the smuggler’s bible

Lancelot

Lancelot is number one, baby. So when people in the stands start making a ruckus because the mystery knight with the black shield is kicking ass all over the tournament, it gets him sour.

“You want a shot at the champ?” he shouts, visor down, horse already in motion. “Well, you got it.”

They hit each other and the sound is like thunder in the mountains. The mystery knight’s spear shatters, but Lancelot’s punches through his side and draws blood. Kind of a lot of blood.

“Jeez,” Lancelot says, watching him limp away, “I didn’t mean to hurt the guy.”