Vesta and the others arrived at the gang’s territory, which was now locked down tight—so heavily guarded that it seemed not even a fly could get through.
The tall walls were covered in sharp iron spikes, and the guards clutched their weapons, their eyes sweeping over everything around them with sharp vigilance. The slightest movement would instantly draw their attention.
When the gang members spotted Vesta and the unfamiliar faces with him, they immediately began interrogating them. Since Schubert, Lance, and the rest had no clear identities, they were taken aside separately.
“Who knows how much longer this fighting will go on.”
One of the men beside them let out a weary sigh, his face etched with exhaustion and helplessness.
He had witnessed countless gangsters and soldiers fall—blood soaking the earth, bodies piling up like mountains.
Many innocent workers and residents had been dragged into the crossfire, cut down as if they were enemies. Life was so fragile, so easily snuffed out amid the flames of war.
His words struck a chord deep within Antina and Vesta. They, too, longed for an end to this conflict, yet they could see no glimmer of victory ahead.
Even though Lance and Schubert had brought three hundred reinforcements, against two thousand enemies, their numbers felt pathetically small—barely enough to shift the tide.
“Enemy sighted!”
Someone suddenly shouted at the top of their lungs, the cry cutting through the air like a stone thrown into still water, shattering the silence in an instant.
Everyone snapped to attention, grabbing their weapons and scrambling—half in haste, half in panic—toward the barricades. Their faces were taut with tension, their eyes fixed intently on the distance.
There, on the horizon, a formation slowly emerged from both flanks.
Their steps were steady and disciplined, unhurried—they were clearly confident of victory.
Once they reached their designated positions, they began methodically laying down sandbags, then quickly retreated. They repeated this process three times, and before long, a simple but effective defensive wall stood before them.
Vesta’s eyes narrowed as he quickly activated his Appraisal skill to scan the surroundings.
A moment later, his brow furrowed slightly, and he murmured:
“There are three barons nearby…”
“For now, we’re not completely cornered, but all we have are some captured weapons and ammunition—our resources are limited. The gang’s underground cellar has a fair amount of food stored, and at our current rate of consumption, it should last us a few days.”
With the sudden enemy advance, tensions spiked. Schubert and Lance, along with the others, hadn’t even finished being questioned before they were hurriedly dragged to the front lines.
Lance slid over and crouched beside Vesta, leaning in and lowering his voice:
“Vesta, what’s the situation really like?”
Vesta’s expression grew grave as he replied:
“I estimate they’ve brought three viscounts this time, about seven hundred men in total. And judging by their attitude, they seem dead set on taking us down—no matter what.”
“That’s quite the show of force. They’re really pulling out all the stops.”
Lance couldn’t help but poke his head up, trying to peek through the gaps in the barricade to gauge the enemy’s movements. But no sooner had his head risen than Vesta quickly shoved it back down.
“What are you doing? You want to catch a bullet?”
Vesta’s voice carried a note of alarm.
Lance, however, just chuckled nonchalantly.
“Relax, it’s fine for now. Look, they’re clearly not fully set up yet. We can afford to be a little bold.”
With that, Lance popped his head up again and took a closer look.
Sure enough, behind the enemy’s sandbag wall, there were hardly any soldiers and no visible firearms—just a handful of men doing patrols. They seemed to be busy preparing something, and the whole defense line looked rather loose.
An idea struck Lance. He pointed at the row of sandbags stacked in front of them and said:
“How about we give them a little harassment?”
Vesta thought for a moment, then said:
“We could swipe some of their sandbags and fire first—catch them completely off guard. Or we could sneak over and see what they’re really up to behind the lines.”
Without hesitation, Lance sprang into action. He picked two agile villagers and, crouching low, crept cautiously toward the sandbag wall.
They moved silently, each step placed with extreme care, afraid that even the faintest sound would alert the enemy.
Just as they reached the spot, they heard two baron officers arguing. One voice said urgently:
“Colk has gone silent… Things don’t look good over there. We should focus on defense, hold our ground, and figure out what’s happening before we act.”
The other voice shot back, unyielding:
“Precisely because things are bad, we need to seize the initiative! Now’s the time to strike hard. Once we wipe out these rebels, it’s all over! We can’t just sit back and wait!”
The two men went back and forth, neither willing to back down.
The soldiers nearby stood around them, looking completely lost, unsure what to do. Even the sandbag stacking had stopped as everyone turned their attention to the quarreling officers.
