Garthor was madly running. At his side, there were only a few dozen guards, all of whom were from the herculean divine ox tribe. Other than these guards, there was no one else by his side. Not a single one.
Two thousand cavalry had been completely annihilated!
Garthor felt like he was still in a dream. A nightmare. Why were his 2000 cavalrymen defeated by 4000 undead creatures in a single encounter? Could it be that he was not leading two thousand cavalry, but two thousand coiling sheep?
At the last moment, if it wasn't for his guards who risked their lives to break out of the encirclement, he might have died in the chaos. The thought of the undead creatures 'attack still made him shiver.
At the same time, garthor thought of something else. He had been defeated by Weyers this time, but what about the future? What would Weyers do? Would he lead the undead creatures back to the tribe?
