Archeval hefts the blade and takes a couple practice swings, carefully testing its balance and weight. It's pretty light as metal swords go, but the saber he's used to fighting with weighs practically nothing -- surely not even half a kilogram, if he were to guess -- and even way back in his Academy days the most substantial things he commonly worked with were light plasteel training blades and vibroswords. Holding actual forged metal in his hand for the first time in ages makes him feel a bit like he's inside the main vault of Sith historical artifacts, playing with some ancient Dark Lord's antique arsenal.

While apparently he's got enough muscle hiding underneath his clothes to spring into action in a combat situation, it's still plain just looking at those skinny arms that his physique is nowhere near resembling Eleven's trained and honed one; there's just the tiniest trickle of power in the air between them that suggests he's cheating a little as he circles around to nimbly raise the sword in an opening salute.

"For us both, to be sure. Come along then. I'll be delighted to fight something that can actually think."