Roland skidded to a halt.
The scorching air stung his throat, and blood and sweat blurred his vision, but he still locked onto the figure in an instant.
The man was unusually tall, his build slender yet radiating a sense of Power.
His back was to the entrance, as if he were scrutinizing the twisted core.
The pure, bright silver form-fitting Armor he wore shimmered with a cold light even in the dim glow. Its lines were fluid and elegant, clearly no ordinary Battle Armor.
Yet despite being clad in heavy Armor and holding a Longsword that glinted coldly, his posture was upright and poised, lacking the roughness of a Warrior.
He looked more like a nobleman in a grand hall than someone standing before the core of Destruction.
It was just that the cold, judgmental majesty radiating from him made the blood-soaked Roland instinctively tense up.
"So, it's you, Mr. Roland..."
