The man appeared to be in his forties. In his hand, he clutched a flag - a white cross on the red background, the flag of the Crusaders. This was a Crusade.
Crowley gazed down at the man who now had a lush mustache and still clutched the flagstaff in his fingers. It was him Crowley came here to see.
The man’s abdomen was pierced with a sword, and he was about to die. Yet, he didn’t abandon or let go of the flag. He was probably proud to carry the flag of the Crusaders.
The man looked up at Crowley and voiced feebly, “…Am I… dreaming?”
“…”
“How can… you be here, Crowley-sama…? Even though you… have disappeared all those… decades ago…”
“…”
“Aah, it must be… a dream… You look the same as… you did back… then, Crowley-sama…”
There, the man vomited blood. He went into a coughing fit, rapidly losing life. Despite that, the man’s eyes were still fixed on Crowley, and he still made effort to speak with a look on his face that was a cross between tearful and happy.
“…”
“…Even if this is… a dream… Crowley-sama. Please listen to this. After you disappeared, I continued to practice, like you taught me…”
“…”
“I… persevered. 5 hours. Although sometimes I… skipped a day, I still did… it every day…” He spat out more blood.