Night settled slowly over Falmouth.

The last traces of orange sunlight disappeared beyond the distant hills while cold wind moved across the southern fields outside the city walls. Lanterns flickered to life one by one along the streets below while nervous civilians hurried indoors before the gates fully closed.

The atmosphere inside the city felt tense.

Heavy.

Like everyone was waiting for something bad to happen.

And honestly—

They were right.

High above the clouds, invisible against the darkening sky, the MQ-1 Predator drone continued circling silently over the southern forests.

Its engine produced only a faint hum at altitude, impossible to hear from the ground below. Beneath its long wings, stabilized sensor systems continuously scanned the terrain using thermal imaging and infrared optics.

The forests glowed across the monitor feed.

Heat signatures moved everywhere.

Campfires.

Horses.

Patrols.

Groups of brigands moving between trees.

Inside the Atlas command center near the middle of Falmouth, the live drone feed illuminated the darkened operations room with a cold bluish glow.

Marcus stood near the central table with crossed arms while several Atlas personnel monitored incoming data beside him.

The pilot sat near one of the consoles while adjusting the thermal contrast levels slightly.

"Movement increased in the last twenty minutes," he said calmly.

Marcus looked toward the screen.

Several bright white figures moved through the forest south of the city.

Not random movement.

Organized.

The brigands were mobilizing.

The co-pilot leaned against the nearby wall while watching another section of the feed.

"They’re definitely staging now."

Marcus nodded once.

The brigands still thought they had surprise on their side.

That alone already gave Atlas an enormous advantage.

Another operator spoke quietly from the rear console.

"Additional heat signatures emerging west of the main camp."

Marcus stepped closer to the display.

The drone camera shifted slightly before zooming toward another wooded section deeper inside the forest.

More brigands.

Mounted this time.

Probably one of the flanking groups Garron planned to use.

Marcus studied the movement carefully.

"Count."

The operator adjusted the tracking overlay.

"Approximately fifteen riders."

Marcus nodded slightly.

Not enough for direct assault.

Probably harassment or interception.

The pilot looked over from his station.

"They’re splitting forces."

"Expected," Marcus replied.

The brigands believed Falmouth relied on medieval defense doctrine.

Pressure multiple sides.

Force confusion.

Exploit panic.

That strategy usually worked well against poorly organized city guards.

Against Atlas?

Marcus almost felt bad for them.

Almost.

Outside the command center, Atlas infantry squads were already preparing along the southern wall.

The atmosphere there felt completely different from the city below.

No panic.

No shouting.

Only preparation.

Tomas Vale stood near the main southern firing position while checking his rifle under lantern light.

The M4 Carbine rested comfortably in his hands now after six months of training. A holographic sight sat mounted along the top rail while additional magazines rested securely across his tactical vest.

Beside him, another infantryman adjusted the mounting bracket of a belt-fed machine gun overlooking the southern road.

Metal clicked softly.

Ammo belts shifted.

Bolts locked into place.

Professional routine.

Not far away, Rolf Aster crouched beside a stack of sandbags while checking several AN/PVS-14 night vision devices laid out across a crate.

The local city guards nearby kept staring at them nervously.

Honestly—

Rolf couldn’t blame them.

To medieval soldiers, Atlas equipment probably looked like artifacts from another world.

One older guard finally stepped closer while pointing toward the green-lensed goggles.

"What are those?"

Rolf glanced up briefly.

"Night vision."

The guard blinked.

"...What?"

"They help us see in darkness."

The guard frowned deeply.

"That’s impossible."

Rolf smirked slightly.

"So are flying helicopters."

The guard immediately fell silent after that.

Fair point.

Rolf picked up one of the monocular devices and attached it carefully to the front mount of his helmet. The night vision system clicked securely into place before he lowered it briefly over one eye.

The world instantly shifted into green monochrome.

Stone walls.

Movement.

Shapes.

Clear.

Even under low light.

Rolf raised it back up again.

"Still weird every time," he muttered quietly.

Nearby, Tomas walked along the wall inspecting positions carefully.

"Machine gun team status?"

"Operational."

"Ammo?"

"Six additional belts staged nearby."

Good.

Tomas nodded once before moving to the next position.

Atlas infantrymen occupied nearly every major section of the southern battlements now. Rifle teams were spread in overlapping defensive sectors while machine gun nests covered the main roads and open fields beyond the city.

Several Atlas personnel quietly distributed additional night vision devices to selected marksmen and squad leaders.

The city guards kept watching.

One younger guard looked visibly nervous while staring at the black rifles Atlas soldiers carried.

"They really fight with those?"

Another guard nodded quietly.

"You heard the stories from Berm."

"The wyverns?"

"Yes."

The younger guard swallowed.

"...Do you think the stories are true?"

Neither of them noticed Tomas standing behind them until he spoke calmly.

"They’re worse than the stories."

Both guards nearly jumped.

Tomas walked past them toward another firing position without further explanation.

The younger guard looked pale afterward.

Honestly—

Good.

Fear made people cautious.

And cautious men survived longer during battles.

Far below the walls, the streets of Falmouth had mostly emptied now.

Windows closed.

Doors locked.

Lanterns dimmed.

Families huddled inside homes while rumors spread quietly through taverns and inns.

The brigands were coming.

Everyone knew it.

The only uncertainty left was when.

Inside one building near the southern district, Cedric Valehurst stood near a window watching Atlas personnel move along the walls.

