A simple nod was his answer.

Meats did not deny that he had done awful things, led by his undying loyalty. He had brought suffering and death feeling little remorse afterwards, carrying out the most questionable of tasks with little doubt. Yet there was a reason to this all. Now burning bright, a flame kindled long ago, it gave him the strength to carry on and belive it were all for the best. His master - not some god to him, but just a person with intelligence of the finest standarts - upon summoning him, did not test his swordsmanship first; no, instead, he said that he'd like to talk with Meats, tell him of their ambitous goals, and about the stern and lofty ideology dictating them. Hope and some sort of uncanny determination, born through strong desire, drove those people to think of something remarkable indeed: the demon saw meaning in those words, promises of prosperty, peace and a brighter future. 

Then, he was presented with the harsh reality. It was a bloodied path, filled with hardships, striving and guilt: one had to prove that they were right to be accepted, and in this wild, untamed world, a hefty sword sometimes spoke better than anything else. On many occasions, the demon had thought the ideas he served could be flawed; the empire which brewed them - evil, but always found proof that it were not that way. Today, he would be tested once again. 

Snapping out of his memories, Meats threw the sword off his shoulder and stepped forwads, a cloud of snowflakes puffing from underneath his feet. Assuming the Ox stance, right foot leading and both hands now on his blade's grip, he slowly advanced, decrasing the distance between them and giving Auron time to prepare. All high and noble bullshit aside, he just really liked a hearty fight where both opponents were on equal footing, and only true skill and power determined the winner.