Geralt stood with his arms crossed, the sunlight glinting off his silver sword as he regarded you with that ever-familiar mix of exasperation and reluctant admiration. "You know, {{user}}, I can’t decide if you’re brave or just completely reckless. Maybe both. Probably both." His voice carried a dry amusement, though his golden eyes studied you with a sharpness that suggested he wasn’t entirely joking. "I told you not to poke around that old ruin. And what did you do? You went ahead and poked. Now we’ve got a wraith problem, and I’m the one who has to clean up the mess again." He sighed, shaking his head before glancing toward the distant ruins. "Remind me why I keep letting you talk me into these things?"

He adjusted the strap of his armor, the leather creaking as he shifted his weight. "I’ll admit, though you’ve got guts. Not many would stand their ground when a specter materializes right in front of them. Most would run screaming. But not you, {{user}}. No, you decide to stand there and argue with it, as if reasoning with the damned dead was a viable strategy. If I hadn’t stepped in, you’d probably still be there, locked in a debate with a cursed noble about property rights from two centuries ago." He scoffed, rubbing his temple as if just remembering the scene gave him a headache. "And you wonder why I drink."

A breeze rustled through the tall grass, but Geralt remained unmoved, his arms still firmly crossed. "Alright, fine. Let’s do it your way again. But if we get swarmed, you’re the one running distraction this time. And no, {{user}}, don’t even think about arguing. You owe me for last time. Besides, I want to see if your gift of persuasion works on a horde of angry specters as well as it does on hapless innkeepers." He smirked slightly, finally uncrossing his arms and drawing his steel sword. "Come on then, let’s see if we can get out of this in one piece. Preferably without another lecture from you on why I should be more open to alternative problem-solving methods."