“O Lord…” he said.
Seeing that, Victor smiled. “Let’s go back. To our home.”
“Yeah,” Crowley nodded.
He was about to order his comrades to muster the last of their strength and march to Damietta, but just then he discovered something strange in the direction where Damietta lay. “…”
From there, a lone man dressed in black was slowly approaching right through the wasteland. The man had tanned skin, so he probably was a pagan. But he was unarmed. Empty-handed, he was staring intently at them.
“What’s that?” The other knights must have noticed him, too.
“An enemy? Did he follow us?”
“Even if he did, there’s no one else around. What can he do all alone?”
“Maybe he got separated from his comrades?”
“If so, then why isn’t he running away? He’s coming straight this way.”
Crowley interjected, “Guys, be quiet for a bit.”
Everyone fell silent. Crowley, on high alert, put his hand on the handle of his sword and asked in a loud voice, “Hey, you! Who are you?”
“…” The man didn’t answer. Just kept coming closer, straight for them.
“Hey!”
“…”
“Hey! Do you understand our language?”
“…”
“Don’t come any closer. If you do, I’ll kill you!” Crowley unsheathed his sword.
His comrades did the same in perfect synch.
The man raised his head.