CH400 Barnsil Militia Massacre II
***
"Enemy attack!"
"Wake up—enemy attack!"
The shouts echoed from the centre of the camp as the Professional officers jolted the militia awake, dragging the camp into frantic motion.
A Silver-ranked man—his body outlined by a faint, weak silvery aura—sprinted toward the signal bell to raise the alarm. But the moment he reached it, his face drained of colour.
The bell had been sabotaged.
The rope had been cut. Even the striker was missing.
He had no way to warn the fortress.
He cursed under his breath and raced back toward the only pocket of organised resistance left—the cluster of survivors forming a defensive line around the camp's centre, near a drill field.
At the head of that line stood a broad-shouldered man, barking orders like a drillmaster.
"Form up! Quickly!"
"Hold the line—brace for attack!"
"We push them back from here!"
A brilliant golden aura wrapped around him like a blazing torch in the darkness.
