Their bodies, and the horses who had lame legs and wanted to get up, became obstacles to their companions' escape.

The archers behind did not dare to repeat their mistakes, carefully avoiding gravel, carrying the road, or allowing the horse to run as it wished.

But the Turks behind these people refused to agree. Seeing the Christians getting closer and closer, they panicked and urgently forced the people in front to run away.

In the chaos, more horses fell down on the gravel and tripped over the people following behind.

Roger seemed to have seen thousands of crabs in open fish baskets.

So these "crabs" were caught up by heavy cavalrymen.

Seeing that he could not escape, many Turkic archers huddled in the back row were fierce, and turned around and waved their short swords to fight with the heavy cavalry.

But this is just seeking death.

Their short swords could not cause any damage to heavy cavalry like steel beasts.

And amid the sound of the blasting of the armrest and the cold light of the iron sword, these Turks were torn and shattered.

Roger no longer knew how many people he had killed.

He kept charging, slashing and slashing any man in his armour who was blocking him.

Roger didn't care about the short swords that stabbed him at all.

In fact, those short knives couldn't stab him.

Before approaching his body, the hand holding the short sword was cut off by Roger's sword.

Roger kept slashing left and right, slashing horizontally, and stabbing.

He cuts open their throats, bodies, hands and feet...

Roger even had an hallucination that he was playing a fruit-cutting game.

All he had to do was to cut and cut.

Roger cut huge wounds from all the exposed skin, whether it was a man or a horse.

He had no time to consider whether the object he was attacked had been damaged enough or had died, and there was no need to make up for another sword.

He just chopped and cut open all the objects in the way.

Blood splattered on Roger's face and his body was like a pour.

He could only use the shield tie to wipe the blood flowing to his eyes.

It’s like in a heavy rain that I have to repeatedly wipe off the rain from my face in order to see the road clearly.

This "storm" seems to have lasted for a long time.

Roger didn't know how long this time was.

All he knew was that his arms that were swinging his sword became less flexible due to the soreness of his muscles and the obstruction of blood clots on his elbows.

Until suddenly, his eyes lit up.

Roger saw a large piece of blue, which was a clean sky.

He also saw a large piece of yellow, which was the arid Gobi Desert.

The Orentes River in the distance reflects the brilliance of the scorching sun, like a winding white ribbon.

Scattered Turkic archers were flowing across the river, and they were all lucky.

Roger turned his head and looked back.

The eyes were full of redness.

The deep blue of the Edessa cavalry, the light blue of the Antioch cavalry, and the white of the Crusader cavalry, are gone.

They, and all the other heavy cavalry chasing, had only one color, that is, bright red, shining brightly in the sun.

And the Turkic people who were resisting, struggling, lying on the ground, screaming, moaning, and lying still, cracked into pieces, had only one color, equally bright, with bright red.

Blood is everywhere.

The Gobi Desert there is no longer a drought, and the soil is soaked that it cannot absorb more blood, so it can only let them flow on the ground.

Screaming in pain, screaming in dying.

The person crushed by horror is praying in despair.

These sounds have never stopped.

But Roger, who had been focusing on cutting before, only felt that this was a meaningless noise that had nothing to do with him.

And now, as he faced the hell on earth, suddenly, all the sounds became concrete.

They rushed into his sensitive ears, making him feel dizzy and dizzy.

So Roger turned around.

In an instant, these specific sounds became meaningless, meaningless, and negligible noises.

He saw a white cloud floating in the blue sky.

By the river like a ribbon, a few small trees sway gently in the wind.

In the large yellow farmland, the green bits and pieces are so full of vitality.

Everything is as simple as an oil painting.

So Roger rode his horse towards the Orentes River.

He was not going to pursue those lucky ones.

Those people have crossed the river and are shrinking into black dots at extremely fast speed.

He just wanted to go to the river.

When Roger came to the quiet Orentes River.

He looked down at the river surface that was almost impossible to detect, like a mirror.

There was a red figure inside.

Both familiar and strange.

Under the man's bent elbow, there was a long red bulge like an icicle under the eaves in winter.

It is a blood column formed by the continuous flow of blood.

Roger knelt down and buried his head in the river.

He left the killing behind his head.

He no longer thought about the unmistakable hatred on this land.

He just wants to clean himself.

Wash the blood on your head, face, body, and hands.

Wash all the dirt.

Wash all the annoying stuff.

He was not afraid of fighting. He started fighting at a very young age. He dared to face the dripping blood. He proved this with facts more than once.

But the bleeding was so much that it got boring to him.

But no matter how hard Roger rubbed it hard, it seemed that he could not completely wipe the blood that had already condensed from him.

They seemed to have penetrated into his skin.

Roger kept wiping, and the skin on his hands was red.

"It's useless for you to wash it like this."

Roger stopped and looked up at Rugero who had walked to him at some point.

The other party looked solemn in a rare manner.

"The blood can only be washed with blood."
Chapter completed!