When I stood on the open-air balcony of the Royal Palace of Camelot, looking at the pale yellow hairs of the criss-crossing branches of the apple trees in Great Britain, I once again recalled the past two hundred days and nights of conquest - the Battle of Camlann.
Accompanied by thunder like the roar of a demon lion, the two forces split by the Round Table faced each other in conflict, and the tragic and solemn scene that shocked the world and made ghosts cry was vaguely displayed in front of me.
I lament the poor people of Great Britain, those dead souls will never come back, even if I have already had hallucinations, in the cold wind blowing from the Alps, I heard Guinevere's chant, the beautiful melody of Tristan playing the harp, and the cracking sound of Lancelot's sword breaking the round table in two...
The war is over, but I no longer hate him. I only hate that I failed to save him from death at the last moment and allowed him to become a demon alone in the next moment.
Ah! Listen, someone is singing!
No, Arthur, you heard it wrong. It was the chanting of monks and the wail of the dead.
Mission: Cherish every friendship
