Jantys gritted his teeth at his words, looking away a bit. "Yeah, yeah. One day I'll have to face real opponents, and they will actually give me a run for my money. I get that. Bastion of peace, protector of the humble, ect, ect..." Truth be told, though, although it showed nowhere on his face, Jantys was worried. He WASN'T a fighter, he wasn't a big petching knight in burnished petching armor riding a horse with the whitest petching hide you had ever seen. He was a run-down man playing knight in his mid-life crisis. And this game was likely to get him killed.
Yet he couldn't give up. To give up meant to go back to his old life, to go back to drinking as his primary occupation, to give up the semblance of stability that had entered his life. Yeah, it was hard. He'd have to play hero when he had no business being in fairy tails at all. But he knew if he went back, he'd be sending himself tumbling back away into the depths, and he simply couldn't face that. He had to make something of himself. I just hope what I make isn't a corpse, he thought, looking up at the ghost with a slight shiver.
Not quite falling for the extended hand, he scrambles to his feet, grumbling. Eventually he speaks up. "...Yeah. I can't promise I won't die." He cracks his neck, stretching out the kinks in his body. "To be honest, I'm not even quite sure what I'm doing here. But my feet are on this path. And I guess... If I die, I will have no regrets." Although he didn't know very much about ghosts at all, he had an inkling that they were born of past regrets. He, at least, would not become a ghost.
His face stretches into a tired grimace. "I could definitely use the drinks, ghost boy. I will expect them." The grimace takes on a slight feeling of humor.