The forest camp no longer sounded confident.

The loud laughter from earlier was gone.

No more drunken boasting.

No more jokes about easy hunts and frightened city guards.

Now the valley was filled with quieter sounds.

Bandages being wrapped.

Wounded men groaning near the fires.

Weapons being checked again and again by nervous hands.

Every few minutes, someone glanced north toward the darkness where Falmouth waited beyond the trees.

Daren sat near one of the supply wagons while sharpening his short blade absentmindedly.

Not because it needed sharpening.

Because it kept his hands busy.

His thoughts kept drifting back toward the walls.

Toward the thunder.

Toward men exploding apart before they even reached striking distance.

Marrick eventually sat beside him again holding a half-empty mug.

"You think Garron’s actually going through with it?"

Daren already knew the answer.

"Yes."

Marrick stared into the nearby fire.

"That’s insane."

Honestly—

Daren agreed.

But Garron Blackmaw was not the kind of man who backed away after humiliation.

And tonight?

Tonight humiliated him badly.

The brigand leader stood near the center of camp again speaking with the remaining lieutenants around the rough map crate. His voice stayed calm now.

Too calm.

That was never a good sign.

Daren watched carefully while Garron pointed toward the eastern side of the map.

The drainage tunnel again.

Then another point farther south.

Then the western tree line.

He was changing tactics.

Splitting forces more aggressively.

Trying to avoid another clustered advance through open terrain.

Smarter.

But Daren still felt uneasy.

Because none of that solved the real problem.

Those weapons.

Those impossible black weapons.

One wounded brigand suddenly shouted angrily from another fire.

"We should leave before they come for us!"

Several nearby men immediately reacted.

"They don’t know where we are!"

"How do you know that?!"

"They slaughtered us!"

Another wounded survivor slammed his mug down hard.

"They killed thirty men in minutes!"

Fear spread again immediately afterward.

Daren noticed it everywhere now.

The camp no longer trusted the darkness.

That mattered.

Because until tonight, the forests always protected them.

Now?

Now even the trees felt unsafe.

Garron suddenly stood from the crate hard enough to silence most of the camp again.

"We attack before dawn."

Several men froze.

Daren narrowed his eyes.

Before dawn?

One lieutenant looked surprised too.

"So soon?"

Garron nodded once.

"They expect us to retreat and regroup."

His voice hardened.

"We hit them before they settle fully."

Some brigands looked uncertain.

Others relieved.

Because fear and aggression often mixed together among desperate men.

Garron pointed north.

"This time we spread out."

Another point.

"No clustered advance."

Another.

"Archers suppress the walls while assault groups close distance."

Daren silently listened.

Smarter than before.

But still suicidal.

One older brigand finally spoke carefully.

"...And those thunder weapons?"

The entire camp quieted slightly again.

Garron stared toward the fire for several seconds before answering.

"They can’t kill all of us."

That answer spread through the camp slowly.

Some men nodded.

Others still looked pale.

But Garron kept talking.

"They bleed like anyone else."

There it was again.

That same line.

That same stubborn belief.

The brigand leader refused to accept fear.

And because of that—

The camp slowly started following him again.

Not fully.

But enough.

Daren quietly looked toward Marrick afterward.

Marrick looked miserable.

"We’re really doing this again."

Daren slid the knife back into its sheath slowly.

"Looks like it."

Far above the forests, invisible against the clouds, the Predator drone continued circling silently.

Its thermal optics scanned the brigand camp continuously.

Movement increased rapidly.

Groups reorganizing.

Weapons being gathered.

Mounted units preparing.

Inside the command center of Falmouth, the live thermal feed illuminated the room with cold bluish light.

Marcus watched the screens calmly.

One Atlas operator adjusted the zoom slightly.

"They’re mobilizing again."

Marcus nodded once.

Expected.

The brigands could not afford retreat anymore.

Not after losing so many men.

Fear alone would destroy their organization if they withdrew now.

One operator looked toward another monitor.

"Movement patterns changed."

Marcus stepped closer.

The thermal feed now showed smaller assault elements separating from the main body.

More spread out.

Using wider approach angles.

Good.

They learned something from the first massacre.

Unfortunately for them—

Not enough.

Marcus looked toward the operations table.

"Notify all wall teams. Secondary assault incoming."

"Yes, sir."

Another Atlas operator immediately transmitted updated contact reports through the radio network.

Marcus studied the movement carefully.

Eastern infiltration team again.

Western diversionary movement.

Archers in the rear.

Much more organized now.

Garron adapted quickly.

That confirmed Marcus’s earlier assessment. 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

Dangerous leader.

Not reckless.

Not stupid.

The only problem?

He still fundamentally misunderstood the battlefield.

Marcus folded his arms lightly.

"They still think range is their advantage problem."

One operator glanced toward him.

"They don’t realize thermal tracking removes concealment."

Marcus nodded.

Exactly.

The brigands still thought darkness protected movement.

But Atlas could already see every approach route clearly.

Every flanking maneuver.

Every staging position.

Outside the command center, Atlas infantry along the walls immediately tightened defensive preparations again.

Machine gun teams rechecked firing sectors while rifle squads redistributed ammunition and confirmed engagement ranges.

Tomas Vale crouched beside the main southern firing position while watching the darkness through thermal optics mounted beside the wall.

"There they go," he muttered quietly.

White silhouettes moved steadily through the distant tree lines again.

