Our Family Has Fallen

Lance, seeing the situation, directly threw an Incendiary Bottle and then raised his musket. A ball of fire erupted instantaneously upon impact, even the giant white cell’s open mouth screamed out in agony.

But this didn’t satisfy Lance. He raised his hand and summoned the Blessing of the General’s Legion, then shouted an order.

"Shooting squad, assemble!"

Immediately, at Lance’s command, ten people from the Honor Guard rushed out.

Lance retrieved some specially made large firearms from the display room, firearms with double the caliber of a regular musket, and gun barrels intentionally thickened for loading more gunpowder and larger bullets.

This configuration also meant that one person could hardly operate it, typically requiring a team of two to three, with a stand to aid in aiming.

Hamlet raised his firearm, its design brutally simplistic, exuding a "power of brute force" vibe.

Ordinary muskets had no effect on these Flesh Monsters, and cannons were unwieldy in personnel-congested narrow spaces. Hence, Lance hurried back to have the workshop produce several such enlarged firearms for testing.

Due to the roominess of the display room, they had iron stands, so they did not need to be carried by someone.

As the team operated the firearms, the macrophages quickly recovered from dizziness, sensing the death of the white cell shoot, they immediately summoned again.

And then from the blood-soaked ground, another white cell shoot emerged.

However, the first round of firearms was already loaded; all that was needed was to stand them up, making the emerging white cell shoot the prime target.

A blast rang out, instantly obliterating the newly emerged white cell shoot, its flesh bursting exaggeratedly apart. That’s the power of a large caliber.

But the Honor Guard member who fired also trembled under the powerful recoil, nearly staggering backward, ordinary people might have had their shoulders shattered.

That was just one shot’s power, and there were four more of these lined up.

"Beggby, hold back, do not approach, Legion defensive formation." Lance wasn’t willing to take risks, fearing potential problems, opting for a safer approach.

"Reserve one shot for small targets, the rest take aim at the large one with freedom to fire."

As soon as Lance gave his orders, three shots hit the macrophage simultaneously, its large body a perfect target.

The round lead bullets didn’t have much penetration but released all their kinetic energy upon impact, deforming easily, causing further tearing of flesh, opening several bloody holes in an instant.

But this place was no game, the macrophage didn’t die just from that—it was its turf, with endless flesh to draw from.

Regeneration!

The bands of connective flesh surged with powerful energy, the torn flesh rapidly replenishing visibly, the macrophage’s strength seemed to swell with it.

Yet it somehow still wasted effort summoning the white cell shoot, giving Lance time to act.

"Stand back!"

With a shout, Lance pushed out a cannon without delay, as the fuse was already lit.

"Boom!"

As the war machine let out its roar, even those oversized firearms seemed like children’s toys in comparison.

This was no small skirmish now, a cannonball larger than a fist hurtling towards the macrophage, deforming its entire body, then blasting an opening from the back.

The crowd couldn’t see this, only hearing the explosion as the macrophage erupted, spewing rotting flesh far and wide.

Piercing hit!

The massive tumor, large enough for two or three people to embrace, now had a hole piercing all the way through to the other side.

And at that moment, the summoned white cell had just barely formed from the flesh, yet was shot down in the next moment, unnoticed by anyone.

"Finish it off!"

The smell of gunpowder was an elixir to men; Lance sounded the horn for attack, allowing no time for it to recover. Attrition was disadvantageous to them.

The long-awaited Legion of ten advanced, ten swords severing the bonds of flesh connecting it to the ground, turning it into a dangling mass of flesh.

Lance charged up and leapt onto the monster’s head, the Wolf Fang sword sharp, cutting through the spiderweb-like connective tissue anchoring the macrophage to its surroundings with a single slash.

The massive, suspended tumor then fell, a heavy thud, flesh rippling outward, the opening spewing blood mixed with shredded flesh.

Standing atop, Lance avoided being drenched but wasted no time plunging the Wolf Fang into the One-eyed socket, triggering a sacrifice.

Void Devourer descended, consuming everything inescapably.

When the cannon fired, the macrophage’s fate was sealed.

This was the allure of steel and gunpowder!

𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

The gifting Spiritual Essence signaled to Lance the battle’s end, granting the advancing team a brief respite.

Lance considered fatigue management carefully, allowing the Honor Guard to pause their harvesting as he joined the Legion in the process.

To Lance, an ardent player of the "Squirrel" faction, seeing all that flesh like finding money on the street was irresistible.

All mine, all mine...

The team alternated in advancing, clearing enemies in a location while the Legion rested and the Honor Guard harvested, then switching roles with Lance and the Legion harvesting while the Honor Guard rested.

The Legion was the ultimate workforce, even more efficient than the Honor Guard.

They fought and harvested tirelessly, like machines.

Beggby’s unique physique endowed him with powerful recuperative abilities, needing little rest to replenish his energy, so he joined in severing the flesh, with Lance not hesitating to grant him Blessing for extra protection against the other entity.

Unlike Paracelsus, who was always sacrificing sleep for research, frequently pulling all-nighters in experiments, forcing Lance to regularly dispel her hidden ailments with Blessing and Strengthening, fearing her sudden demise.

This is why Lance saw great research potential in Beggby, a naturally resilient worker’s physique, perhaps symbiotic with that entity might not be a bad thing.

Thus, only Alhazred rested frequently, channeling most of his focus into meditation...

Regardless of Lance’s musings, the team never paused, persistently eroding the flesh-dungeon, leaving behind a gory spectacle where they passed, having sacrificed all accessible flesh, ensuring nothing overlooked.

Sometimes, it was hard to tell who the real cultists were...

Another battle, effortlessly crushing a beast thriving in the flesh-piled room.

"Sir, a package has been found."

Following on the heels of his trusted aide, a familiar package was retrieved, and Lance didn’t hesitate in opening it up, uncovering a wealth of Gold Coins.

Suddenly, his expression faltered, a smile inexplicably emerged, taking out a peculiarly designed dip pen.

A twisted form resembling withered fingers, simplistic yet exuding an uncanny aura.

"Ah! How is there such powerful extraordinary equipment here?"

Even Alhazred was startled by the object, unable to resist voicing his curiosity.

"In Hamlet, nothing is impossible."

Lance chuckled, handing the dip pen over, yet the scholar dared not touch such a mysterious item, having suffered once before.

Seeing the refusal, Lance did not insist, since the artifact was of no use to a Spellcaster, rather suited for a melee warrior, significantly boosting strength.

Beggby, his curiosity piqued, was interested. Yet, Lance figured Beggby was not much of a warrior, the chain was his true self.

Lance put away the dip pen, then took out a map to mark it. He had always kept a habit of drawing maps since entering, from the first layer, second, to the third.

It was having the accurate map that revealed some intriguing things...