Our Family Has Fallen

Undoubtedly, the recent retreat had bought them some time. Balistan, bracing against the effects of Sorcery, regrouped his troops. Soon, a musket squad was assembled, with three ranks of Musketeers opening fire directly at the breach.

No matter how many Heretics charged in, they had to face the lead bullets. Even if not killed, they would fall on the charge. And for those few who managed to get through, Barrett’s precise shooting was waiting. Geralt and Balistan weren’t dead either.

Gradually, the battle stabilized. All that was needed was the numb repetition of firing—reloading—firing. The Heretics fell like wheat, swath after swath, until the soldiers lifted their guns only to find no enemies left before them. All that remained was a large pile of bodies...

It took a while for their numb nerves to register this.

”We won? We won!”

”Heck yes!”

”...”

Instantly, cheers echoed throughout the entire outpost, lifting everyone’s spirits.

They had held their ground; these nightmarish creatures could be brought down, they could be defeated!

The soldiers of Hamlet had proven today that the army could indeed triumph over these monsters, provided, of course, they conquered their inner fear.

In this battle, they had faced more than one desperate situation capable of overwhelming anyone, yet someone always stood up.

They were worthy of the name Hamlet. After this battle, courage and strength would settle deep within them, forging them into tougher warriors, ready to unleash even greater power when the need arose.

But before that, they had to bear the painful consequences of war.

”Hurry, hurry, hurry! Medics!”

”Give a hand, he’s still alive!”

”Be careful, you have to cut off their heads to kill them.”

The remaining soldiers quickly engaged in rescue efforts. They provided battlefield first aid to their wounded comrades and hurriedly figured out how to clear the rubble to save those buried underneath. Another portion was assigned to clear the battlefield, delivering the final blow to any remaining Heretics.

Geralt, wielding his Longsword, chopped off a Heretic’s head and returned to where the Magic Wand had fallen. He noticed that the eye on the wand, connected to a withered hand, had closed again.

But the vicinity within a certain range had turned into dead ground, as if all Life Force had been sucked dry. The blood-soaked, fertile land had turned into clumped sand that crumbled at a touch. The surrounding bodies had also become mummified. However, he couldn’t find the Spellcaster’s corpse nearby, nor was it among the frenzied Heretics. Evidently, she had fled amidst the chaos, which unsettled him.

Spellcasters were most terrifying when hiding, not to mention one so powerful. Letting her escape now would only lead to more trouble later. But for now, the army was exhausted. Even he felt fatigued from the successive battles and lacked the strength to launch a search and pursuit.

It had to be this way...

Looking at the eerie Magic Wand on the ground, Geralt’s expression was grave. He didn’t dare to touch such a thing. The methods of the Heretics were extremely tricky, and no one knew what Curses or Sorcery might be upon it. But leaving it here was even more dangerous. Geralt could only pick up a random black robe. Using his Longsword, he lifted the wand, still attached to the arm, wrapped it in the robe, and took it away.

On the other hand, Balistan and the others looked just as grave as they faced a charred mass.

”It’s still alive...”

”We’ve already used four Incendiary Bottles. Even stone should have burned to ash by now.”

”This is just too...”

Clearly, their words indicated that this thing was the aberrant monster. It had charged in but was ignited by multiple Incendiary Bottles before it could wreak havoc. No one attended to it as the battlefront pushed forward. Upon checking back after the fight quieted down, it had turned into a charred meatball half the height of a man, utterly unrecognizable as human.

It seemed that even Extraordinary power had to yield to the laws of physics.

But someone had recently thrust a spear into it, only to discover it still bled, the Flesh writhing.

”What do we do?”

”Keep burning it! I don’t believe we can’t burn it to death!”

”Split it open, then burn it.”

Balistan listened to their words and fell silent. He knew the Lord and the doctors had been researching how to deal with the Heretics and had heard they’d made some progress.

This object could probably further advance their research...

”Find a box, seal it inside, and wait for My Lord to decide,” Balistan said.

No one else had any objections; they just carried out the task.

Soon, the Magic Wand and the charred creature were each sealed into a wooden box. Balistan, worried that ordinary soldiers might be affected, specifically had Geralt and Junia, the two Transcendents, guard them.

”All we can do now is hold our ground and hope My Lord resolves this trouble quickly.” Balistan couldn’t help but look up at the smoke column that had burned out and was dissipating with the wind, his concern unabated.

...

Meanwhile, outside the outpost’s perimeter, a figure staggered into the dense forest wilderness. At that moment, she finally couldn’t hold on any longer and collapsed. Who else could it be but the Saintess?

She had lost a finger last time; this time, it was an entire arm. More importantly, that Magic Wand was...

Looking back at the outpost, her eyes filled with hatred, and she muttered through gritted teeth, ”I will come back for sure!”

With that, she struggled to her feet and walked deeper into the wilderness, fearing that man might lead people to pursue her.

...

As the wilderness was continuously developed, distribution centers began to emerge in key material transportation areas. These eventually evolved into several camps.

Life here was much harder than in the town, where one could earn money, find entertainment, and enjoy the warmth of family. Every day, they used manpower to turn this land back into arable land—land that had been abandoned for an unknown number of years and eroded by nature.

Although they too were reclaiming land, their situation was worse than that of the established farms. At least those farms had ample supplies and weren’t as dangerous. Here, their days consisted of nothing but work, meals, and sleep. They also had to contend with areas corrupted by pollution, where lingering Curses or traps posed a grave danger. There were also corrupted monsters lurking about, or Heretics who had somehow bypassed the outposts.

Especially in the beginning, many people died developing this place, but the news was covered up.

Even so, these people did not rebel or cause trouble. They were criminals, after all, sent to labor camps for reform due to their offenses. When the farm was burned down, they were transferred here and made responsible for the most difficult tasks.

Moreover, while life here was far from good, they could at least eat their fill and even get some meat. As long as they worked, they wouldn’t go hungry. This alone spoke volumes of the Lord’s mercy. There were no unprovoked beatings or humiliations. Good behavior could even reduce their sentences; indeed, several had already earned reduced terms by demonstrating merit. It was also rumored that at the end of this month, My Lord would pardon some of those who had shown exceptional performance...

Similarly, some soldiers were stationed here, their barracks located in one corner of the camp. They were not responsible for managing camp matters regularly and would not intervene without cause, as the camp itself had an existing management system. They would only act when it was important.

Even the task given to them by the Lord was not to ensure the safety of these people, but to maintain order and suppress all rebellions. This indicated that, unlike with other farms, Lance didn’t care much about these individuals and was, in fact, always wary of them.

This area was the northern wilderness, closer to the influence of the Old Ancestor and further from Lance’s control. To be honest, Lance wouldn’t be surprised by anything outrageous happening here, because this was Hamlet. What was needed here was not laughable mercy, but a heavy fist—a fist heavy enough to smash those demons and monsters to death!

In the camps here, a curfew was imposed at night. The only people about were some managers patrolling with torches. Unlike the sheriffs in town who were merely responsible for keeping the peace, the managers here were more akin to prison guards, responsible for overseeing the Serfs. Most of these managers had been promoted from among the prisoners due to exceptional performance. They had experienced such conditions themselves. There were clear rules, and they simply had to follow regulations.

Anyway, no incidents have occurred for so long. I believe tonight will be another peaceful one...