He takes the correction with a twitch of the mouth. Not a name. A title? - is his only logical conclusion. The words are repeated, this time, correctly with an upward glance of recognition. "Sorry. Koumyou Sanzo."

The second hand is done up just as fast, the salve still cold despite the jar remaining open for all that time. The magic of ancient elf recipes, he assumes. Roland also looks around for a moment, just to confirm it. He did carry all of this out here, huh?

"Hm. Well, I've got a nifty little solution for that, if you happen to have the points to buy it." Roland sits back to give himself some room, the jar of salve set aside and his right hand reaching back to grab the hilt of his sword, laid on the ground. While it looks like he would be admiring its blade up close, he demonstrates something else; the entire thing disappears like a magic trick, evidence of it ever being there found only in the spray of gold dust and sparkle it leaves behind. Then, Roland outstretches, and away from any accidents poking the blonde, the same sword reappears in the same storm of gold, as if it was never gone.