Reynard strode forward. Lance followed, crossbow in hand. The old mercenary, wielding a warhammer and shield, brought up the rear, tasked with protecting Lance and guarding against any threats.
As expected, the commotion outside had disturbed those inside. A squad leader in a breastplate rushed out with two guards, running straight into them.
Lance didn't hesitate, raising his crossbow and firing an arrow. Unlike Dismas's frightening accuracy, even though they were only ten meters apart, Lance still missed.
He had aimed for the torso, but the arrow struck one guard's knee.
The problem was, he had been aiming at the *other* guard...
There was no time for Lance to dwell on it. The guard hit by the arrow collapsed, clutching his leg, his agonizing screams echoing as blood gushed uncontrollably.
Seeing this, the squad leader let out a furious roar—whether from genuine rage or to bolster his courage was unclear—but he charged forward nonetheless.
