As both sides engaged, the chaos spread instantaneously like a lit fuse because this time, the camp was raided not just by a few Barbarian Scouts, but by a considerable number of troops.

Under the glow of the fire, a large group of Barbarian warriors appeared outside the camp walls. In the darkness, where the light could not reach, flashes of musket fire occasionally flared, showcasing their skilled Musket Skill.

What was even more terrifying was that these Barbarian warriors were different from those who lived deep within the Mountains. Many of them were Barbarian Mercenaries, familiar with the surroundings.

The Earl used caravans to explore the Mountains, just as the Barbarians used mercenaries to scout Bastia.

Moreover, these Barbarians were well-equipped, with a high rate of armor, and even included fearsomely accurate Musketeers.

The soldiers of Bastia were illuminated on the city walls, while the Barbarian Musketeers hid in the dark, causing significant casualties whenever they showed themselves.

For those Serf Soldiers, the only things they could rely on were the camp walls and the spears in their hands. There were few Archers and Crossbowmen, let alone Musketeers.

Having endured many night raids, those who were still alive after the selection process were not elite but were experienced.

In terms of numbers, they had an absolute advantage, and, relying on the continuously repaired camp, they managed to withstand the Barbarians' tidal wave-like attacks.

But that was all they could manage; relying on the camp prevented a collapse, but going out to engage the Barbarians in open combat seemed impossible.

From the high tower of the camp, Bruce coldly watched the Barbarians retreat. His trusted aide and deputy, seeing this scene, also lost the impulsiveness he had before.

After so many night raids, no troops were dispatched. Instead, they stayed holed up here. He understood the commander would not venture out.

Yet his gaze towards the Barbarians still held a trace of reluctance. Hatred gave him strength, stemming from the unforgettable night when the village was destroyed.

Seeing the Barbarians retreat out of the firelight, Bruce suddenly asked, "Did you notice anything?"

The deputy snapped back to reality, unsure what was being asked. After a slight hesitation, he replied.

"Their swift withdrawal shows that this was just a probe; they never intended a full-scale assault."

Bruce wasn't quite satisfied with this answer and added on his own.

"This is the Barbarians' Allied Army; a single tribe couldn't deploy this many mercenaries. Father's worries were justified. Over the years, the Barbarians have recovered and gained the ambition and strength to covet Bastia.

Looking at Bastia, it has been a long time since there was a large-scale war. The soldiers have become soft and unable to fight. If this continues, the situation may become more troublesome."

A Mountain Barbarian Tribe with just a thousand people could become a major tribe, so the warriors they send out as mercenaries aren't many.

Therefore, the exact number is uncertain, but there are definitely over a hundred Barbarian Mercenaries, which must be cobbled together from different tribes.

As for their role... they're likely meant to ignite conflicts throughout Bastia's territories, to deplete Bastia's strength, and as a probe.

"From the start, those Barbarian Mercenaries should have been killed, not expelled!" the deputy said through gritted teeth.

However, Bruce didn't think much of it. If they had all been killed, would the Barbarians dare come down the mountain?

But he realized these Barbarians didn't act as simply as Father predicted, because their actions were more greedy.

The Earl actually expected the Barbarian unrest to happen during the autumn harvest. Bruce planned to train his troops during this time, but the Barbarians acted faster than planned, which made him a bit worried.

Even so, this worry was quickly overwhelmed by strong confidence. If Father suppressed them for so many years, so could he!

"Assemble the Order of Knights and pursue the enemy!"

Just wallowing here would make the Barbarians suspicious. Now was a perfect time to demonstrate Bastia's strength and to drive these Barbarians into that place...

The deputy was momentarily stunned, but after a two-second pause, he excitedly shouted.

"Yes!"

He turned and rushed down from the tower, shouting loudly.

"Gather! Gather!"

At the newly calmed battlefield, a recruit leaned against the wall, gasping for breath, with some blood stains on him, though it wasn't his but from an unlucky fellow in front of him.

He had seen that man's face blown apart, the blood splattering onto himself. If that man hadn't blocked the shot, it would likely have been him who fell.

Even now, his heart hadn't stopped pounding, still beating fiercely.

He had been drafted by the Lord, inexplicably brought here. After years of peace, they never anticipated going to war, thinking they were just here to build the camp.

This wasn't surprising, as the Lord would do this for any project, like building an estate, by conscripting the serfs in his territory, and they even had to bring their own provisions.

Until a sudden night raid began the battle, revealing to them the harshness of war, and the ferocity of the Barbarians.

He had seen many people killed by arrows or muskets, yet rarely saw any Barbarians suffer casualties. Their being here was for complex reasons, but it certainly wasn't for the one fist-sized piece of black bread per day.