The man raised his pistol in a quick draw to fire a bullet at Lance, but paused and holstered the revolver. "Take your pick. Family swordsmanship. Tribals. Old-Earth documents. Rogue Iconoclast agents. I learned the most from the Tribals of my home, however. I trained under them. You could say they were... Beast hunters, of a sort. The descendants of ex-aviators who took it as their duty to eradicate the blight of the mutated stem cell virus and all monsters it creates. They were highly skilled in melee - after all, that's one of the only ways to kill one of those beasts. Hack it apart and clean the rest up with acid." He tapped his flaming katana and his holstered revolver. "I learned one of their more complex fighting styles, based upon a pirate's old techniques it was refined into a graceful art. Guns don't work very well on the Infected in my home, Ronin. The virus regenerates puncture wounds too quick for it to be of any use. But use a gun such as my Judge to disorient and use a blade in tandem... It requires the heavy price of ample dexterity, but it is effective as you can see right now." After soon realizing his sword draw, his eyes grew dark and clouded. "I never enjoy drawing this blade. It's more of a monster, really. A monster who's story should be well forgotten and never seen - hence why I tie a one-use flashbang mechanism to the blade and sheathe. But if it's a monster you wish to fight, then so shall you get. Now tell me, Lance May: where did you gain fire like mine?"