The knightsage of the king's city cut into the tail of Garcia's platoon like a sharp silver blade.
Panic surged through the crowd of enemies. Many men fell as they were scattering and running in a flurry, ending their lives miserably under the horse's hoofs.
Occasionally there were some men that drew their weapons to resist, but they were pierced by the spears of the skilled knights. The one who raced in the front of the unstoppable knights, like the tip of the blade, was Frostwind Knight Naim Moor. The blue striped cloak flying behind him cast a particular conspicuous sight as he rushed ahead to clear the way. He fought fiercely to force back the enemies, causing his spear to be soaked with blood.
Timothy Wimbledon stood on a small slope far away from the battlefield watching the situation. At this moment, the tail of the platoon of 3,000 had become disordered, and as the scattering grew, the platoon almost halted.
