Our Family Has Fallen-Chapter 414 - 275: Invading the Town_3

It was already impressive that executing the Lord’s orders, even if it involved slaughter, hadn’t shaken the troops’ morale.

Now, they carried a certain sense of mission, urgently wanting to exterminate these Heretics.

Dismas resealed the warehouse and then led his troops to launch organized slaughters, killing every enemy in sight.

Other units naturally discovered this situation as well, and the scene filled them with uncontrollable rage.

Those fiends then became the targets of their fury.

Purposeful and organized killing was very effective. Soon, the three hundred men had completely taken over the area near the city gate and then steadily expanded outwards.

Gunshots were sparse in the town, as firearms weren’t convenient in urban settings. Most soldiers were equipped with secondary weapons, and Lance had never neglected their training with them.

A soldier gasped for air, struggling to pull his spear from a corpse. Only after thrusting it into the corpse’s eye socket to ensure the disgusting Heretic was dead did he finally breathe a sigh of relief.

Leaning on his spear, he looked around. Several of his brothers, unable to hold on any longer, had slumped to the ground, gasping for breath. Their bodies were stained with blood—some from enemies, some their own.

They had just endured a fierce battle, where the squad encountered numerous enemies. If not for their rigorous training and their use of buildings to form defensive formations for counterattacks, few of them would likely still be standing.

To some extent, he finally understood why the training camp displayed the motto: "More sweat in training, less blood in war."

And they were only the second echelon. Who knew how intense the fighting was for the first echelon?

"Check for injuries and assist your teammates with treatment!" he ordered. "Call for help to move the seriously injured to the rear! I need someone mobile to finish off any survivors and stand guard—scout the surroundings!"

He was the captain of this five-man squad. After a brief respite, he began issuing orders according to their training.

The men didn’t complain and quickly got moving. They had all undergone battlefield training and knew such matters couldn’t wait; delaying would be toying with their own safety.

He personally inspected his teammates. One had a crossbow arrow lodged in his chest, yet he had fought on fiercely, killing two enemies without collapsing.

Fortunately, most soldiers were equipped with breastplates. When they helped him remove his, they found the crossbow arrow had only pierced a bit of flesh before being stopped by the armor. Blood, however, had soaked the lining underneath.

"The Lord’s blessing be upon you, lad! You won’t die," the captain joked with a smile, his hands never stopping. After quickly cleaning the wound, he took hemostatic powder from the medical kit at his waist and applied it.

This powder, a product of Grendel, showed extraordinary efficacy. It quickly stopped the bleeding and formed a scab. Nevertheless, they bandaged the wound according to procedure to prevent infection.

"This medicine really is good," the wounded soldier remarked.

"Of course, it is. My Lord personally requested it from Doctor Grendel," the captain responded.

Lance’s training was harsh, but he was equally generous with supplies. Everyone’s physical condition had improved significantly; at least minor injuries like these wouldn’t incapacitate them. A small wound like this would heal on its own in a few days.

Similarly, a great deal of money was invested in medical care. Did they think ordinary medicine could be this effective? What was poured on the wounds wasn’t just medicine; it was money. And that wasn’t even mentioning the medical team following close behind.

They could feel the Lord’s concern for them—a level of care those nobles of the past had never shown.

"Do you want to go back for treatment?" the captain asked. The injury was neither severe nor trivial; although the bleeding had stopped, strenuous combat could reopen it.

Hearing this, however, the soldier shook his head, his expression firm.

"What’s a minor injury like this? I can still fight!" The wounded soldier emphasized through gritted teeth, "These Heretics must die!"

They were the second echelon, but dispatches and orders had already informed them of the situation. Everyone was filled with rage, eager to slaughter those Heretics.

Seeing the wounded soldier’s determination, the captain didn’t force him to retreat. Their squad was responsible for cleanup, where the combat intensity wasn’t high. Most of the Heretics appearing in large numbers were being dealt with by the commanders at the front lines; incidents like the one they just faced were rare.

As they conducted their sweep, the sight of Heretic bodies strewn everywhere revealed the battle’s ferocity.

Fortunately, there were no casualties among their own. Although many were injured and had withdrawn, their lives had at least been spared.

Now, the principle of ’the lightly wounded do not retreat’ was in effect. The few comrades whose injuries had been treated were all stable, with no major issues.

As their captain, he had to shoulder greater responsibility. He didn’t rest, instead joining the effort to finish off any remaining enemies and inspect the bodies.

Repeatedly thrusting his weapon into the corpses, he showed no discomfort. Though only sixteen, he was one of the original thirty from Hamlet and had participated in every significant battle the town had faced.

From a boy who once stumbled at the mere sight of bandits, he had become a seasoned soldier.

Indeed, he was the very soldier who had fallen during the battle to suppress the bandits. If Lance hadn’t intervened to block that strike, he might have died.

"Who’s there?!" a sentry suddenly snapped his gaze towards a nearby house.

His cry instantly put the rest of the team on alert. They all grabbed their weapons, ready to fight.

Even the injured soldier pulled the crossbow arrow from his breastplate, hastily donning the armor again with his comrades’ help, then picked up a crossbow taken from an enemy.

Yet, after the shout, no enemies charged out. The sentry’s gaze remained locked on the house as he made several hand signals.