Not yet, but maybe in a little bit. The Soldier doesn't bother to say as much, too busy ducking and rolling, punching and slashing, throwing spirits away from itself, from the table. Sometimes they're almost a blur, but the spirits are fast, too. It's collecting injuries, but so far they're all small and easily ignorable.

"Keep going," they call instead, following the order up with a bullet point-blank in a gangly spirit's chest.