The retreat back to the forest was chaos. It was not organized or disciplined, it was a chaotic retreat.

Men crashed through bushes and tree branches while running blindly into the darkness. Horses screamed somewhere deeper inside the woods while wounded brigands stumbled through mud and roots with blood soaking their clothes.

Some threw away shields just to run faster.

Others abandoned wounded men entirely.

Fear had shattered the attack force completely.

Daren nearly slammed into a tree while running downhill through the forest, breathing hard as distant thunder-like cracks still echoed faintly behind them from the direction of Falmouth.

Not thunder.

Not anymore.

Now he knew what it really was.

Those black weapons.

Those impossible weapons.

Another brigand suddenly burst from the trees nearby clutching one arm. Blood poured heavily between his fingers while panic filled his eyes.

"They were tearing people apart!"

"I KNOW!" Daren snapped back.

The wounded man looked completely broken.

"They killed Harven! His shield exploded!"

Daren kept moving.

Because stopping felt dangerous now.

Everything about tonight felt wrong.

The walls.

The silence.

The impossible range of those weapons.

The strange soldiers who never panicked.

It felt less like attacking a city and more like walking into a trap built by monsters.

Marrick finally emerged beside him again, panting heavily.

"You alright?"

"Yeah."

"You hit?"

"No."

Lucky.

Very lucky.

Because many others were not.

They continued moving through the trees alongside scattered survivors for nearly twenty minutes before the hidden brigand valley finally came into view again.

The camp was already awake.

Completely awake.

Men rushed between fires while guards near the perimeter stared toward the returning survivors in disbelief.

Then the first wounded brigands stumbled into the camp.

And everything changed.

"What happened?!"

"Where’s Garron?!"

"Why are there so few of you?!"

Panic spread almost immediately.

The survivors looked horrible.

Covered in mud.

Blood.

Smoke.

Some were missing weapons.

Others dragged wounded men behind them.

One horse returned riderless with blood splattered across its side.

The camp’s earlier confidence disappeared instantly.

Daren slowed near the center fires while trying to catch his breath.

Around him, brigands were shouting over each other in confusion.

"They killed us from the walls!"

"No arrows!"

"They had thunder weapons!"

"Something exploded through Kallen’s chest!"

Another wounded brigand collapsed near one of the fires screaming while two others tried desperately to stop the bleeding from his leg.

The wound looked horrific.

Daren froze slightly after seeing it.

There was barely a leg left.

Just shredded flesh and blood.

One older brigand nearby stared at it with pale eyes.

"...What kind of weapon does that?"

Nobody answered.

Because nobody knew.

More survivors stumbled into camp seconds later.

Then finally—

Garron Blackmaw emerged from the trees.

Alive.

But different.

His armor was scratched and splattered with mud while rage burned openly across his face. Several brigands immediately moved toward him, bombarding him with questions.

"What happened?!"

"How many did we lose?!"

"Boss?!"

Garron roared loudly enough to silence most of them instantly.

"SHUT UP!"

The camp quieted immediately afterward.

Not fully.

But enough.

Garron looked furious.

Not afraid.

Furious.

That honestly scared Daren more.

Because Garron was not a man easily shaken.

Yet tonight had clearly rattled him badly.

Several surviving lieutenants slowly gathered near the central fire again.

And Daren immediately noticed something.

There were fewer of them now.

Much fewer.

One lieutenant named Brohm was missing entirely.

Another called Leto never returned.

And judging by the survivors still arriving from the forest—

Many more were dead too.

Garron finally stepped toward the center of camp while staring at the shattered remains of his raiding force.

The earlier confidence was gone.

Men looked shaken now.

Some openly terrified.

Others angry.

A few simply sat silently beside the fires staring into nothing.

The attack lasted less than ten minutes.

And it destroyed them.

Daren slowly approached closer alongside Marrick while listening carefully.

One wounded brigand nearby kept muttering repeatedly:

"They killed us before we even reached the walls..."

Another answered shakily:

"They could see us..."

That line made several nearby men uncomfortable.

Because honestly—

It felt true.

The strange soldiers on the walls fired too accurately.

Too quickly.

Even in darkness.

Marrick lowered his voice slightly.

"You think they really could see us?"

Daren remembered the black goggles mounted on the outsiders’ helmets.

The strange green lenses.

The calm way they aimed into darkness.

"...Maybe."

That answer unsettled even him.

Garron eventually slammed his axe down beside the fire hard enough to scatter sparks.

"We got careless."

One wounded lieutenant stared at him in disbelief.

"Careless?!"

Garron rounded toward him immediately.

"Yes! Careless!"

His voice echoed across the valley.

"We walked into the fields packed together like idiots!"

Nobody argued after that.

Because deep down—

Everyone knew it was true.

The attack formation collapsed the moment the firing started.

There was nowhere to hide.

No time to react.

The black weapons ripped through them before most brigands even understood they were under attack.

One brigand suddenly shouted angrily from the edge of the crowd:

"Those weren’t normal weapons!"

