Losa lightly squeezed the horse's abdomen with his legs, and the Arabian horse beneath him walked forward slowly. After a dozen meters, the warhorse gradually picked up speed, transitioning into a trot.
His breathing was very steady, and the lance he held was as firm as a mountain.
The surrounding noise from the crowd was automatically filtered out by him.
Compared to the initial surge of adrenaline during the charge, he now had the calmness of a still lake. One might say only blood can temper a veteran.
On the opposite side.
Jeanne, riding a black Akhal-Teke horse, raised her lance and assumed a charging stance.
She did not wear a helmet, and her golden hair gleamed under the scorching sun, flowing with the wind.
The sound of hooves thundered like thunder.
The intense wind howled past their ears.
As the two were about to collide.
The world seemed to freeze, and everyone slowed to half-speed.
