The forests south of Falmouth were dark, like there’s no source of illumination other than the moon which is still dim by the passing of the clouds.

Wind moved through the trees while boots crushed leaves and damp soil beneath dozens of advancing brigands. Armor shifted softly. Horses breathed through their noses in short bursts while men whispered to each other beneath the cover of darkness.

Garron Blackmaw moved near the center of the advancing column with his axe resting across one shoulder.

The mood remained confident.

Almost excited.

Ahead of them, the outer farms of Falmouth sat barely visible beneath the moonlight. Small homes and abandoned crop fields stretched toward the distant city walls.

And beyond those walls—

Their prize waited.

Daren moved several paces ahead of Garron alongside Marrick while scouting the southern route again.

The city looked quiet from here.

Too quiet.

Only a few lanterns remained visible atop the battlements.

Marrick narrowed his eyes slightly.

"They extinguished most of the wall lights."

Daren nodded.

"Trying to hide movement maybe."

One brigand behind them laughed quietly.

"Or they’re scared."

Several others grinned.

Fear.

That explanation still made the most sense to them.

The brigands continued moving through the fields slowly now.

No torches.

No shouting.

Only the sound of men preparing for violence.

Far above them, invisible against the clouds, the Predator drone tracked every movement through thermal imaging.

Inside the command center of Falmouth, white heat signatures flowed steadily across the monitor screens.

Marcus stood near the operations table while watching the incoming feed calmly.

The brigands were exactly where he expected them to be.

Moving through open terrain.

Grouped closely.

Poor spacing.

No understanding whatsoever that they had already been detected miles away.

One Atlas operator spoke quietly.

"Primary hostile force entering southern engagement sector."

Marcus nodded once.

"Wall teams informed?"

"Yes, sir."

Good.

Marcus looked toward the live tactical map.

The eastern infiltration group was moving too.

Smaller.

Faster.

Exactly toward the drainage route.

He picked up the radio beside the table.

"Eastern tunnel team, hostile movement approaching your sector. Stay concealed until confirmation."

A voice immediately answered through the headset.

"Copy."

Marcus set the radio back down.

Then calmly spoke:

"Let them get closer."

Along the southern wall, Atlas infantry waited in complete darkness.

Most lanterns had been extinguished intentionally to preserve night vision advantage.

The city guards hated it.

Several local defenders stood nervously beside the battlements while staring into darkness they could barely see through.

Atlas soldiers, meanwhile, watched the fields clearly through AN/PVS-14 night vision systems.

Green monochrome covered their vision.

Every movement outside the city stood out sharply.

Trees.

Fences.

Movement.

Heat haze.

Human silhouettes advancing through fields.

Tomas Vale crouched beside the main machine gun position while looking through binocular night optics.

"There they are," he muttered quietly.

Dozens of figures moved through the outer farms now.

More emerged from the tree line every few seconds.

Rolf crouched nearby with his rifle resting against the sandbags.

"...That’s a lot."

Tomas nodded slightly.

"Good."

Rolf glanced toward him.

"Good?"

"Means we don’t have to hunt them individually later."

Fair point.

Several Atlas riflemen nearby adjusted their firing positions while waiting quietly for orders.

No nervous chatter.

No panic.

Only controlled breathing and weapons pointed toward the darkness.

One younger Atlas infantryman lowered his night vision briefly.

"Distance?"

"Approximately three hundred meters," another answered.

Still outside effective medieval engagement range.

Perfect for Atlas.

Far below the walls, the brigands continued advancing.

Daren slowed slightly while studying the battlements.

Something felt wrong.

The walls looked too still.

No shouting.

No scrambling guards.

No visible panic.

Only darkness.

Marrick noticed it too.

"...Why is it so quiet?"

One brigand behind them snorted.

"Because they’re hiding."

Another laughed quietly.

"They’re probably pissing themselves."

More chuckles spread softly through the advancing force.

Garron himself looked unconcerned.

"Keep moving."

The brigands obeyed immediately.

Closer.

Closer.

The outer farms were only a short distance ahead now.

Some brigands already split toward the abandoned houses carrying oil flasks and torches prepared for ignition.

The plan remained simple.

Burn the farms.

Create chaos.

Draw defenders south.

Then the eastern infiltration team would slip into the city through the drainage route.

Easy.

At least—

That was what Garron believed.

Then suddenly—

A voice echoed quietly across the southern wall.

"Targets confirmed."

Daren froze.

"What?"

The next sound came instantly afterward.

CRACK.

One brigand near the front line exploded backward as something punched through his chest violently. Blood sprayed across the dirt before the man even understood he had been hit.

The advancing force stopped completely.

