[The way she handles him is like one would handle meat. There's nothing remotely gentle about Maketh and he makes it a mental note to never be placed in a similar situation like this again. This must be some form of divine punishment for suddenly escaping Death's eternal embrace.

There's no possible way that Maketh honestly means no harm by roughly tearing at his injury at this with alcohol and needle. Even in the past when he had to be stitched up by Cor, Regis didn't experience much pain. Maybe the gash upon his leg got infected. Perhaps. That seems to be the case.

Nevertheless, he braves it with minimal reaction. This bloody hurts like a female mutt but he won't admit it. He just won't. Regis has his pride. He's a king. He can handle this.

'Ye god, woman!' The thought is followed by a mental growl as Maketh continues her brand of torture. She's definitely trying to kill him. He's certain of it at this point.]

Is that so? [He answers stiffly.] Then I certainly hope that all those trapped within the coliseum are promptly healed and rescued. I deem myself as fortunate to leave the coliseum with my life.