The sky was a dull orange-yellow, weighed down with dark clouds.
It was a sight like the apocalypse.
The sound of horse hooves echoed.
Horn was riding on his horse, racing away from the battlefield he had left behind.
Fortunately, although he had chased after the enemy commander, he hadn't gone too far, and after a while, he could see the battlefield from afar.
Even now, the sporadic screams and sounds of cannons could still be heard.
He happened to see some soldiers who had already abandoned their weapons, running towards him.
These soldiers were covered in gray-black bloodstains, and as they rushed forward, they kept looking back from time to time.
Their terrified expressions were as if they were being chased by evil ghosts.
When they saw the man on the horse ahead, wearing red and white armor, the fear on their faces intensified.
What awaited them was Horn's sword blade.
