Under Saster's watch, more than a dozen fireballs came crashing down, one after another. More kept coming in an unbroken barrage.
They struck not only the courtyards his squad had set alight, but the surrounding area too, including the threshing ground and a stretch of land farther away.
Even the approaching Barbarian troops had the misfortune of taking several hits. Viscous oil from the Oil-Flame Bombs splashed across the ground and onto the soldiers.
In an instant, dozens of figures were wreathed in flames, bright enough to see clearly in the night. Saster watched the Barbarians scatter from the fireballs, screaming in agony, and smiled with satisfaction.
He did not linger this time. The mission was finally complete, and it was time to leave.
Saster gave a hand signal, and his squad immediately turned back. They made no attempt to hide, running straight toward the Small Fortress.
As the fire spread, its light illuminated more and more of the area. The Barbarian troops soon spotted Saster's squad.
The Barbarians had no idea what had caused such a terrifying attack or why the area had suddenly caught fire. But when they saw the figures fleeing, they knew the enemy had to be behind it.
Despite the sudden assault throwing their formation into disarray, the Barbarian officers led their troops in pursuit. They had to make the enemy pay.
But they were too late. The members of Saster Squad who had withdrawn earlier had already reached the walls of the Small Fortress.
The commander of the Small Fortress garrison had been informed of the night raid. He immediately ordered the side gate opened and let them all inside.
As soon as the raiding party had hurried into the fortress, the gate was shut again.
Old Scarface and the others rushed to find