บท 465: Feral

The back felt incredibly warm, like laying into a tub of boiling water, whether it was the heat of the liquid, or the coldness of his body that gave this impression, who could know, certainly not this knight as he laid into a puddle of his own blood, sensing all that was sanguine within him growing emptier and emptier, the white cloak, a mark of prestige and strength, had turned crimson, the durable armour, forged upon these lands, and meant to protect them.