"Go!"

Barrett's squad rushed up without wasting a single word; he raised his hand and fired, and a Priest hiding a hundred yards away in the chaotic crowd was instantly blown apart with a headshot.

The helmet's visor didn't stop it at all, because the bullet went straight through the eye.

Only targets that matter are worthy of a sniper's bullet.

"Ah!"

With a roar, Barin's massive figure, wrapped in Heavy Armor, charged in from the side; he twisted his torso and slammed in with his shoulder, actually sending the Heretic blocking the way flying.

The airborne Heretic even bowled over several unlucky bastards in a chain before finally stopping, as if a straight furrow had been plowed through them.

Only when they hit the ground did their twisted, deformed limbs become visible, like discarded, worn-out dolls; even with regeneration they didn't react for a while.

The Great Axe that an ordinary strong man would have to grip with both hands was being swung one-handed by him, while his other hand grabbed a Heretic by the ankle and whipped him around.

He swept out in wide arcs left and right, clearing a full circle around him; no enemy within that radius could stand back up.

Such outrageous strength made the previously surging Heretics falter, interrupting the ritual they were using to pull on the Old Ancestor.

The others also joined the battle, each using everything they had to tear open the Heretics' formation.

Geralt and the rest took the chance to link up, then fought as they withdrew, using movement to buy themselves more space to live.

In the rear, Barrett's hands were moving so fast they were about to spark, so busy he didn't even have the leisure to count his kills, but this was just how pathetic the rate of fire of a front-loading Flintlock Gun was.

"Bang!"

The shot rang out and another Priest dropped; but in order to fire faster, he hadn't even had time to relocate, and that got his position exposed.

"He's over there!"

Feeling his companions fall one after another around him, a Priest finally sensed something, tore himself away from the duel in the Void with the Mystical Scholars, and pointed to mark Barrett, who was hiding in the rear, for the Heretics.

Heretics immediately rushed over, trying to get close to the guy who had sniped two Priests.

This put Barrett in danger, but being a sniper didn't mean he was actually some fragile glass cannon.

On the contrary, if you could get picked for the Honor Guard, there was no way you only knew how to shoot.

Facing the Heretics closing in, Barrett didn't bother reloading his musket; he drew his pistol and popped one in the head, then fixed the bayonet on and charged in without the slightest fear.

Bayonet combat!

How do you solve the problem of a musket turning into a firewood stick after one shot? For that, aside from equipping bayonets, Lance had also brought in several experts in close combat—or killing—and put together a full bayonet combat system.

It was all about teaching how to fight with a musket equipped with a bayonet.

These soldiers already had basic hand-to-hand training, so they picked it up fast, and the system had been tested in real combat.

With several people you formed two- or three-man support cells; alone, you just swung the gun and went to town.

Upward thrust!

Block!

Buttstroke!

The gunstock smashed into a Heretic's head, sending him straight into a daze.

Even without pulling the trigger, Barrett could handle three at once; that was the strength of the "Lord's Chosen."

But compared to the Heretics, they were always at a disadvantage in numbers, and the Heretics' ability to recover made their kill efficiency drop hard.

The Corpse Decomposition Spore on their weapons had to be reapplied; after two chops it stopped working.

If they kept trying to tank it head-on, they'd be gambling with their lives; they weren't afraid to die, but dying for nothing was pointless.

Geralt started weighing whether they should keep up the deadlock; but if they just gave up on Target Three, all their effort so far would be for nothing.

What worried him even more was Alhazred's warning: those corpses left behind would probably become part of a new ritual. He remembered all too clearly the Sorcery that had shattered the outpost's high walls.

Whatever the ritual was, it would definitely make the fight to come even harder.

"Hey, hey, hey! I'm heeere!"

Just then, a distinct laugh rang out from the wild forest.

And it came with another shout:

"Grenade incoming!"

Something flew out and dropped precisely into the tunnel mouth; the muffled blast and the sudden, panicked screams interrupted the Heretics constantly pouring out of the passage.

A single Grenade wasn't enough to collapse the tunnel, but in a relatively confined space its power was nothing like what it was in the open.

Still, those who fought Heretics all the time knew this would only buy a brief delay; once those bastards recovered, they'd be howling and charging out again soon.

But what if you added something a bit more interesting?

"Try some Holy Water from Hamlet!"

A glass bottle with its mouth burning dropped into the tunnel, and a moment later a thick plume of fire roared up.

The flames writhing inside looked like human forms twisting in frenzy—uh… actually they really were people. Those struggling Heretics couldn't even crawl out.

First the shockwave from the initial blast to stun them, then the incendiary to finish the job.

Under that combo, even the tough-as-Flesh Heretics couldn't withstand the purification of the flames; soon an odd stench spread out of the shaft with the black smoke.

"Hahaha! Let the flames purify everything!"

A relatively short man, Sobray, stepped out. His vest was covered in Grenades, a pistol hung at his waist, and in his hands was a very interesting weapon.

It was a cannon igniter's matchcord. Normally that would be a stick with a burning match at the end.

But Sobray's was obviously custom: essentially an iron-wrapped Spear with slow-burning matchcord wrapped around the upper half.

At the same time, the shrill whistle of arrows sounded; they nailed the Heretics harrying Barrett to the ground.

A Honor Guard in full Knight's Armor charged forward; the Longsword in his hand, empowered by the charge, drove clean through a Heretic's chest and even shoved him into another Heretic, knocking that one aside too.

Only then was Barrett, who'd been marked by the Priest and caught in a siege, rescued.

Gasping for breath, Barrett planted his musket on the ground and pushed himself upright; if support had come any later, he might have been done for.

When he saw those Heretics with arrows through their eyes toppling over, he more or less guessed who it was.

Among the Honor Guard, the only one who used a bow and had this kind of precision was Xize, nicknamed "One-Eye."

Sure enough, looking back, he saw a lean teenager holding a Longbow. With each step forward he loosed an arrow, drawing and releasing without even needing to aim.

The funny thing was, Xize himself wasn't actually one-eyed.

As for the nickname, it came from his habit of shooting eyes; more importantly, he usually killed with a single arrow. When people saw a corpse with only one eye left, they knew Xize had done it, hence the weird nickname.

Moving and shooting, hitting moving targets—and still landing precise shots; his archery was terrifyingly strong!

Skill is nine parts talent; there's even a bit of the mystical about it.

Take Barrett: he'd never touched a musket before, but picked it up and quickly became one of the top Gunners in Hamlet. Top-tier talent really doesn't play fair.

But Xize? At most he'd "had some exposure." Compared to normal people he had a bit of talent, but nothing you'd call top-tier.

To get to this "one step, one arrow, one arrow, one kill" level—few people knew how much he'd paid behind the scenes.

Back then, the reason the Lord noticed him wasn't his archery at all, but his standout performance as a Spearman in operation after operation.

At the time there was no way they'd bend the rules just for him; he only picked up archery after being selected for the Honor Guard, when the Lord demanded they all dig out their own hidden talents.

He hadn't known what talent he had; he was just an ordinary person who'd fled here after one disaster after another, finally receiving the Lord's salvation and arriving in Hamlet.

He thought about it for a long time before going to the Lord about this, hoping for guidance.