The speed of the ghost horse is often described in regional legends as swift and silent as the evening breeze compared to that of a living horse. The riders on their backs always come in like ghosts born in the shadows of the moonlight, and come quietly from the night with dangerous or noble intentions. And so it was, as the riders on horseback shouted the war cry they had inherited from the memories of their clan or blood relatives while they were alive, and their shouts were the same as they had been alive. But as their mounts, ghost horses are no longer as nimble as they were when they were alive, their limbs are unnaturally stiff, their eyes are hollow, and their hooves swing like wooden toys made by inferior craftsmen, but it is ironic that, having lost all their consciousness as creatures, they reach speeds that would never have been possible when they were alive, and their bodies no longer swing when they run, and those who ride on them no longer feel bumpy.

This is by no means to say that ghost horses are better than living horses, and while many people think so, only those who have delved into these wretched spirits and their equally pathetic owners can truly understand that there is nothing inside these horses and riders. They have long since died, dead at some point in the so-called past of the time that may exist, and for them, after that there is no future, no passage of time, only nothingness, like a black hole that can never be filled.

People always say that the dead are cold, the corpses are cold, and that's true, but the undead, the dead don't have an entity made of matter that exists like the corpse, so why do they talk about temperature? So the undead are not cold, but the people who come into contact with them are aware of the inner emptiness of the dead and feel fear, because they know in their bones that the living are more likely to die, and this emptiness will engulf the living as they engulf the dead. Death is not terrible, if death means the freedom of the soul, or the beginning of a new life, then it is not terrible at all, it is nothingness.

Cheese thought he was used to facing nothingness, and he vividly remembered that when he first stood next to the dissecting table as an apprentice, his teacher had told him the difference between a corpse and a deceased. This distinction indirectly contains a hint of nothingness, which is sensitively perceived by the young mage. For many days after that, Cheese couldn't sleep well, and he began to think about the coming of nothingness and the possibility of nothingness, and he tried to convince himself that nothingness was not unacceptable, and only the throbbing heart in his chest responded to him. After many years, this unsolvable question still creeps into his mind from time to time, which is one of the reasons why Cheese hates the undead so much, their existence is the manifestation of nothingness.

But this time, when he had to connect with the undead again, seeking the help of the ghost riders and their warhorses, he surprisingly didn't feel cold. This is not to say that these revenants are any different from what he has known and come into contact with before, and that they are still empty inside. Only this time, he just didn't think so. With the help of this calm, the spells he cast were more effective than expected, and the figures of Lothar and Batu were obscured by grass in the blink of an eye, while the heavenly wood in front of them and the terrible worms clinging to them became even larger.

How to deal with such an opponent? This question overrode thinking about the undead and nothingness and became a proposition that mages now had to face. This wasn't the first time Cheese had fought against an enemy much larger than himself, having fought and won battles on the ice fields north of Dragonspine against demon lords who could use castles as seats, and even more distant back had his battles with Migo, now his companion, the red dragon. Mages who have been through this know that the sheer size of their opponents has never been a problem for someone like him who uses magic beyond his physical strength to fight. The real problem is those who have both muscular power and great physical blessings, as well as beings who possess either innate or acquired spiritual or even magical powers. Coincidentally, the worm they were facing now was definitely the most formidable of any such being, not to mention, it was likely that he hadn't used his true abilities yet.

Strike quickly and clear out the anomaly before it's ready to wield a force powerful enough to shake the world. This was the best thing Cheese could think of, and it was one of the very few pieces of advice he had received from the Grey Tower about the evil gods, and the person who gave it was his teacher. "They always think of us as ants who don't understand anything, ladybugs that accidentally crawl onto the book we're reading. This is one of the few weaknesses that we can exploit, and we must run away or stab before they realize their mistake. ”

Strange to say, when I first left the Gray Tower, my mind was full of what I saw in front of me, but as time passed, the scene of training in the Gray Tower gradually became clearer. Many things that I didn't understand and didn't care about at the time have gradually become things that we really need to think about and understand, and this may be the relationship between knowledge and experience. Thinking so, a wry smile appeared on the corner of Cheese's mouth. With ideas, the practical plan of action stretched out from the origin of his thinking like a river, and turned into a large complex water system at his fingertips, but most of this water system could not escape the fate of being cut off, and there were either boulders in front of them, or they fell into ravines and culverts, and there were not many that could really flow into the distance.

There are two chances. By the time Cheese came to this conclusion, their location was not far from the worm's body. From here, you can clearly see the follow-up of the riders who rushed towards the behemoth, most of them were bounced apart by the mysterious force of the worm's body, shattered, and turned into a gray mist. If the ordinary undead were to dissipate when they turned into gray mist, they would become finer cracked dust, and they would become more imperceptible geistins. But with the help of someone who rescued Lothar from the ground, the undead were able to reunite their bodies, and even if the second attack would still bounce off, they would have a third or fourth chance. At one point, they were able to take advantage of the void created by their companions and rush into the barrier of mystical power, slashing at a giant worm with a cold ghost blade. Although the scars left by this were slight, the steppe warriors gathered here at this time were the ones that had been accumulated over the years, and if their horses could still raise dust, their mere movement would be enough to set off a sandstorm.

But even without the sandstorm, the undaunted rider has provided cover for the real poison needle. With the worm's impatient roar, the trio finally reached him.

"We're aiming for the upper part of its body! jump on it!" the mage called out to his companions, gritting his teeth and trying to get up from his horse. The worm's skin turned into a wall in front of him, and he couldn't see the border, and just as he was about to crash into this wall, his legs suddenly exerted force, and the whole person jumped into the air!