"Dolemeck, you are one of the best Knights I have ever seen. Most loyal to the crown, and devoted to being an honorable man. I believe you, I never stopped believing in you."
Dolemeck slowly rose to his feet, his eyes narrowed as he looked at Lady Phyffe. His face was emotionless as he walked over to a glass case and punched his bandaged hand through it, grabbing a thirteenth century broad sword that was inside on display. He began to walk towards Lady Phyfee, his eyes narrowed and a bright red. He cared not that he set off the alarm, he cared not he had a priceless artifact in his hand. His main focus was to stop this woman right here and now.
"I have had enough of you, woman! You dishonor that sword. You dishonor all swordsmen! And for that, I sentence you to death on behalf of Arthur and his crown. You shall not be allowed to leave here with another sword, or your life!" Dolemeck shouted, but not in English. It was in Old English, a long dead language. He held the sword like a proper swordsmen, his face more serious more... adult like than anyone had ever seen. He remembered who he was now, and he knew what he had to do.
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