However, the third baron Vesta had mentioned was nowhere to be found—as if he’d vanished into thin air.
Suddenly, one of the baron officers spun around toward the hiding spot of the two villagers and barked:
“Who’s there?”
The villagers’ hearts sank. Like startled rabbits, they turned and bolted, scurrying back to report the news to Lance.
Lance frowned as he listened, about to say something, when a commotion erupted from the gang’s camp.
It turned out that one of the enemy barons had stealthily infiltrated their base. He moved through the camp with eerie ease, leaving a trail of screams in his wake. After cutting down four or five men, he melted back into the darkness and vanished without a trace.
Panic rippled through the gang’s camp. Everyone was on edge, jumping at shadows, their eyes darting nervously around—no one knew where the baron might strike next.
Seizing the moment of chaos, Colk’s forces resumed building their defenses in an orderly fashion.
It seemed the baron had likely made it back to the military camp.
Lance watched the mess unfold and shook his head helplessly.
“Feels like we got played…”
He turned and went straight to Schubert to start rallying the troops.
But by the time they finally got organized, Colk’s forces were already ready to open fire.
The soldiers stood grim-faced, their gazes locked on the gang’s position, fingers resting on triggers—waiting for a single command to unleash a hail of bullets.
Just as both sides were poised at the edge of battle, with tension at its peak, two figures descended from midair.
“It’s Miss Anna!”
Vesta called out, recognizing the newcomer’s attire as Renith.
Renith touched down lightly, holding a bound-and-gagged Colk in her hands.
Behind her, a dark shadow shot out from the nearby residential area—it was the viscount she’d left behind a kilometer away. He was carrying another prisoner, similarly tied up, and hurried to stand beside her.
He straightened his back with a smug look, as if showing off the results of their combined efforts—even if he’d only landed one blow while Renith had dealt ninety-nine.
Renith stood at the center of the crowd, sweeping her gaze over Colk’s army, and declared:
“Colk has been captured. Will you not surrender?”
She hoisted the unconscious Colk up and dangled him in the air toward the enemy camp, giving him a little shake for good measure.
The viscount beside her followed suit, lifting his bound prisoner with a mocking grin.
In an instant, the suffocating gloom hanging over the gang’s side evaporated.
Everyone seemed to see a ray of hope. Their faces lit up with excitement and elation as they began to cheer—cheering for victory, cheering for this long-awaited turning point.
On the other side, Colk’s army fell into dead silence.
They stared wide-eyed, unable to believe what they were seeing.
Their leader—the man they’d thought invincible, a god of war in their eyes—had been defeated?
The news hit them like a thunderbolt, leaving them reeling.
“We have to rescue Colk!”
One soldier’s emotions suddenly boiled over. He grabbed his weapon, eyes bloodshot, and fired a shot at Renith. The bullet screamed through the air, carrying seven parts fury and three parts confusion.
Renith narrowed her eyes. With a casual wave of her hand, a searing wall of flame erupted from the ground. The heat was so intense it warped the air around it, instantly devouring the bullet.
Before arriving, she’d made sure to recharge her mana just in case. To her, these people posed no real threat.
The moment the bullet was consumed by the flames, the fiery glow washed over the soldier’s face. The barrel of his gun was still warm, but the bullet—carrying all his rage—had already turned to ash.
All that remained in his heart was confusion and dread.
“Live or die? The choice is yours!”
Renith ignored the soldier and fixed her gaze on the three barons below.
Countless magic particles pressed down on them like an immense weight—so heavy it felt as though a mountain was crushing their shoulders.
Their legs gave out. Cold sweat soaked through their clothes as they braced themselves with one hand on the ground, trembling uncontrollably.
An invisible killing intent coiled around their hearts, choking them. They had no doubt that this woman would actually kill them.
They had pledged their loyalty to Colk because of his strength and promise. But now that he was captured, they wouldn’t die for him—much less when he had already lost.
When faced with life and death, they chose submission.
“We… surrender.”
The barons’ voices quivered as they spoke, then slowly lowered their heads to the ground.
But behind them, some soldiers refused to accept it. Perhaps a few were truly loyal to Colk, but most were just reckless opportunists.
They raised their guns, putting on a show of outrage, shouting curses at the “traitors” with hollow anger and disappointment.
Finally, they pulled the triggers. Bullets rained down toward the barons.
Yet, against Renith’s overwhelming magic, that cowardly mob stood no chance of achieving anything.
