Our Family Has Fallen

BANG!

As the gunfire rang out, another running Heretic fell backward, struck in the head.

Barrett didn’t even bother to look as he pulled the trigger; he knew the outcome. He just casually notched another tally with his fingernail on the musket’s forestock, murmuring softly.

Thirty-five.

Then he swiftly picked up a pre-packed cartridge, quickly reloading while his eyes continued to scan ahead, selecting his next target.

One could say he was born for this. The musket in his hands behaved entirely differently than in others’, obeying his commands as if it were an extension of his own body, hitting wherever he aimed.

Others, even when confident, aimed for the torso. He preferred headshots.

When asked, his casual reply was always, ”Why waste ammunition when one shot can finish the job?”

This wasn’t boasting but a track record bought with the brains of Heretics—every shot precise, none wasted. At just fifteen, he had already earned the title ’Sharpshooter Barrett’ at the outpost.

Barrett’s gaze swept across the area outside. The bodies of many Heretics already lay strewn about.

Previously, some death-defying Heretics would always try to approach. After an attempted rush, they’d often leave corpses behind and retreat. This time, however, they kept coming relentlessly, which he found strange.

Moreover, to avoid gunfire, they had scattered while approaching but then converged on a single point. It looked like they were marching to their deaths. What on earth were they up to?

However, from their position on the wall tower, dealing with these Heretics who lacked siege engines was like swatting flies.

Though it was tiresome, there was no real threat.

His section of the wall wasn’t the Heretics’ main assault point; only a few scattered individuals approached. The main enemy force was elsewhere, so a Sharpshooter like him was stationed here to pick off targets.

I could play with you guys all day~

Once reloaded, he found his next target. Just as he raised his musket, a huge commotion erupted from the other side. A dull yet powerful boom followed, and then the entire wall began to shake violently.

What was going on?

He initially thought the Heretics had brought siege engines. But the ones he’d learned about in class were supposed to be massive, and surely couldn’t possess such devastating power...

Before he could recover from the shock, he saw the previously scattered Heretics outside suddenly surge toward that area as if on stimulants.

Seeing this, Barrett hesitated no longer. He grabbed his weapon and rushed towards that direction to provide support.

But after taking only a few steps, he froze. A section of the brick wall had collapsed, sending dust and debris billowing skyward.

Even through the rising dust, he could see many people buried beneath. Blood stained the bricks crimson. Doubtless, many comrades lay entombed there.

Now Barrett understood—the gathered Heretics were bait, luring most of the soldiers to this location.

But how exactly did they manage to bring down the wall?

Just then, Heretics began pouring over the rubble. With no time for other thoughts, Barrett raised his musket, aimed, and fired—all in one smooth motion.

Thirty-six.

The fastest Heretic, a look of wild joy on his face, burst from the dust cloud. The next second, he pitched backward and fell, lifeless.

But no one paid him any mind. Death held no fear for them; more and more Heretics used the dust as cover to surge forward.

Meanwhile, some soldiers had been buried by the collapsing wall. Others had fallen from the ramparts, suffering various injuries. They couldn’t immediately organize a defense.

One soldier was fortunate. The collapsing wall hadn’t struck him, but the four- or five-meter fall left him dazed.

As his head began to clear, he saw a grinning Heretic charging at him.

”No!”

Just as he scrambled to escape, a figure rushed from behind him, positioning himself in front and sending the Heretic flying with a shield charge.

”Get out of my way!”

ROAR! Balistan swung his Morningstar Hammer, smashing another Heretic’s head and caving in his face.

Another tried to swing a ragged weapon but was blocked by the shield. Balistan followed with a heavy hammer blow to the Heretic’s head. The force was incredible, lifting the man’s feet off the ground—like something from an Indian movie—before he collapsed a second or two later.

He lay on the ground, head twisted at an unnatural angle; his neck was clearly broken.

Balistan’s fierce prowess proved his body was yet unbent by age. On the contrary, seasoned by countless battles, he was now far more formidable than in his reckless youth. The Heretics were many, but Hamlet would not abandon its comrades!

”Get up, brother!” a reinforcing soldier said, pulling him to his feet.

As the soldier’s head cleared, he watched his comrades charge forward. An inexplicable strength surged through him. He grabbed his Spear and followed.

My brothers need me. I can’t fall now.

Other reinforcements arrived. Among them were Spearmen who hadn’t yet been re-equipped with the new bayonet-fitted muskets; they would be crucial in holding this collapsing defensive line.

Some Musketeers also hurried over. The new bayonets weren’t just any knives; they were designed to fit the new model muskets. So, these Musketeers, lacking bayonets on their current firearms, still didn’t fear close combat with the Heretics.

Those with loaded muskets fired, then dropped their firearms to pick up Spears—instantly ’class-changing’ on the spot, as these simple weapons were plentiful.