Our Family Has Fallen-Chapter 817 - 472: Where’s My Magic Wand? (2)

But when she looked back, it was an even bigger problem…

Margaret and the woman stayed close to the caravan for Laura's Sanctuary, so they were the first to encounter the Heretics when they charged forward.

They were initially so hungry that their limbs were weak, but one should never underestimate human potential when it comes to life and death situations.

Facing the sharp claws of the Heretics, they squeezed out the last bit of strength, waving the Longsword wrapped in torn cloth in an attempt to resist.

But how could her strength compare to the frantic Heretics? At the moment of contact, the Longsword slipped from her hand.

Seeing that she was about to be seriously injured, an arrow suddenly pierced the back of the Heretic's neck, interrupting their action, but it was not a fatal wound; they could recover in a breath's time.

Even more terrifying was that the refugees were thrown into chaos, as the Heretics had already begun slaughtering among the refugees at the rear of the caravan.

The refugees had no power to resist, each one just a target made of Flesh, and this directly ignited them, spreading chaos.

The situation began to collapse, and Laura couldn't even care about Margaret and the others, as she was also hit by the refugees, and the Heretics were closing in, trapping her in the middle.

Just then, gunshots sounded, followed by the neighing of warhorses.

What happened?

Laura didn't know what was happening, so she quickly climbed onto the roof of a nearby carriage to see.

She saw torches lighting up on the other side of the path, a troop of fully armed Knights joining the battle, their sabers slicing through the heads of the Heretics as they attacked ferociously from behind.

When they got a bit closer, the struggling Guards also noticed that they were wearing what looked like Bastia's standard Knight's Armor.

"Reinforcements have arrived!"

"Hold your ground, hold your ground!"

"..."

The sudden appearance of this troop immediately raised spirits, but Laura didn't think the same.

Having had many missions with the Eagle Flock following the army, she knew very well that Bastia's Knights didn't use sabers.

Not to mention that among the leaders, one man was without armor, holding a torch in one hand and carrying a musket in the other, which made her uneasy, as if she remembered something.

That man!

But that man's figure didn't pause under her gaze and charged straight forward, raising the musket and pulling the trigger.

The musket roared, and the Lead Bullet whizzed out.

While Laura was still in a daze, it slammed into a Heretic massacring the refugees.

The Heretic seemed to have noticed her gaze and looked over, their eyes meeting briefly before quickly moving apart, not giving Laura enough time to see clearly. Only then did Laura snap back to reality.

She quickly abandoned her position, turned and jumped off the carriage, then took advantage of the chaos to slip into the darkness…

As the Longsword slipped from her hand, Margaret, now unarmed, was trapped in a desperate situation against the frantic Heretics.

Was this finally the end?

Just then, a gunshot rang out, and the Heretic in front of her suddenly stiffened and fell to the ground, hinting at the black iron helmet torn apart by the Lead Bullet.

Looking up, she saw a person holding a torch galloping out on horseback, the musket in his hand spitting intense fire in the dim light, knocking down Heretic after Heretic.

As a Musketeer, Margaret didn't even have time to react to how his musket could fire without reloading.

The only one capable of unleashing the firepower of ten people was Lance, using the Exhibition Room to swap equipment. This unit was not the Bastia reinforcements the Guards thought they were, but a part of the Cavalry led by Lance.

A large part of their equipment was looted from the Order of Knights, even their horses, so of course, they looked like the real deal.

At this time, the Cavalry charged through the caravan and began their attack.

Even though the Corrupting Wind enhanced the Heretics' power, Hamlet's Cavalry didn't stand still either.

"Attack!"

Where Reynard's Longsword swung, no Heretic was left undamaged, the sharpness of the Champion's Proof was not something anyone dared to test.

The forest nearby lit up with fire. Those elite scouts sneaked in, purposefully inserting their Short Swords into heads or chopping them off, cooperating seamlessly to end the Heretics wounded by the Cavalry.

Dismas emerged from the darkness, dragging with him a Heretic Priest, bearing several gunshot wounds, but more severe was a throat nearly slit in half, blood gushing out, yet somehow surviving.

The eerie Life Force from the corrupted flesh was terrifying.

As Reynard led the Cavalry into the battlefield, Dismas found and eliminated the Heretic Priest casting spells from the shadows.

With Hamlet's forces intervening, the Heretics had almost no room to resist. Anyone trying to struggle met the musket in Lance's hands, which was not something to joke about.

The chaos was quickly controlled, just as the refugees were about to collapse, imposing strong measures that stabilized the situation.

But the people from the caravan didn't quite comprehend, as those Cavalry they thought were on their side turned their weapons on them after taking out the Heretics.

This isn't right…

"Everyone, squat down! Those who resist will die!"

The Cavalry didn't bother chatting, their bloody sabers in view, leaving the Guards utterly confused and at a loss.

Resistance?

Don't be ridiculous. They had already suffered heavy casualties against the Heretics; facing fully armed Knights, a single charge would destroy them.

They didn't dare test the feel of those Longswords that cleaved Heretics being used on themselves.

Besides, they saw some scouts treating the wounded Guards, indicating the other side had no reason to kill them. Without a word from the person in charge, they put down their weapons.

As for the one in charge?

Once Lance controlled the situation, he turned his horse around and approached a particularly noticeable carriage.

The Corrupting Wind from Hamlet heightened the effect on the Heretic Priests.

Not to mention, the death from slaughter would saturate the air in Hamlet with the evil power needed for spellcasting.

This influence also strongly affected the Spellcasters, with the Flame Warlock severely injured by a souped-up Soul-Entangling Curse from the Heretic Priest.

If Lance and his team had arrived a bit later, widespread death could have enabled the Heretic Priest to perform a massive Sorcery, killing them all here.

Lance was a hospitable and kind person. Seeing a fat man tumble from the toppled carriage, he quickly dismounted, bending down to help him up.

Inevitably, he dropped the torch he was holding.

Oops! How did my torch fall here?

Lance casually picked up the extinguished Torch Staff, put it back in the Exhibition Room, and handed the torch to the fat man.

He then helped the dazed fat man up with a tap on his prominent belly, jokingly.

"Are you alright?"

The fat man, entrusted with important tasks by the Earl, must have been capable, but hit without warning, only now did he start to recover.

He initially didn't understand this sudden man's presence, instinctively wanting to distance himself from the stranger.

For Spellcasters, keeping distance ensures safer spellcasting.

Quickly realizing something was off, he looked at what he held…

Where's my Magic Wand?

The fat man was stunned; his hard-earned Extraordinary Equipment, part of a Magician's legacy, had turned to junk?

His expression instantly became fierce, with none of the previously cheerful demeanor, his face like a boiled pig's head.

"I saved you, and you're not even thanking me…" Lance casually retorted, fiddling with his musket, "That doesn't seem right~"

The fat man abruptly reached for his waist, seemingly jolted awake.

Finding it empty, he blurted out.

"That's my gun!"