"Dancer of the Cold Valley! Killing you a hundred times still wouldn't be enough!"
Leon's furious roar echoed from atop the High Wall of Losric.
Just from the sound alone, anyone listening would probably picture some bloodshot-eyed homicidal maniac.
But unfortunately, Leon's current appearance could be described as downright upright and proper.
On his body was a bloodstained Feathered Knight torso armor, greaves stripped from a Losric Knight, hand armor that was just some random rags he'd thrown together, and for a helmet he wore that dignified, righteous-looking Losric Knight helm.
Add to that the Bordeaux Hammer resting on his shoulder, exuding a chilling frost, and no matter how you looked at him he was a thoroughly honest and kind Knight.
How many days had passed since he came to the High Wall of Losric? Leon had never bothered with that kind of question, and in the Sain Dungeon there was no way to keep track of time anyway—the sky over Losric was forever that dingy yellow.
