Yeah, I’m fine, professor.” I answered promptly.

“Your… finger will require so form of healing, will it not? I am afraid, given the limitations of your biology, that our resources may not be able to—”

“Oh, it’s quite alright, Professor Chiska! Seriously, all I need is a few hours to deal with it, then I’ll be back to normal.”

This… definitely prompted Chiska’s eyes to widen in confusion, as well as the eyes of the scant few mbers of the student body who hadn’t yet dispersed.

“Your people are capable of rapid regeneration without the aid of mana?”

“Well, technically yes.” I acknowledged, keeping the nature of the ExoDex close to my chest.

“Is this… a natural ability or one born of so local thod of healing?” She dug further, curiosity causing her pupils to slowly dilate.

“Well… maybe it’s a little bit of both. I’m afraid given the dean’s urgings, I’m not quite at liberty to dive further into that question.” I winked, prompting Chiska to respond with a fangy grin.

“Of course, Cadet Emma Booker. Of course.” She snickered out. “Well in any case, I won’t keep you for long. But do stop by my office any ti you wish! As your professor, I’d certainly like to know the progress of your recovery.”

“Will do, professor.” I acknowledged before walking out to et a disappointed Ilunor, a beaming Thalmin, and a concerned yet aloof Thacea.

“Well done, Emma.” Thalmin proclaid loudly, as Cynthis trailed closely behind. “Though I do hope your injuries aren’t too grievous.” He promptly added, catching the attention of all those who’d remained behind for perhaps that very reason.

“Cadet Emma Booker, if I may?” Another voice sounded, this one belonging to the leader of the all-crocodile group — Gumigo.

“Yeah?”

“What exactly was the purpose behind the fluttering of your red scarf? I assu there has to be so significance behind such a specific action?”

“Oh! That…” I chuckled, crossing my arms as I did so. “There’s an ancient sport we have back in my realm. A sport in which my people tempt the angers of a ferocious beast with a red cloth, before attempting to subdue said beast in so fashion.”

“Oh! Oh dear! What an unfortunate parallel Lord Ping has brought upon himself, wouldn’t you say?” He quickly turned to his group, who nodded and chuckled in varying levels of amusent.

This resonated well into the few other peer groups gathered, as murmurs and echoes of beastly parallels were made amongst whispers and chuckles.

“Humor aside, can we discuss the extent of your injuries, Emma?” Thalmin urged.

“Oh, yeah, it’s honestly alright.” I raised my right hand up, causing the crowd to physically flinch at the flopping pinky finger. “‘Tis but a scratch! As my people often say.” I grinned.

Dragon’s Heart Tower, Level 23, Residence 30, Emma and Thacea’s Room. Local Ti: 1435 Hours.

Emma

I hadn’t noticed it at first, but Thacea had remained silent. More silent than usual following our arrival back to the dorms.

Perhaps it was the antics of Ilunor’s seething or Thalmin’s boisterous and excited planning for our travels, but I hadn’t at all noticed until we were finally back.

It was only when we were alone together, as I sat down next to one of the supply crates, that I finally noticed it, or rather a lack of it — conversation.

A deafening silence had descended where there’d at least typically be so form of banter between us. Be it so passing words of advice, so strong rectifying words against so social faux pas committed in the day, or even so casual conversation.

I didn’t think much of it at first, probably because I was too wrapped up in the repair of my ExoDex whilst she went about her routines.

But as soon as I was about halfway done, in the midst of the downti that the automated calibration processes presented with, did I realize just how… sullen she looked.

It was then, and only then, that I finally spoke up, feeling my throat seizing up for a mont as I did so.

“Hey, erm, Thacea? Are you doing alright?” I offered.

The princess didn’t respond, at least not at first, as she took a few long monts to compose herself before strutting in my direction. From there, her focus shifted not to my eyes, but to the flinching ExoDex in the midst of recalibration.

“It is I who should be asking that question, Emma.” She stated plainly with a mix of emotions I hadn’t yet seen from her.

There was… an array of tones that the EVI seed to struggle to translate. From fear and worry, to disappointnt and frustration, it seed as if the VI was finding it difficult to assign a voice for Thacea. Which was probably why it resorted to allowing elents of her natural chirps to co through. The likes of which carried with it a complex array of song-like cadences, all of which pointed towards one emotive direction — a asured concern.

“I appreciate the concern, Thacea. I really do, but I’m seriously okay! Like I hinted at a little while before, these ‘hands’ you see here aren’t really where my hands are located in the suit. They’re basically extensions of the armor that are designed to take a beating and are entirely disconnected from the hertic seal of—”

“Then what would have happened if your gauntlets weren't the target of today’s trevails, Emma?” Thacea interjected, continuing off my first point with an impassioned chirp.

“I—”

“For a mont, as brief as it was, I had entertained the likelihood of the unthinkable.” She reiterated, her eyes sohow locking with my own.

…

I found myself scrambling for a response that refused to form, struggling and failing to justify myself as the gravity of the situation slowly ca to dawn upon .

And in that mont, I found myself truly grappling and eventually empathizing with Thacea’s perspective.

“You’ve talked extensively about the risks taken by the pioneers that ca before you, and the life expectancies of those who occupied the very role you currently inhabit.” The princess paused, breaking eye contact for just a mont. “I do not wish for you to beco a resident of your wall of martyrs. Not yet, Emma.” The princess continued, as I found myself unable to evade her eyesight.

“I… I assure you, Thacea. I had the situation under control—”

“I trust that you did.” Thacea interrupted suddenly. “And out of respect for your station, I want to believe that you did. But these social and intellectual realizations are in conflict with the resultant ends of today’s events. Or at the very least, my personal interpretations of such events. As damage to your armor — physical damage that is — is a matter of tenuous life and death.” She countered, causing to completely halt that train of thought.

“The armor is rated for these sorts of things. I was trained for… well… rolling with the punches as they co.”

That answer was crap, and both of us knew it.

“Emma. I find myself increasingly concerned with each passing challenge you commit yourself to. I understand that today’s trevails with Lord Ping resulted in trivial damage, as you put it. However, can I expect the sa from your confrontation with the dragon?”

That line of reasoning made Thacea’s concerns all the more clear to as I grimaced inwardly toward myself, unable to do much but crane my head away in sha.

“I’ll do you one better, Thacea. I’ll make sure I’ll return without a single injury. Dirtied, scratched, and a bit bruised up? Sure, maybe. But I promise I’ll be cautious. You have my word, princess.” I finally offered after a mont of reflection. “Knight’s promise.” I quickly added, attempting to defuse the tension with that little dive into humor.

Though effective, Thacea’s expressions still carried with them a degree of worry that was difficult to co to terms with as she simply nodded in acknowledgent.

“A knight’s vows are sacred, Emma.” She finally spoke.

“Especially to a princess, no doubt?” I chid in, attempting to de-escalate things even more.

A gambit that, to my surprise, sowhat worked, as I garnered sothing of an abashed look from the princess.

“Yes. Indeed it is.”