Rolf approached beside him carrying additional ammunition belts.

"Round two already?"

"Looks like it."

Rolf shook his head slowly.

"They really didn’t learn."

Tomas answered calmly.

"They learned some things."

He pointed toward the thermal display.

"See the spacing?"

Rolf looked closer.

Smaller groups.

More spread out.

Less clustered movement.

"Damn," he muttered.

"Yeah."

The brigands adapted faster than ordinary bandits should.

Which meant Marcus was probably right.

There was something larger behind all this.

Something organized.

Nearby, several Atlas infantrymen lowered their night vision optics while checking the approaching movement through thermal scopes.

One younger infantryman swallowed quietly.

"More of them this time?"

"Same numbers," Tomas answered.

"Just smarter."

Far below the walls, the brigands moved again through darkness.

This time more cautiously.

No laughter.

No confidence.

Only tension.

Daren advanced beside a smaller assault group near the western fields while gripping his shield tightly.

The men around him looked terrified now.

Nobody hid it anymore.

One brigand whispered shakily:

"What if they start firing again?"

Another answered bitterly:

"They WILL start firing again."

Nobody argued.

Ahead of them, Falmouth remained dark and silent once more.

The walls looked dead.

Still.

Watching.

Marrick moved beside Daren quietly.

"I hate this."

"Same."

The second assault force kept moving.

Closer.

Closer.

Then suddenly—

A bright white flare shot upward from the city walls.

FWOOOSH.

Daren looked up instinctively.

The flare exploded high above the battlefield seconds later.

And instantly—

The entire southern field turned bright as daylight.

Every brigand froze.

"What the hell?!"

The illumination flare bathed the fields in harsh white light, exposing every movement across the farmland and open terrain.

And along the walls—

Atlas rifles immediately opened fire.

CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.

The first brigands dropped almost instantly.

Machine guns erupted seconds later.

BRRRRRRRRT.

Tracer fire ripped through the illuminated fields with terrifying visibility now.

The brigands screamed immediately.

"MOVE!"

"GET DOWN!"

"TREES!"

But it was too late.

The flare removed darkness entirely.

And Atlas fire became even deadlier afterward.

Machine gun rounds tore through the advancing brigands mercilessly while rifle teams picked targets cleanly from the walls.

Daren saw one brigand beside him lose half his face before collapsing backward into the mud.

Another man’s chest exploded apart from a rifle hit seconds later.

Panic spread instantly again.

The second assault collapsed even faster than the first.

Because now the brigands fully understood what was happening.

They knew they were being slaughtered.

And fear destroyed cohesion almost immediately.

Along the walls, Atlas infantry maintained controlled engagement discipline.

"Western field moving!"

BRRRRRRRT.

A machine gun swept across the illuminated farmland.

Bodies dropped instantly.

"Eastern group attempting advance!"

CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.

Several more brigands collapsed before reaching effective bow range.

The battle had become execution again.

Only worse this time.

Because now the brigands understood enough to fear it.

Daren threw himself behind a broken wagon while bullets shredded wood apart around him.

The sound was unbearable now.

Thunder cracking endlessly from the walls.

Machine guns roaring continuously.

Men screaming everywhere.

Marrick slammed down beside him breathing hard.

"We can’t win this!"

"I KNOW!"

Another brigand nearby suddenly stood and tried charging forward in desperation.

The machine gun erased him instantly.

BRRRRRRRT.

The body collapsed into the mud missing half its torso.

Marrick looked horrified afterward.

"...Gods..."

Daren looked toward the walls again.

The strange soldiers still looked calm.

Still controlled.

Still firing methodically from impossible distances.

And suddenly—

Daren understood something terrifying.

This was not a city defense anymore.

This was hunting.

The brigands were prey now.

Garron realized it too.

"RETREAT!"

His roar echoed desperately through the battlefield again.

The surviving brigands broke instantly afterward.

Completely.

No discipline remained now.

Men fled in every direction while Atlas fire hammered the retreat relentlessly.

Bodies littered the illuminated fields.

Burning carts.

Broken shields.

Dead horses.

The second assault had become total annihilation.

Inside the command center, Marcus watched the thermal feed quietly while survivors scattered back toward the forests again.

One operator checked the updated estimates.

"Enemy force collapsing completely."

Marcus nodded once.

"Expected."

Outside the walls, Atlas fire slowly tapered off as surviving brigands disappeared toward the trees.

Then one Atlas infantryman near the southern wall spotted movement.

"Contact moving east tree line!"

The soldier immediately raised his rifle.

A wounded brigand was limping desperately toward the forest edge below.

Daren.

Bleeding from one arm.

Barely moving straight.

The infantryman aligned his optic.

Easy shot.

Then Marcus’s voice suddenly came through the radio.

"Hold fire."

The infantryman blinked.

"Sir?"

"Let him run."

Several Atlas soldiers nearby looked confused.

Rolf lowered his rifle slightly.

"Why?"

Marcus stepped onto the battlements moments later while watching the fleeing survivors disappear into the darkness.

Because Marcus had already noticed something important during the drone surveillance.

The brigands were too organized.

Too disciplined.

Too structured.

This was not merely a random raider gang.

There was something larger behind it.

An organization.

A network.

Possibly regional.

Marcus watched Daren vanish into the trees.

Then calmly answered:

"I want him leading us back to whoever’s behind this."