Chapter 100: Unquenchable Hatred
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When the group saw the radiant light, Lancelot immediately dismounted and addressed the divine blade.
"My lord...King of the End, though I doubt it myself..."
Lancelot's honey-colored hair flowed in the wind, his face etched with uncertainty.
"...Have you forgotten my face?"
He had long, white hair and a youthful, handsome face. However, etched upon his refined features, like rust upon steel, were the marks of countless battles and an unrecoverable weariness. He wore a blue tunic, slim trousers, and a pure white cloak.
Slowly, as if touching something repulsive, with an expression of someone forced to handle something unpleasant, he grasped the hilt of the divine blade.
"Of course I remember you, To think we would meet again...fate is truly unpredictable."