For just a second that smile flits over his lips again, satisfaction at a job well done, and then it's gone but he's letting his shoulders slump in a contented sort of tiredness as he just stands there, breathing hard. He straightens properly after a moment to raise the sword in a quick salute again, then flips it around to venture over and hand Eleven the hilt back, wiping a bit of sweat from his brow.

"Well, that's one way to beat the cold," he observes, light and enthused. "You are as formidable as I would've expected. Without the Force on my side, that might have been anyone's game."

He reaches up to clutch at that cut absently once Eleven accepts the blade back, doubtless intending to patch it up any moment now.