A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

"I don’t think you fought because you wanted to die."

The bandit leader’s voice rang out.

At first, Enkrid wasn’t sure what he was saying. Then he realized—it was an offer.

The bastard was trying to recruit him.

Join the bandits, rob with them.

Oh, and also warm his bed at night?

He wasn’t sure.

Enkrid’s thoughts were fading in and out.

Especially this part of his memory—it was even more fragmented.

All he could see were a bunch of rabid mutts in front of him.

A pack of filthy, heat-driven dogs.

They were snickering among themselves, their grins stretching unnaturally wide, mouths ripping open from ear to ear.

His vision blurred.

The mutt of a bandit leader flicked his tongue as he drew closer.

They had already subdued him.

At this point, he should be thinking about tomorrow.

So long as he didn’t die, tomorrow would come.

Another chance would come.

But then, in that moment, he saw the child's corpse again.

He heard the bandit leader’s words.

He wasn’t sure what else the bastard had said after that.

Because the last thing Enkrid remembered—

—was that mutt stripping the dead child of her clothes.

Why is he taking off her clothes?

Hoo.

A Valen-style mercenary knife. A blade without a handle.

Enkrid was clutching the steel itself, his palm split open, blood spilling freely.

But no one realized that the blood was from the weapon in his hand.@@novelbin@@

Then he struck.

Thrust.

He drove it deep.

Twist.

The blade wrenched inside flesh.

Smash!

The bandit leader’s fist struck him square in the face.

Enkrid’s body lifted off the ground, flung sideways.

He hit the earth shoulder-first. His joint twisted, and his left arm went limp.

Still, he raised his head.

The bandit leader stood clutching his gut with one hand.

The grotesque dog’s head was gone.