Our Family Has Fallen

"These people don't look like refugees at all. Just now…" Dismas began, proceeding to explain in detail the situation he had just encountered. Reynard wasn't too surprised about their identities; he had felt something was off from the start.

First, the old road was the only route in and out of Hamlet. He had just completed a patrol along it, there and back. If refugees had been moving along it, the Cavalry Squad would certainly have seen them, unless they had flown over or emerged from the wilderness. Second, their disguises were far too amateurish. The tears in their clothing were clearly deliberate, the signs of fabrication too obvious. Moreover, real refugees would never possess such robust physiques and high spirits. Third, and most obviously, refugees would never carry so much money, nor would they dare to clash with soldiers. When he had intimidated them, not a single one had begged for mercy.

Without clear knowledge of their origins, the only option had been to stabilize the situation temporarily and then send Dismas to probe further.

Balistan and Barton also pondered the matter, sensing a crisis.

"If they can endure this, it further proves they have some purpose concerning Hamlet," Balistan mused.

"We just don't know their origins or their objective," Barton added.

"It can't be people from the Church; they don't need to disguise themselves or lie low," Reynard thought for a moment, dismissing one possibility.

"Who cares? Just call the troops over and encircle them. With two hundred muskets pointing at their heads, I doubt they won't confess," Dismas said, not bothering with subtleties. With guns in hand, he believed the enemy couldn't escape his grasp.

"But if we act rashly and draw enemies to the Lord, what then?" Barton was much more cautious. His previous failure had brought him to a low point, smoothing out his sharp edges and stripping him of the arrogance he once had as a prodigy. He had become low-key and restrained, his thinking far more careful and deliberate.

The others understood this rationale. After their return, the Lord had compiled basic knowledge of the world's Extraordinary for them. The more they knew, the more they revered the world; only the ignorant tended to be arrogant.

"Have you forgotten why our Lord ventured deep into the wilderness?" Balistan interjected.

With experience comes wisdom. Balistan's single sentence made them realize the likely identity of these people.

Right! The Lord had entered the wilderness precisely because he discovered corruption!

"Those people… they want to come in and spread the plague…" Dismas voiced what everyone was thinking, though his tone lacked complete certainty.

"It's very likely a conspiracy by an evil cult. Otherwise, why would they show up just as the Lord leaves? There are too many coincidences," someone else added.

"Regardless, protecting Hamlet is our duty. If they dare to invade, whoever they are, they will pay the price," Barton declared, his voice tinged with anger as he spoke of evil cults. He was cautious, not fearful.

"Exactly. Whatever their identities, we must deal with them for Hamlet's safety. This matter cannot be widely known," Reynard stated firmly. "Use the pretext of a military drill to inform the townspeople to blockade all entrances and exits. Mobilize the remaining soldiers from the training camp to surround their encampment and eliminate those individuals. Not a single one can be allowed to escape."

Reynard had set the tone. In Lance's absence, he was responsible for coordinating the troops. Opportunities in war were fleeting and had to be seized decisively.

"If they really are Heretics, their strength is likely considerable. Without the Lord, it could be tough for us to handle…" Barton was still worried. He hadn't personally faced Heretics, but he had heard about them from his more experienced colleagues. The mind-seizing Sorcery, the grotesque and twisted monsters—these were not things ordinary people could contend with.

"We can't just rely on the Lord. If that were the case, we would have no reason to exist," Reynard said, a confident smile on his face as he patted Barton's shoulder. "Bring the cannons over. Let those Heretics feel your fury."

When Lance drafted military training manuals, he naturally involved several key personnel in tactical discussions. Under the Lord's influence, they all understood the potential of firearms in future warfare and certainly wouldn't reject or squander such potent weaponry.

"Alright!" Barton's anxiety vanished. Once he had the cannons, he was confident he could hit even a monstrous aberration with a single shot.

"We can't wait any longer, lest further complications arise. Tell them—it's time!" Reynard declared.

Everyone went to their positions, urgently summoning the soldiers.

When the bell rang, everyone in the training camp, regardless of what they were doing, dropped everything and rushed to assemble on the parade ground. Squads then conducted a headcount. Viewed from the platform, rows of soldiers in their crisp, identical military uniforms stood in neat formation.

This uniform, designed by the Lord, stood out from current fashion trends, prioritizing neatness, convenience, comfort—and looking sharp.

After a period of training, they finally began to resemble true soldiers. At the very least, their complexions had improved significantly, and their formations were neat and orderly.

Having endured such hardship, their resilience had become remarkable. At times, the simple desire to eat their fill was enough motivation for them to persevere, for they had intimately known starvation.

The majority had persevered through the rigorous training and gradually adapted. The tenacity of humanity was evident.

Past drills never required motivational speeches to boost morale; their zeal was constant, and they wouldn't dare slack off in training or drills, as the lazy ones had already been removed.

Now, those who had been dismissed had no chance for regret, and their misconduct could even affect their families.