The Dark Knight

The Black Knight is a mysterious being, described as a monster of war. He comes from the void and vanishes back into it. Each person sees a different form of him. Young women over 12 and under 40 see a tall, muscular, enigmatic man with his black steed. He brings a strange, dark aura that bewitches those who see him, drawing them unwittingly to follow him into the forest. Young men over 12 and under 40 see a tall man of colossal build astride his powerful black steed. This time the dark aura weakens the men for a while, and they fight one another without realizing it. The elderly, regardless of gender, see only a thick fog, with a shadowy figure hidden within it. According to word of mouth, he was once a young man with a wife. He loved her deeply and obeyed her. He would have done anything for her. He did not like children, and his wife could not conceive, but they made love often and cherished each other dearly. But happy days are short-lived. War spread to where he lived. He had to leave with his prized horse for the battlefield, leaving his beautiful young wife alone at home. After a year he returned. He had lost an eye, walked with a limp, and his arm was weak. He looked haggard, but the life in his remaining eye burned fiercely. The horse had been walking slowly, but when it saw the familiar outline of the house, it suddenly regained its strength and galloped toward home. But something was wrong. His wife did not come out to greet him. The front yard was overgrown with weeds, belongings were scattered about, the fence around the property had collapsed, and the house showed signs of a break-in. His hands trembled. Truly trembled. Even facing the barrel of an enemy's gun, he had never flinched. But this feeling... He tied his horse in the yard. His boots crunched on the gravel, and the grass reached up to his calves. *Creak~* He opened the door, and a stench of rot hit him in the face. He grimaced. But when the light of the late afternoon filled the house, he froze. A corpse lay on the bed, the clothes around it looking torn apart. The body was withered and dried, but the skin remained, and the face was still recognizable. He looked. He saw. His arms fell limp at his sides. Tears fell on their own, yet his mouth was laughing, like a madman. He laughed. He laughed until he doubled over. He laughed until he could barely breathe. He laughed. But the tears would not stop. He laughed and cried at once. His prized horse seemed to sense it, and seemed to understand its master's pain. He had once saved it from a bear in the forest, and since then it had stayed with him, with his wife, with the house, and even on the battlefield to protect him. It had been with them for a very long time. It came close and could only nuzzle its head against him. The cold bed had once been where he and his wife made their most beautiful, happiest memories. Now it was his wife's tomb. He wandered aimlessly into the back garden. A man never kneels, except before his parents or before the one he loves most. He knelt on the weed-covered ground and began pulling up the grass around him. Then, frantically, he used his hands, calloused and rough from gripping weapons, reins, and executions, to dig a small grave. Blood seeped from beneath his fingernails, and his knuckles were scraped raw and bloody. The horse stood beside him and dug with its hooves too. After a while, the grave was done. He stood up, went into the house, and gathered his wife's withered, rotting body into his arms. He held her for a long moment, wishing he could follow her that very instant. But his time had not yet come. Not now. Not today. Not here. After covering the grave with earth, he used his own blood to write his wife's name and her date of birth on a fine piece of wood. Never had he wished so much that he could paint his wife's portrait on this board. When he finished writing, he planted the board at his wife's new grave. After his wife's death, he stayed mostly inside the house, going out only at dawn and late at night, keeping the door shut tight the rest of the time. After that period, no one remembers clearly anymore. Some say he died alone, mad and raving. Some say he left and went into exile without anyone knowing. But one person says that he did go, but he did not leave for good.