Ekkehardt doesn't have much of a grasp on Hungarian, but the shock is clear enough. He just sighs, stepping away from the blade, willing his body to piece itself back together the way he'd do it in life. Bones set back into place, bandages secure them, and apart from his sliced-apart clothing he might as well be intact.

"I suppose you're more than old enough to know now, so I might as well show you," he says, after a moment. He doesn't even have to think to dispel his glamour; it crumbles away completely, to reveal nothing but bone beneath. He rubs at his shoulder where he was hit.

"Being dead has its benefits, especially around edged weapons. So you did me no harm."