A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

Chapter 276

"Hey, I’m Laivan," the middle-aged man said, his voice trembling as he introduced himself. Enkrid didn’t bother to process the statement. He’d never been one to deliberate over his actions. He followed his instincts and chased his dreams, which had brought him to this point.

Enkrid swung his sword upward, the blade glinting in the torchlight. The strike wasn’t swift or sharp; it was deliberate, heavy, and forceful. The blade, once called "Tutor," now honed to near-perfection, tore through Laivan’s arm with a dull, sickening sound.

The slowness of the cut left Laivan fully aware of the sensation, unable to look away from his arm being severed. He felt the heat and sharp pain before the reality of his loss settled in. His arm, once part of his body, now lay twitching on the floor, blood spurting out to emphasize its disconnection.

"AAAAARGH!" Laivan’s scream echoed through the vast cavern, the sound bouncing off the walls in a ghastly symphony. Blood sprayed wildly, some landing on Enkrid’s armor and face. He didn’t flinch, his expression unchanging as the warm liquid trickled down his cheek and dripped onto the ground.

As Laivan thrashed in agony, Enkrid watched impassively. Then, he spoke, his tone indifferent. "Esther, can you stop the bleeding?"

"Not hard," she replied, extending her hand. Flames ignited at her fingertips as she cauterized the wound. The searing heat burned the flesh, filling the cavern with the smell of charred meat.

"AAAHHH! PLEASE! STOP! I BEG YOU!" Laivan’s voice cracked, his desperate pleas filling the chamber. Enkrid briefly wondered how many times this alchemist had heard similar screams from his victims before dismissing the thought entirely.

"Why... why? I only did what they told me to do! It was just a few coins of gold!" Laivan wailed. Blood loss and the excruciating pain had left him a trembling mess. Enkrid raised his sword again.

"The leg next," he said, his voice devoid of emotion.

The blade struck with a sickening thud, severing one of Laivan’s legs. The limb skidded across the floor, joining the twitching arm in its declaration of independence. More blood sprayed across the room, painting it red under the flickering torchlight.

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