But this was their first ti embarking on a real mission, and their targets were dangerous heretics. Learning from Barton’s failure, so things needed to be made clear.
Reynard didn’t hide anything from them; he directly explained the enemy they were about to face.
"This is not a drill, but a real mission. A group of heretics, disguised as refugees, are planning to infiltrate Hamlet to wreak havoc. They are currently stationed in a camp just outside of town."
Upon hearing this, the soldiers couldn’t help but grow tense.
Although they trained intensely every day and conducted various surprise drills, and the propaganda had always spoken of facing formidable enemies, up until now, they had only encountered bandits and refugees. So of them had never even faced an enemy before. Now, they heard there were heretics.
Thanks to the Church’s relentless propaganda, they were aware of the dangers of evil cults, instilling so fear in their hearts.
Reynard noticed their reaction and imdiately changed his tone as he continued.
"They have set their sights on our peaceful and serene town. They wish to kill our families and sacrifice them to the Evil God. They aim to take away the stable life we’ve worked so hard to secure and throw us back into panic and helplessness. As mbers of Hamlet, can you stand by and watch them destroy our town, kill our families and friends, and take away everything we cherish?"
"No!"
The soldiers below erupted with righteous indignation; they wouldn’t allow anyone to take all this away.
Just as the Lord said, once one dons this military uniform and enjoys the best treatnt, one naturally shoulders the responsibility.
"Protect our hos, defend Hamlet!"
"For Hamlet!"
"Loyalty to My Lord!"
"Level two response! All units, collect your equipnt and move out!" Reynard drew the Champion’s Proof, gesturing forward toward the outskirts of town.
The soldiers sprang into action. The military’s deploynts weren’t arbitrary; all actions followed pre-established plans. Squad leaders led their n to collect equipnt, followed by inspection and fitting...
From the initial five hundred n, after a recent round of eliminations, only about four hundred remained. The majority were piken, numbering over two hundred, along with one hundred selected Musketeers, fifty Cavalry, and fifty Artilleryn.
But these were just figures on paper. In reality, due to the scarcity of horses in town, there were only about a dozen cavalryn; the rest had to fill other combat roles.
The Artilleryn faced a similar problem, having only three cannons to make do with.
Several instructors swiftly completed organizing the troops, assigned tasks, and began to move out.
The enemy’s position was called a camp, but in reality, it was rely a few wooden stakes supporting a makeshift roof of straw, with torn fabric stretched around the sides. It was barely a shelter from wind and rain, offering nothing in terms of defense.
Moreover, due to recent land clearing for expansion, nearby trees and bushes had been removed, leaving no surrounding cover. The camp stood starkly isolated.
It seed Reynard had anticipated attacking this location when he ordered them forward.
As the large contingent of soldiers moved to encircle them, the heretics inside instantly realized sothing was wrong.
"Damn it! We’ve been discovered!"
"Deacon, what do we do now?"
"Forget that! Prepare to break out! Scatter!"
These heretics might have been willing to sacrifice their lives for their god, but they had clearly convinced themselves that now was not the ti for such a aningless death.
Even One-eyed wanted to flee imdiately; in an open field like this, they had no advantage against soldiers.
If he were in good condition, he wouldn’t fear clashing with these regular troops. As long as he could create corpses to consu their Flesh, he was confident that with the power of the Seed, he could break through the encirclent. But now, under the influence of the Curse, his strength was diminished. He was relying solely on the Seed’s power to suppress the Curse. If he were to draw upon it now, he had no idea what would happen, but it certainly wouldn’t be anything good.
All we can do now is scatter and run, and hope so of us can get away. As this thought crossed his mind, One-eyed’s heart filled with gloom. How could my operation have been exposed? I acted on my own this ti, against the wishes of my superiors. If too many die and it jeopardizes the plan, forget about using rits to persuade a superior to lift my Curse; my own survival would be uncertain. These damned people! I swear I’ll destroy this town later! I *must* kill that monster! But for now, escape is paramount.
Unfortunately for them, Reynard had anticipated their move. The soldiers were already moving into an encirclent. By the ti the heretics realized they were exposed, the formation was complete, sealing off their small, makeshift camp.
Seeing the heretics rushing out, Dismas didn’t hesitate. He drew his pistol, aid at one of them, and simultaneously issued the command.
"Fire!"
As Dismas’s voice resounded, a volley of gunshots erupted, and thick gunpowder smoke rose among the ranks.
The fact that these n had been selected as Musketeers ant their skills were among the best of the five hundred soldiers. However, they were hampered by their equipnt and the inherent inaccuracy of Flintlock Guns.
Furthermore, the enemy had already scattered and was on the move. As a result, only a portion of the Lead Bullets hit their targets; the rest flew off to parts unknown.
Even if a few were hit, these heretics had all undergone the Flesh Rite and received their deity’s blessing, making their constitutions far stronger than ordinary people’s. As long as a shot wasn’t fatal, they could endure it and continue to flee.
Only Dismas, with a confident shot, hit an unlucky heretic squarely in the head, killing him instantly.
Out of a dozen or so heretics, one volley killed only one and wounded five or six. Such a result was anything but glorious, and before his n could reload, they were dangerously exposed. Dismas felt imnse pressure. It wasn’t the heretics he feared; rather, the soldiers’ nurous errant shots left him speechless. Previously, he’d wondered how Barton, with guns, cannons, and so many n, could have failed. Now he understood. Pathetic! He decided he absolutely had to intensify their training when they returned. If My Lord witnessed this, it would be a direct insult to him as their instructor.
If Dismas felt this way, it was even worse for the ordinary soldiers. Even those who could manage three shots a minute in training were now overwheld by the imnse pressure. Their hands trembled, their minds went blank, and so beca utterly flustered, instinctively wanting to flee.
"Musketeers, fall back! Piken, advance!"
Fortunately, the order ca at that critical mont. The soldiers, recalling their training, executed the maneuver: piken stepped forward into formation while the Musketeers temporarily retreated to reload.
The protection offered by their comrades significantly eased the pressure on them. It was then that Dismas’s sharp voice cut through.
"Pull yourselves together! Rember, you are never fighting alone. Your comrades are right beside you!"
"Now, reload imdiately! Move to your defensive posts and watch for crossfire!"
Upon hearing the command, the Musketeers imdiately began to reload. Their rigorous training had indeed paid off; even if their minds hadn’t fully recovered, their hands moved automatically.
The piken gripped their pikes tightly and braced them. As the distance to the enemy rapidly closed, the soldiers could see the heretics’ ferocious faces, their own grips tightening on their weapons.
Among the piken, Balistan began to rhythmically bang his Shield, his voice joining the din with a weathered, hoarse roar.
"You are soldiers handpicked by My Lord himself! You are the fighting n of Hamlet! Now, hold your pikes steady and prove to you are not cowards!"
"We are not cowards!" shouted one soldier, the rest echoing him, their morale visibly improving.
Handling a pike wasn’t as complicated as a musket. As long as they knew how to thrust and withdraw, that was enough. Moreover, the pike provided a crucial standoff distance against charging enemies.
Not to ntion, mixed among the piken were veterans who had seen real combat. They appeared much calr and more composed. They didn’t feel pressured by the advancing enemy; on the contrary, their eyes were fixed on their foes, as if coolly deciding where to aim their thrusts.
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