Several men immediately agreed.

"They weren’t crossbows!"

"They punched through shields!"

"Some kind of mage weapons!"

Garron looked toward them coldly.

"Then we adapt."

That answer surprised many of them.

Honestly—

Daren expected Garron to be angrier.

More shaken.

Instead, the brigand leader looked focused now.

Dangerously focused.

One wounded man near the fires looked horrified.

"Adapt?! They slaughtered us!"

Another nodded frantically.

"They were killing people from impossible distances!"

A third added:

"The walls sounded like thunder!"

Fear spread again through the camp.

Daren could feel it.

This was no longer normal pre-battle anxiety.

This was survival fear.

Because the brigands had finally encountered something they did not understand.

And humans feared unknown things far more than ordinary danger.

Garron looked around the camp slowly.

Then finally spoke again.

"How many?"

One surviving lieutenant swallowed hard before answering.

"Still counting."

"Estimate."

The lieutenant hesitated.

"...Thirty dead maybe."

Silence.

Even the campfires suddenly felt quieter after hearing that.

Thirty.

Gone.

In less than ten minutes.

Some brigands looked pale.

Others lowered their heads.

One man quietly cursed under his breath.

Daren stared into the fire while processing the number himself.

Thirty dead.

And many more wounded.

They lost nearly half their combat force during a single failed assault.

A failed assault where they never even touched the walls.

That part mattered most.

They died in the fields like animals being hunted.

Another wounded brigand suddenly shouted angrily:

"We should leave!"

Several nearby men immediately reacted.

"Leave?"

"You serious?"

"They have monsters guarding that city!"

More arguing erupted instantly.

Fear was finally turning into division.

Some wanted revenge.

Others wanted escape.

And many no longer believed Garron’s confidence.

That was dangerous. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

Very dangerous.

Because raider groups survived on momentum.

The moment fear cracked that momentum—

Everything started falling apart.

Garron clearly understood that too.

He stepped forward immediately.

"We are NOT running."

His voice carried heavily across the valley.

"Falmouth bleeds. Their people still fear us. One failed assault changes nothing."

Several brigands looked uncertain.

Honestly—

Even Daren wasn’t fully convinced anymore.

One failed assault?

No.

That was far worse than failure.

That was annihilation.

Garron continued:

"They have strange weapons. Fine."

He pointed toward the darkness north of camp.

"But they are still men behind those walls."

Some brigands slowly nodded.

Others still looked doubtful.

Garron’s voice hardened further.

"They eat. Sleep. Bleed."

Another pause.

"And they are outnumbered."

That part finally started calming portions of the camp again.

Because despite tonight’s disaster—

Atlas truly was few in number.

The brigands still had manpower.

Still had terrain familiarity.

Still had the forests.

At least—

That was what Garron wanted them believing.

Daren quietly exchanged a glance with Marrick again.

Neither scout looked reassured.

Not even close.

Because both of them saw the walls clearly tonight.

The strange soldiers were not frightened.

Not even during combat.

They fired calmly.

Methodically.

Like men performing routine work instead of fighting for survival.

That part disturbed Daren more than the weapons themselves.

One brigand near the fires suddenly muttered:

"What if they attack us instead?"

That question changed the atmosphere instantly.

Several men looked around nervously afterward.

Because until now—

They assumed the forests protected them.

But after tonight?

Nobody seemed certain anymore.

Garron noticed the fear immediately.

"They don’t know where we are."

Daren quietly looked down after hearing that.

Because technically—

That was true.

At least from the brigands’ perspective.

None of them knew about the Predator drone still circling high above the valley.

None of them knew Atlas operators had already mapped the camp layout hours ago.

None of them knew Marcus had watched the entire retreat happen through thermal imaging.

Inside the command center at Falmouth, Marcus stood beside the live drone feed while Atlas personnel updated casualty estimates across the operations map.

The brigand camp glowed clearly across the monitor.

Campfires.

Tents.

Movement.

Panic.

Marcus watched survivors staggering back into camp while wounded men gathered near the central fires.

One operator looked toward him.

"They’re breaking down."

Marcus nodded once.

"Expected after casualties like that."

Another operator adjusted the thermal zoom.

Garron himself appeared near the center of the display while moving through the camp.

Still alive.

Still organizing.

Marcus studied him quietly.

Not stupid.

Not reckless either.

The brigand leader adapted quickly after the ambush failed.

That made him dangerous.

One Atlas operator finally asked:

"Next move?"

Marcus looked toward the glowing camp on the screen.

Then calmly answered:

"We let them panic first."

Back in the forest camp, the brigands slowly tried rebuilding confidence around the fires.

Ale was distributed again.

Wounded treated.

Weapons checked.

But the atmosphere had changed completely now.

The laughter from earlier was gone.

Nobody joked about easy hunts anymore.

Nobody mocked the strange soldiers now.

And every few minutes, someone inevitably glanced north toward the darkness beyond the trees.

Toward Falmouth.

Toward the city where thunder weapons waited behind stone walls.