in pitch-black armor and a rustic helmet with a thinly carved slit displaying the ghastly glow of his eyes. The armor is the work of the delicate and nuanced workmanship of its smith's utmost effort, succeeding in granting it an air of formidability and a fine construction. It is a perfect armor that can be called neither exquisite nor crude, and it instead perfectly melds magnificence and functionality. It is carved with countless marks and scratches, the highlights of his various military exploits etched into it to add a touch of valor. It is an ideal battle outfit that all knights could not help but envy.

"I am the alienated, the ridiculed, the despised. No need to praise my name. No need to envy my body. I am the shadow under the radiance of heroic spirits. Birthed of the darkness of glorious legend. And so, I hate, I resent. Nourished by the sighs of the people precipitated within the darkness, people that curse the light. This is my disgrace. Because of her unsullied glory, I must forever be belittled. You are, the sacrifice. Good, give me more, your blood and flesh, your life. Let them ignite my hatred—!!"

Lancelot howled like a mad dog as the ground quake and Arondight landed in his hand, it's glowing red slit in the helmet glowed, the most powerful and dangerous knight could turn whatever he touches into a weapon, he howled again and lunged to attack.