"Haa… Haa…!"
Perched atop his warhorse, Eugene gasped for breath, plumes of white vapor escaping through the slits in his helmet like smoke.
All around him stretched a boundless expanse of white. When he had first fled the battlefield, other bandits had still been in sight. Now—not a soul remained ahead.
All because of the relentless figure behind him, haunting him like a phantom.
Eugene no longer knew where he was going.
Herleti was dead. The Scorpion's Nest had surely fallen. To return would be suicide. All he could do now was flee—flee with everything he had, and shake off the cursed pursuer on his heels.
His mount surged up a snow-draped slope, hooves kicking aside the powder to reveal the coarse yellow sand beneath. But the beast struggled for purchase—it could barely continue.
He didn't need to look back to hear the thunder of hooves closing in.
"Move, damn you!!"
