The night in the wasteland was like ink, and the black-clad cavalry rushed past me, crushing the loneliness. The moment the leader glanced at me from the corner of his eye, murderous intent had seeped into the wind. Half a mile away, he lowered his voice: No one will be able to see a trace tonight. Then a knight turned back and the sword light came through the air - the dead branch in my hand was pressed against his neck. After the sound of cracking bones, I got on my horse and chased him deep into the night. The leader in front finally reined in his horse and looked back. There were three empty horses behind him. He tightened his grip on the reins and shouted: Who are you? I urged my horse to cross the headless corpse: Didn't you count the people you sent?
