Chiron gave Paul an appraising look. If he had any feelings that Paul was lying to him, he didn't show it. Instead, Chiron beckoned Paul to bring the sword to him. Paul quickly obeyed, and handed the sword hilt first to the wheelchair bound centaur. Chiron held it in his hands, but it was clear he was not comfortable with doing so. When he spoke, he spoke with reverence, almost fear.

"This sword has been at the side of some of the strongest demigods of all time. Though it grants the user great luck and strength in battle, it's wielders have ALWAYS met tragic ends. It is named after it's first user. This, young Pavel, is the Sword of Achilles." Paul listened intently, and gritted his teeth when Chiron used Paul's birth name. Still, he got the gist of what the old stallion was saying. Sword=Bad Stuff. "Chiron," Paul said when before the centaur spoke again. "When I picked up the sword, I saw something. It was like a crash course in military history." 

Chiron's face turned grave. Paul wanted to ask what it meant, but before he could get his question out, Chiron spoke. "Tonight, after dinner, you will clean this bathroom. The punishment for breaking into the attic is usually far harsher, but I am cutting you some slack." Paul sighed, resigned to his fate. He understood that he had this coming, but it still sucked to hear. Chiron motioned for Paul to leave, and the young man turned for the door. "And Pavel?" he said, using Paul's Russian name again. "You have some lipstick on your face." Paul blushed and quickly went out the door.