The sound of hooves trampling on the ground was like thunder rolling. With the help of special horseshoes, the steeds ran fast. In the twinkling, the ‘thunder’ came from afar, almost entering the range of the flames. It was too late.
Donald's face slacked. The Caucasian Cavalry’s frontal array was charging forward. Even the fierce heavy armors of Asgard needed to weigh the consequences, let alone such a motley caravan. He gritted his teeth and rushed forward against the thunder. He struck down his sword to block the enemy sabers. The outcome could be seen in seconds.
But at that instant, the steed under the Caucasian bandit was startled. It stood up, hissing uneasily. Then with weak legs, the steed foamed at the mouth. Its expression twitched with extreme fear. The bandit fell down to the ground with the steed. He broke his legs on the spot and was unable to climb up. Looking at the Donald with the sword, his eyes were filled with despair.