The Last Elegy
He felt it.
He felt his life slipping away.
The pain had already begun to fade.
His physical senses seemed to stretch endlessly.
Yet only his mind continued to function with perfect clarity.
"Uh... ah..."
The White Knight, lying in a pool of blood, let out a dying struggle of a sound and slowly raised his hand.
He wanted to grasp the holy sword, but then remembered that the real sun had already devoured it.
In the end, the hand the White Knight had exhausted all his strength to raise could only claw at empty air.
The sight was filled with sorrow, as though he were trying to seize something he had lost.
Gawain continued struggling in that state.
Suddenly, he saw it.
Ahead of his raised hand, the Black King, holding a pitch-black holy sword, had stopped fighting at some point and was gazing at him.
Though that figure was evil and ominous, Gawain knew all too well that it was the one he had always pursued.
"My King..."
Gawain forced a call filled with longing from his throat.
At the boundary between life and death, Gawain remembered his life.
Like the other Knights of the Round Table, it had been a life filled with regret.
Among the Knights of the Round Table, Gawain had stood shoulder to shoulder with Lancelot, known as King Arthur's right hand. He had been not only the strongest knight of the Round Table by day, but also King Arthur's shadow dancer.
Gawain wielded another holy sword and possessed the noble character of an ideal knight. He had therefore been regarded as the successor to the throne after King Arthur's fall, a king-in-waiting who could ascend at any time. Yet Gawain had never taken such praise to heart.
Because, in Gawain's