Undoubtedly, the recent retreat had bought them some time. Balistan, bracing against the effects of Sorcery, regrouped his troops. Soon, a musket squad was assembled, with three ranks of Musketeers opening fire directly at the breach.
No matter how many Heretics charged in, they had to face the lead bullets. Even if not killed, they would fall on the charge. And for those few who managed to get through, Barrett's precise shooting was waiting. Geralt and Balistan weren't dead either.
Gradually, the battle stabilized. All that was needed was the numb repetition of firing—reloading—firing. The Heretics fell like wheat, swath after swath, until the soldiers lifted their guns only to find no enemies left before them. All that remained was a large pile of bodies...
It took a while for their numb nerves to register this.
"We won? We won!"
"Heck yes!"
"..."
Instantly, cheers echoed throughout the entire outpost, lifting everyone's spirits.
