The evening glow heralded another pleasant day.
Clop clop clop...
Amid the rapid thundering of hooves, a knight raced northward.
The rider on the horse was quite disheveled, his loose hair fluttering in the evening breeze. His once opulent attire was now tattered in several places and his entire body was stained with blood, evidently having just survived a great battle.
This man was none other than Viscount Lawrence, who had escaped from the Uman Clan's military camp.
In his hand, he tightly clutched a knight's sword, stained with still fresh blood. But at present, he was employing it more as a riding crop, incessantly lashing the war horse's hindquarters, urging it to gallop faster.
In the distance behind him, smoke was faintly billowing up.
A number of horse-riding silhouettes were fast in pursuit, waving their sabers and bows, and refusing to give up.
This chase had been ongoing for an entire day, and Viscount Lawrence felt he was nearing his limit.
But he dared not stop.
