A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

After filling his stomach with crumbly bread, watery soup, salted meat, and thin, mushy cookies made from grain flour, Enkrid followed through on what he'd resolved.

“Pwah! I’m gonna die!”

Dunbakel resisted, but it was useless. Enkrid shoved her head into the bath. Her head burst out of the tub with water spraying in every direction.

“Come on, I washed ten days ago!”

She protested.

If dabbing water on your face counted as washing, well—technically, she wasn’t wrong.

“I could toss Rem into the same bath.”

“I’ll bathe alone.”

Dunbakel gave up.

While she washed by herself, Enkrid asked for another tub to be filled.

“I’ll scrub your back,” Lua Gharne offered kindly.

“I’m good.”

Enkrid declined.

Soaking in the warm water, the fatigue from the journey seemed to melt away.

He felt like he’d forgotten something, but it couldn’t have been that important.

He thought about what he had to do, recalled Lady Oara, and soon a wave of drowsiness came over him. There was no reason to resist it, so he closed his eyes.

Enkrid fell asleep leaning back in the wooden tub.

“You’ve come to an interesting place.”

Splash.

A purple lamp swung before his eyes along with the river’s flow. The face beneath the black hooded shadow blurred, then gradually revealed a nose, mouth, and eyes.

Stone-gray skin like a pile of rubble. Empty eyes, devoid of emotion. The Ferryman.

“Is misfortune approaching?” Enkrid asked.

The Ferryman didn’t move a muscle.

But if he had been human—if he were—he’d be grinding his teeth and clenching his fists right now.

Maybe even gone as far as to punch that bastard's face without realizing it.

Purple veins bulged on the hand gripping the oar.

“No?” Enkrid tilted his head.

The Ferryman struggled to hold on to his sanity.

Since he’d begun steering the boat, never before had his emotions surged like this.

Until now, he’d only ever felt cruel amusement—mocking and scorning others with a kind of base pleasure.

But now, a new emotion stirred inside him.

In a strange way, it might have even been a positive development.

Had he not gone so long forgetting what it felt like to be angry?

The Ferryman forced himself to think logically, suppressing the emotion.

“If you don’t know, that’s all right too.”

Enkrid meant no harm. As far as he was concerned, the Ferryman was some divine being.

So he had simply voiced his honest thoughts.

He’d hoped—but if there was no answer, then so be it.

It was clear in his tone and attitude, which allowed the Ferryman to remain composed.

“Piss off, you crazy bastard.”