The man was sent flying on impact, the sound of shattering bones sharp and clear, and once he hit the ground, he never got up again.
The Knight did not look back.
The column kept moving, hooves trampling through blood as if over a puddle of water.
Hans had once served in the Border Defense Army and had seen real elite Cavalry, but compared to these terrifying Knights, they were nothing.
This kind of unit was not meant to suppress riots; it was meant to empty out a city.
The townsfolk stood along the road, every head bowed, as if afraid that thorn-like gaze would sweep over them.
The priest quickly gave the order: tear down the houses.
The houses beside the mill were marked, roof beams hacked through, walls shoved over; stones were pried out one by one and piled by the roadside as materials to build a cheval-de-frise wall…
Hans stood at the mill door, watching the familiar street have its bones peeled out bit by bit.
The Blacksmith's son was hauling stone too.
