In Karsas's wooden, dull, and blunt mind, the mark on the white stocking that Benson tightly held in his palm was his guide.
It was the Holy Court that had betrayed Benson.
He intended to use the heads of members of the Holy Court to pay tribute to his best friend.
He knew there was a patrol team formed by the Holy Court's Holy Knights at the border.
He had seen those people when he rushed over to support Benson.
He was angry, he was insane.
Once again, indescribable whispers echoed in his ears, only the blood of those people could extinguish the blazing flame in his heart.
The White Bone Warhorse galloped wildly across the land, kicking up a large trail of dust behind it.
Karsas did not know how long he had been moving forward when he came upon a river with a temporary camp next to it.
Inside the camp were stationed thousands of Holy Court's Holy Knights, and except for a few on night duty, the vast majority were resting in their tents.