Confusion spread instantly.

"What the hell was that?"

Another crack echoed.

Then another.

CRACK. CRACK.

Two more brigands collapsed into the grass.

One screamed while clutching his shattered shoulder.

The other never moved again.

Daren’s eyes widened.

No arrows.

No crossbows.

Just thunder-like cracks from the walls.

Then Tomas’s voice cut sharply through the darkness:

"OPEN FIRE."

The southern wall erupted instantly.

The machine gun roared first.

BRRRRRRRRT.

The mounted weapon unleashed a stream of tracers into the open fields below. The recoil shook the tripod violently while brass casings poured across the stone battlements.

The effect on the brigands was catastrophic.

Men exploded into sprays of blood and dirt as the rounds tore through the tightly packed advance line. One raider was nearly cut in half before collapsing beside a fence post.

Screaming erupted immediately.

"What is that?!"

"TAKE COVER!"

"MOVE!"

The machine gun kept firing.

BRRRRRRRRT.

Tracer rounds sliced through darkness while the sound echoed across the entire valley like continuous thunder.

Atlas riflemen opened fire seconds later.

CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.

Controlled shots.

Precise.

Every muzzle flash from the wall was followed by another brigand collapsing into the fields.

The brigands had no idea what was happening.

No understanding.

No reference point.

Only death arriving from impossible distances.

Daren threw himself behind a stone fence while dirt exploded beside him.

"What the fuck is THAT?!"

Marrick slammed into cover nearby breathing heavily.

"They’re killing us from the walls!"

"I KNOW THAT!"

Another machine gun burst tore across the fields.

BRRRRRRRT.

Several brigands trying to retreat toward the trees were ripped apart before they made it halfway.

Bodies collapsed into burning crops and muddy farmland while panicked horses screamed somewhere behind the line.

Garron Blackmaw roared furiously through the chaos.

"SHIELDS UP!"

Some brigands tried.

It didn’t matter.

The rifle rounds punched through wooden shields effortlessly. One man raised a shield just in time for the bullet to punch directly through both wood and chest.

The brigand collapsed backward instantly.

The survivors finally understood something horrifying.

The outsiders’ black weapons were not crossbows.

They were something far worse.

Far, far worse.

Along the walls, Atlas infantry maintained disciplined fire.

No panic.

No wasted ammunition.

Machine gun teams swept the fields in controlled bursts while riflemen engaged exposed targets methodically.

Tomas watched through his optic calmly.

"Eastern field, three moving."

CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.

Three brigands dropped near a cart.

Rolf fired next beside him.

A distant raider collapsed backward screaming while clutching his leg.

"...Holy shit," Rolf muttered quietly.

This was different from training.

Completely different.

But the drills worked.

The muscle memory worked.

Marcus’s training worked.

Another Atlas soldier shouted:

"Mounted group moving west!"

The machine gun pivoted immediately.

BRRRRRRRRT.

The horsemen never reached full speed.

Rounds shredded through riders and animals alike. Horses collapsed violently into the mud while screaming brigands were thrown across the fields.

The battlefield had become slaughter.

And the brigands still had no effective response.

Their bows could barely reach the walls accurately at this distance.

Their crossbows lacked penetration.

And every time groups tried advancing—

Machine gun fire cut them down.

Inside the chaos below, Daren crawled desperately beside Marrick while trying to stay low.

"What ARE those weapons?!"

Marrick looked completely terrified now.

"I DON’T KNOW!"

Another thunderous burst tore across the fields nearby.

Bodies dropped everywhere.

Screams filled the night.

The confidence from camp earlier was gone now.

Completely gone.

This was not a siege.

This was execution.

Daren looked toward the walls again.

Through the darkness, he could barely see the muzzle flashes erupting from the battlements like lines of fire.

And behind them—

The strange soldiers remained calm.

Controlled.

Killing them from distances that should have been impossible.

Garron finally realized it too.

"RETREAT!"

The order echoed desperately across the fields.

The brigands broke almost instantly afterward.

Men fled toward the forests in complete panic while Atlas fire continued hammering the retreating force relentlessly.

Marcus watched the battlefield calmly from the command center monitor while thermal feeds displayed fleeing brigand signatures scattering across the fields.

One operator looked toward him.

"They’re collapsing."

Marcus nodded once.

"Expected."

Outside the walls, machine gun fire finally slowed.

Then stopped.

The fields south of Falmouth were covered in bodies.

Smoke.

Blood.

Broken equipment.

And scattered survivors running blindly toward the forests.

The battle had lasted less than ten minutes.

And the brigands never even reached the walls, because they were being killed from a distance they never knew that could reach them.