They were Musketeers, but that didn't an their close-combat capabilities were weak. On the contrary, stationed here, they trained every day aside from eating and sleeping. Firearms training required ammunition and couldn't be conducted daily. What's more, the Lord had decreed that all soldiers must maintain their physical fitness and close-combat skills, so lee weapon proficiency occupied a significant portion of their training ti.
Balistan used his shield to push away a Heretic and finally made his way into the ruins. He was no longer the reckless youth he had once been. He calmly realized that to combat the Heretics, they had to unite and avoid falling into chaos. Order was their weapon!
At that mont, he raised his Morningstar Hamr and shouted, "Brothers, follow and reorganize the formation!"
Many saw the figure standing high above. The soldiers willingly moved closer, while the Heretics also realized his presence and aid to kill this Commander. But Balistan faced the Heretics as steadfastly as a reef facing ocean waves, anchored firmly in place. Under Balistan's lead, Hamlet's soldiers remained equally resolute and unyielding, not retreating a single step.
Has the battle line stabilized?
But this was only a starter. Once the soldiers were worn out, the elite—powerfully built, ard with iron claws, and wearing hoods—would enter the fray. Death was brewing an even bigger surprise, as the slaughter and bloodshed on the front lines undoubtedly made them stronger. If Balistan hadn't reorganized the formation earlier, the line might have broken. Yet, even now, they were in danger.
"Damn blasphers!"
Fully ard, Junia appeared holding the Holy Canon. With a battle cry, a beam of Holy Light tore through the dust, its potent divine power striking a Heretic and freezing him in place. Only when she brandished her steel-forged Saint's Torch did they understand why a Nun would be called "God's Daughter!"
Geralt was even faster. With a swing of his steel sword, the Heretics barely had ti to react before being beheaded, the Witcher Master's skills displayed to the fullest.
It was not surprising to see Balistan at the outpost, as he always insisted on fighting on the front lines. When Hamlet had no active missions, this was the only place he could find frequent opportunities to fight Heretics. It was normal for Balistan to be here; this was his battlefield.
However, it was sowhat strange for Geralt and Junia to also be present, as they were supposed to be in town. Lance's departure from town had triggered more frequent attacks by the Heretics. Due to the outpost's significance, several military leaders had discussed the matter and decided to issue orders summoning Geralt and Junia to help defend it. Their caution now proved effective. The arrival of the two instantly dampened the Heretics' arrogant spirits and disrupted their offensive (mainly Geralt's doing), buying more ti for the troops to organize.
"Thirty-nine." Barrett was no longer as casual as before; his youthful face was etched with seriousness.
Quick, reload!
His skilled reloading allowed him to fire faster than other Gunners, achieving a steady three shots per minute, sotis even four. But this was not enough, as more Heretics were swarming in through the breach.
For the first ti, Barrett felt powerless. If only I had a gun that didn't need reloading, he thought, I could kill more enemies and save more comrades.
"Die, all of you!"
Suddenly, a bizarre cry rang out, followed by an explosion among the gathering Heretics. Flying shrapnel tore into their bodies, creating a gory ss of flesh and blood. Even with their strong healing abilities, these external wounds wouldn't kill them. However, they couldn't withstand explosions at close range. So were knocked down by the blast wave, others were stunned, and a few unlucky ones at the epicenter bled from their mouths and noses, dying instantly.
And this was just the beginning. Successive explosions rocked the breach, turning the Heretics gathered there into perfect targets. The breach beca a killing ground, halting their assault.
Barrett quickly spotted the one causing these explosions; the person was on the other side of the broken wall. The individual was a youth of fifteen or sixteen. He had robust limbs and the dark skin common among laborers. Though not tall, in fact rather short and unassuming, his attire was sowhat odd. He held a torch in one hand and a bomb in the other. Beside him was a basket filled with more bombs.
This guy actually brought bombs up from the armory! Barrett realized. No wonder he only just appeared. He conveniently missed the wall collapsing.
"It's Sobray, that kid!"
"Well done!"
Other Gunners, like Barrett, had also co over the wall to provide support. He heard them recognizing the youth. Barrett knew him too; he was quite famous in the army. Word was that he was a local, a Serf whose family had served for generations before he joined the military. From a young age, he had herded sheep for the farm owner. In doing so, he had honed an impressive skill: throwing stones with incredible accuracy. Simply put, he could pick up any small stone and hit whatever he aid at. Then the Lord arrived, the farm owner was gone, and he joined the military. However, he never exhibited any special talents and served as an ordinary Spearman. In fact, if not for the town's small population during the first conscription, his short stature might have disqualified him.
It wasn't until bombs were introduced that his unique skill finally had a chance to shine. Now, his na was on the throwing training records, noted for remarkable distance and precision. After arriving at the outpost, he had used this special technique to blow up many Heretics, earning the nickna "Bomb Boy Sobray."
Now, standing at the edge of the broken wall overlooking the breach below, he could maximize his abilities. The damage he inflicted alone was enough to throw those Heretics into chaos.
"BANG!"
Another bomb exploded precisely among the Heretics. However, one figure amidst them seed unaffected by the blast. Barrett, while observing the enemy, continued to load his musket without pause. He was about to fire when, out of the corner of his eye, he sensed sothing amiss.
That Heretic... he's unscathed?
The Lord had said that a Sharpshooter's true value lay in taking down high-value enemy targets. So, he had developed the habit of picking stronger-looking targets, which were easy to spot among the Heretics—especially the particularly robust ones or those wearing helts. But this enemy, clad only in a black robe, had withstood a bomb blast and was now charging towards the defensive line.
He mustn't get close! Barrett instantly beca alert, swiftly took aim, and pulled the trigger. The musket roared, and the bullet whizzed through the air.
If it had been a regular Heretic, Barrett would have been calling out his count by now. But this strange one made him uneasy. As he reloaded, his gaze remained fixed on the figure. Even moving targets posed no problem for him; the bullet struck precisely beneath the hood of the black cloak. The bullet's kinetic energy made the figure pause, but it didn't fall. Instead, it stood there, its head tilted.
This eerie situation intensified Barrett's unease. He wanted to shout a warning to his comrades below, but the battlefield was too chaotic; no one would hear him.
Sure enough, after two or three seconds, a monster burst out from the black robe. From its heart region, thick, purple-black veins extended like tentacles. Its body suddenly swelled, seemingly to a height of two ters, its limbs mutating into bizarre appendages. Its head was especially grotesque, featuring a bulge that resembled lted flesh, studded with protrusions. The next second, a multitude of shiny black eyes popped out from it, one of them particularly large.
Barrett instantly recognized the bulge as the spot he had aid for. Those black eyes seed to be staring right at him.
What in the world is this creature?
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