The merchant still struggled processing everything he had witnessed since Atlas arrived.

The speed.

The organization.

The discipline.

Even now, several military trucks sat positioned near the central plaza while Atlas personnel moved equipment between buildings with practiced efficiency.

Nothing about them resembled ordinary mercenaries.

A knock came from behind him.

Cedric turned.

Marcus entered the room calmly.

"Couldn’t sleep?" Marcus asked.

Cedric gave a tired smile.

"Not really."

Marcus walked beside the window and looked toward the southern wall.

Machine gun silhouettes rested along the battlements beneath lantern light while infantry patrols moved steadily between defensive positions.

Cedric exhaled quietly.

"The city feels different now."

Marcus nodded slightly.

"Good different or bad different?"

Cedric thought about it.

"...Prepared."

That was the right word.

Prepared.

Marcus looked back toward the darkness beyond the city.

"They’re moving already."

Cedric stiffened slightly.

"You know that?"

Marcus nodded once.

"We’ve been tracking them for hours."

Cedric hesitated briefly.

"How?"

Marcus glanced toward him.

Then simply answered:

"We have eyes on them."

That honestly explained nothing.

But Cedric had already stopped trying to fully understand Atlas technology days ago.

Marcus continued watching the darkness outside.

The brigands believed night favored them.

That darkness protected movement.

That confusion and fear would weaken the defenders.

Normal medieval armies struggled badly during nighttime combat.

Limited visibility alone created chaos quickly.

Atlas operated differently.

Modern infantry doctrine heavily emphasized night fighting capability because whoever controlled darkness controlled the battlefield.

And tonight—

Atlas owned the night completely.

Back inside the command center, another operator suddenly spoke.

"Movement spike detected."

Marcus immediately turned and headed back toward the operations room with Cedric following closely behind.

The thermal display now showed multiple groups moving simultaneously through the forests south of Falmouth.

Some on foot.

Others mounted.

The drone feed tracked them easily.

White heat signatures flowing through black forest terrain like glowing insects.

The pilot adjusted another display overlay.

"They’re organizing into assault groups now."

Marcus studied the movement carefully.

One large group remained near the central forest route.

Another moved east.

Smaller scouting elements spread farther outward.

Exactly what he expected.

The co-pilot pointed toward one section.

"Looks like eastern infiltration element."

Marcus nodded slightly.

"The drainage route."

Cedric looked confused.

"They already know about that?"

Marcus looked toward him.

"If they’re smart enough to pressure caravans for months, they’re smart enough to scout old city infrastructure."

Cedric quietly cursed under his breath.

Marcus looked back toward the displays.

"Good thing we already prepared for it."

Earlier that evening, Marcus had already stationed additional rifle teams covering the drainage approach after reviewing city maps.

Motion sensors too.

If the brigands attempted infiltration through the tunnel—

Atlas would know immediately.

Outside the command center, wind moved harder across the walls now.

Clouds slowly covered parts of the moon overhead while the forests beyond the city darkened further.

Perfect raiding conditions.

For medieval fighters anyway.

Along the southern wall, Atlas infantrymen finished final equipment checks.

Rifles loaded.

Optics aligned.

Night vision active.

Radio checks completed.

Machine gun belts staged beside firing positions.

Tomas crouched beside one squad near the eastern tower.

"Rules stay the same," he reminded calmly.

The infantrymen listened carefully.

"No wasted fire."

Several nodded.

"Positive identification before engagement."

Another nod.

"And remember your sectors."

Tomas looked directly at them.

"We trained for this."

That mattered.

These men were not random adventurers anymore.

They were trained infantry.

And tonight would become their first real combat deployment as Atlas soldiers.

Rolf eventually approached carrying another ammunition case over one shoulder.

"Wall teams are ready."

Tomas nodded once.

"Good."

Rolf looked toward the forests beyond the walls.

The darkness out there looked thick now.

Heavy.

Like the entire wilderness was waiting.

"You think they attack tonight?"

Tomas answered honestly.

"Yes."

The former adventurer exhaled slowly.

Then grinned slightly.

"Good."

Tomas glanced toward him.

"Nervous?"

"A little."

"Good."

Rolf blinked.

"What?"

Tomas adjusted his rifle sling slightly.

"Only idiots aren’t nervous before combat."

Fair enough.

Far south beyond the city, brigand forces continued moving through the forest under darkness.

Torches remained mostly extinguished now.

The raiders relied on moonlight and familiarity with the terrain instead.

They believed the night concealed them.

They believed Falmouth remained blind behind its walls.

Above them, the Predator drone silently tracked every step.

Inside the command center, one operator quietly updated another tactical marker across the map.

"Main assault force approaching outer farm sector."

Marcus looked toward the clock beside the operations table.

Almost midnight.

Right on schedule.

The pilot folded his arms lightly.

"They really committed to this."

Marcus nodded once.

"Yes."

The co-pilot smirked faintly.

"They’re about to have a terrible night."

Marcus remained calm.

But internally—

He agreed completely.

Because the brigands still believed this was their battlefield.

They still believed darkness belonged to them.

And they still had absolutely no idea what modern infantry equipped with thermal reconnaissance and night fighting capability could do to an attacking force moving blindly through open terrain.

Outside the city walls, the forests continued growing darker.

The brigands moved closer.

Closer.

Closer.

And along the battlements of Falmouth, Atlas soldiers quietly waited with rifles aimed toward the night.