August 15, Tuesday afternoon.
"Hunter, how are you doing?" The white-haired girl was comforting the injured knight.
The young man lowered his head and bandaged his wound:
"Thank you for your concern, my lord, I am doing well."
Hunter squinted his eyes, unable to recall exactly what had happened, only remembering the onerous and fragmented moments he'd prefer to forget.
Blood, death, and sorrow.
He was one of the few Knights who survived that night, and like him, none of those on duty could remember anything.
Or perhaps they simply didn't want to talk about the horrifying acts they'd committed.
He continued to wrap the bandage around another time.
Inez reminded him:
"If you wrap too much, it will affect blood circulation."
Hunter hesitated, letting go of the white bandage he'd been gripping tightly.
