In Hamlet Town, Reynard wasn’t confined to his sickbed. As soon as he felt slightly better, he left the training camp to inspect the various patrol posts, carrying the Champion’s Proof with him at all times. There, he encountered Barton, who was also on patrol. With several of them injured, the management of the training camp had fallen primarily to Barton. "Reynard, you’re still injured. Why don’t you rest properly? I can handle things here," Barton said. "I’m fine; the wound has mostly healed." Reynard raised his hand, signaling he was alright, and then inquired about the current situation. "Have you found any traces of those Heretics?" "No. The town’s entrances and exits have been sealed, and we’re checking everyone going in and out. We’ve also taken a headcount at the farms; there are no extra or missing people, so we haven’t found any issues so far. Moreover, I’ve dispatched additional men to the three farms. Even if a problem arises, they can hold out long enough to send us a signal," Barton explained, his voice steady and controlled. "Hmm." Reynard nodded, approving of Barton’s arrangements, but couldn’t resist adding a word of caution. "Be careful in the next few days. Those Heretics suffered a significant loss; they won’t remain idle. They will definitely seek revenge. No matter what, Lord Balistan entrusted Hamlet to us, and we must return it to him intact. We cannot afford any mistakes. We cannot afford to lose." "I understand, of course." It hadn’t been easy to find a foothold and earn the Lord’s favor, not to mention their deep-seated hatred for the Heretics. Although the monsters were terrifying, this victory proved they weren’t invincible. An order had been given to keep the details of that incident confidential. As they walked through Hamlet, they observed the town operating normally, undisturbed. It was bustling and thriving, with everyone diligently at work. Seeing this, Reynard felt a measure of relief. This tranquility lasted until a column of smoke slowly ascended into the sky. It drew the attention of most townspeople working outdoors, who paused their tasks to gaze into the distance. To Reynard and Barton, however, the column of smoke seemed to carry a certain ominous power, making them instantly tense. "The north! It’s the Labor Farm!" "Quick! You gather the troops! I’ll lead the cavalry to scout ahead. Be careful not to fall into a trap, and leave some men to protect this place!" Reynard commanded. The rising smoke signals clearly indicated an attack, stirring immediate anxiety and a sense of urgency within them. ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ N0v3l.Fiɾe.net Reynard could no longer afford to consider his injuries or the inadvisability of strenuous activity. He turned and ran back, quickly gathered five cavalrymen, and charged ahead. Meanwhile, Barton rushed back to the training camp, sounded the alarm bell, and began to assemble the soldiers. There was no time for words. Under the leadership of their respective captains, the soldiers quickly and orderly equipped themselves, awaiting the command to depart. Dismas and Balistan also hurried back, having clearly noticed the distant smoke signals. "One of us must stay behind to manage the town’s defenses," Barton said, addressing the two arrivals. "I don’t know much about that; the Musket Squad needs my leadership," Dismas stated, making his position clear. "I’m almost fully recovered," Balistan added, flexing his left arm, his meaning evident. "Why are you all looking at me?" Barton quickly stated his case when their gazes fell on him. "I’m the only one who knows how to operate the cannon." Hearing this, Dismas couldn’t help but speak up, "Reynard’s injury is severe. It’s most suitable for him to stay behind." "That’s right. There’s no need to argue; he’s the one," Balistan agreed. They weren’t arguing over a pleasant task; they were deciding who would go to the battlefield and, conversely, who would remain behind in relative safety. Undoubtedly, the two of them chose to give this safer role to Reynard, who had been the most severely injured, opting instead to head to the battlefield themselves. "But he’s already led the cavalry out!" Barton exclaimed. Barton’s words didn’t seem to surprise the other two; it was as if they had somewhat anticipated this. "The situation is still unclear," Balistan began, laying out his plan. "The cannon is a heavy weapon and difficult to transport, so it will remain in Hamlet as a final line of defense. The Labor Farm is to the far north, a considerable distance from town. Even if the enemy breaks through there, we’ll have a buffer. We can be ready to evacuate the people at any moment. You stay here, Barton. Gather the townspeople and reassure them. Dismas and I will go assess the situation." Barton wanted to go to the front line, but the problem was that the Artillerymen had only just learned to load the cannon. In all of Hamlet, he was the only one skilled in aiming it. With troops garrisoned at the other farms, only about three hundred soldiers remained in town. Dismas and Balistan took one hundred of them: fifty spearmen and fifty Musketeers. Troop transportation posed another challenge. They would have to march to the north, and logistics could only provide a single horse-drawn cart for ammunition and other supplies. While forces were being organized in the rear, Reynard had already led the cavalry toward the farm. However, the smoke signals hadn’t originated from the farm itself, but from a lookout tower situated on the edge of the wilderness, north of the farm. This wooden structure, which Lord Balistan had ordered built before he entered the wilderness, was now proving unexpectedly useful. "What did you see? Why did you light the smoke signal?" Reynard asked. "Report! Monsters! Hordes of monsters are heading this way!" the soldier cried out, pointing towards the wilderness. He handed a telescope to Reynard, who took it and peered through.