"Ready—! Charge!" Fan Na thrust his spear with all his might, his hands shaking violently as the shaft snapped with a crack. A wolf-like creature pressed its head against the spearhead, its fur bristling, blood-red eyes glaring like copper bells, and a mouth wide open with two rows of fangs—its largest rivaling his own thumb. This was his first encounter with such a monstrous beast at close range. The creature swung its claws through the air, sending snowflakes splattering onto his face.
Vanne's mind went blank. Acting on the instinct ingrained through training, he instinctively gripped the gun barrel and kept pushing forward. The moment seemed to drag on endlessly. He watched the barrel bend to its limit, the tip plunging deep into the beast's belly. He even thought the next moment, those sharp claws would tear open his own cheek.
With a sharp crack, the rifle barrel snapped in two under the force of the wolf. That metallic clang restored the rhythm of time. The creature tumbled downward, its claws striking the parapet wall with the same force as it had come—scraping up a trail of debris as it crashed to the ground, its broken end still lodged in the rubble.
"Gunners, load!" "Free fire!" Two gun barrels shot out from Vanne's side. He immediately took half a step back, raising his head to shield his eyes from gunpowder fragments and gas, while his ears were already beyond saving.
The matchlock was fired in rapid succession. Fan Na moved closer to the wall and noticed a pile of various monstrous creatures lying at its base. Someone nearby gave him a nudge, and he turned to see his roommate grinning at him with a smug expression.
I've only been handling the gun for a little over a week—what's there to be proud of? Faner shot back, his eyes back on the battlefield. When Your Highness's artillery comes into action, you'll realize that iron pipe in your hand is just a walking stick.
"Gunner, your gun, take it." Cat Claw handed over a new wooden rifle. "These beasts must be in a frenzy? It's been two or three hours already?" "They're already mad," Vanna adjusted the rifle's stock, awaiting the enemy's next attack. "What time is it now?" "It's almost noon," Cat Claw sighed. Seizing the Hunter's momentary distraction, he darted to both sides. "Where's the grapefruit peel? Where are the Rodney brothers?" "Don't look away. Do you want to be gutted by wolves?" Vanna snapped. "They've been reassigned to other sections—maybe Group 3, maybe Group 4. By the way, how did you end up in Group 1?" "I'm the backup," he chuckled. "Where there's a need, I'll be there. An old man just got injured, so it's my turn to—" "Stand by!" The Hunter Observer's voice cut off Cat Claw. Vanna noticed over a dozen beasts closing in rapidly. He could now quickly identify their types: only two wolf-type creatures, with the rest being wild boar-type, fox-type, and one bear-type. The threat to the city walls was minimal.
"Stab!" Despite the warning, he obeyed the order and thrust the long spear with his teammates. As expected, the spearhead came up empty. He retracted the shaft, catching a glimpse of the wolf pup being knocked down by a group of opponents. When the slower-moving demons had regrouped at the city walls, the musketeers surged beside him, firing freely downward.
The repetitive motions of immobilization had persisted since dawn. When the first horn sounded, most were still asleep. Vanne yawned. This time, the beast's attack was more ferocious than ever. The usual one or two waves of assault continued unabated, and the carcasses of the beasts beneath the walls were nearly piled up. Midway, he had been replaced by the second militia squad, hastily ate something, rested briefly, and then climbed back up the wall.
Surprisingly, Vanna found himself more composed than expected. Upon hearing the order to draw bayonets and surrender firearms, and to hand over the rest to the musketeers, he acted just as he had during his daily drills. The initially perplexing regulations and movement requirements now proved to be not only applicable but also remarkably effective.
Others stood as stiff as their own, though some substitutes appeared visibly nervous. Despite their tense grips on the rifle barrels and God's stern expression, all maintained perfect posture without a single backward step.
Vanne knew well that the greatest confidence came not from daily drills, but from Your Highness. Only after the musketeers fired did Vanne sneak a glance at the watchtower in the middle of the wall—where Your Royal Highness stood.
The moment the horn sounded, Your Highness immediately reached the city wall, joining the others on the same defensive line without a moment's rest. Even when he was rotated to eat, Your Royal Highness remained atop the watchtower, with breakfast personally delivered by the Chief Knight himself.
Recalling the previous Lord, he would depart by boat at the first sign of the Demon Month's retreat. Next came Noble, and finally the commoners. Those with spare change could pay a few Silver Wolves and board the ship, while the penniless had to trek on foot to the Long Song Fortress. The mere thought of this filled him with boundless energy.
Indeed, they were part of the Graycastle Prince's forces, a stark contrast to the former Border Town patrol squad. Armed with armor and weapons, these men routinely terrorized both the Old and New Districts, extorting money from foreign merchants. To Fanna, everyone except the patrol's two captains was nothing more than a thug. The militia, however, was a formidable force. Under Your Royal Highness's command, they could even repel the dreaded evil beasts from the town, keeping them at bay. Only the Long Song Fortress had ever achieved such feats before.
Take the fish balls, those notorious cowards in the old district who were always the butt of jokes. Now that they've joined the Second Militia Company, they can even brandish their rifles with practiced ease. Then there's Fermi—tall and imposing, yet perpetually slow to react. The locals used to take pleasure in teasing him, but now his gun handling is swift and ruthless, outshining most. Vanna knows that after every training session, he practices an extra hundred shots. It's because Your Highness once told him: "The less agile the bird, the earlier it must take flight to keep pace with others and eventually surpass them." Why does he now feel a sense of gratitude for joining the militia, when it all began with just two eggs? Every day brings subtle changes, each step forward surpassing the last. Vanna believes everyone else feels this too. He can't quite put his feelings into words, but perhaps it's best summed up by Your Highness' training mantra: "They are a team that defies the times."
The sharp 'whoosh—whoosh' of two horn calls jolted God Fanna to his feet—a warning sign of a hybrid demon beast's arrival. He scanned the distance, spotting another hybrid creature with a lion's head and wings, strikingly similar to the one that had invaded the city earlier. This was the second one he'd encountered today, he thought, but this time it was different. They had allies beyond the Musketeers.
Fan Na tilted her head slightly. In the corner of her eye, a golden-haired girl standing beside Your Highness had already risen into the air.