The streets closest to the gate houses were all filled with traps and hindrances but after getting into the inn part of the fort they started to become filled with tents and supplies.

The inner fort houses were all interconnected by wooden planks stretching between neighboring windows, creating a sort of secondary fort as they weren’t connected to the outer houses.

and the ally ways were transformed into either chock points or toilets.

Bertrand rushed around the inner fort for a bit trying to find any officers or runners whom would give him orders, there was no one though.

Nobody was on the streets, officer, runner, or lineman.

With the zombies no doubt getting closer and closer Bertrand turns back around and runs straight back to the outer fort.

He should have just stayed there originally but panic and shock were nasty things to undergo.

He didn’t know where he should join the defense, only that he had to defend, so after getting back to the outer fort he picked a random house and slammed his fist against the heavy oak door for a few seconds.

He would try climbing in the windows but they were all boarded up.

After hearing a few yells inside, a musket pokes out of one of the windows on the second floor, aiming directly at him.

Raising his hands up he yelled out. “Here to reinforce you let me in!”

“Third house down that way has a door, get in through there and then get up here.” A tense voice replies. musket getting jabbed to the left to show the way.

A little confused over their words Bertrand takes a closer look at the oak door and realizes it wasn’t actually a door at all but rather an expensive oak cabinet that had been used to block off the entrance.

Nodding his head up at the soldier in the window, Bertrand hurried down the street.

Getting to the house with the door, he once pounded his fist against it.

“Let me in, I’m a skirmisher not an adaptor.”

The door swung open In what would have been at most a minute but felt like years.

Bertrand pushed his way past the gruff grenadier who had opened the door and made his way up the stairs.

The best thing about these posh houses was that they had the staircase in the foyer, meaning Bertrand didn’t have to go searching for the staircase.

After making his way up the stairs, he thought he would have to slink his way out of a window to get onto the roof.

Instead there was a giant wound in the ceiling, leading onto the roof.

Bertrand had to grab the edges of the hole and pull himself up, it proved rather challenging as he was already greatly drained from his desperate sprint to the fort and from running back to the outer fort after he realized his blunder.

But he succeeded, breathing heavily as he carefully stood up and looked around.

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There had been a few wooden stakes driven into the rooftop, forming a makeshift railing just in case anyone slipped on the brick tiles.

Though that was unlikely as all the tiles had been smashed and shattered.

The plan was probably to remove the roofs of the houses and use the debris as a means to reinforce and block off parts of the town, while also providing an easier vantage point for Franica troops.

The solid boots Bertrand made traversing the roof an easy task, good traction combined with thick leather ensured his footing was both safe and secure.

He didn’t plan on staying on this rooftop though, he was heading to the house he had originally knocked on.

Once he reached the rickety wooden plank that lead to the neighboring house’s roof though, he started to reconsider this idea of his.

But he didn’t really have a choice, there was a reason this house didn’t have anyone on the roof.

It was because it was a poor vantage point, the original house he had tried getting into actually held quite a strategically important view of the surrounding area, being situated in clear view of two intersections.

Whereas this one just allowed anyone on top of it to see a few rooftops and an unimportant street.

So after he had gathered up his courage, he cautiously started to walk across the platform.

Focusing purely on the wood and trying his hardest to ignore the ground, if he fell down he would land face first on pieces of tile and other debris.

The wooden plank didn’t look or feel very sturdy, but it held up surprisingly well.

It didn’t even bend from his weight at all and when he reached the end and set foot on the other house he noticed that what he originally thought were nails pinning it in place were in fact metallic splinters.

This observation made him incredibly uncomfortable but he comforted himself by just chalking it up to magic.

If magic had been used then it made sense where they had gotten such a long plank from, they had grown it. The wooden plank was likely strengthened by this magic and the metal splinters likewise also had to have been strengthened by default.

Whether this was true or not Bertrand didn’t know and it wasn’t like it really mattered, what mattered is that it gave him enough peace of mind to continue.

The second crossing over wasn’t any easier, in fact it was worse, as he heard a sudden scream from a few dozen yards away.

It would seem the zombies had made their way to the gatehouses.

Scampering his way across the plank he made his way onto the second house and immediately ran onto the next plank.

When he made it to the last house before the one he was heading to, he heard a shout.

“Ready muskets!”

He resisted the urge to look up at them and instead hurriedly walked over and got onto the last plank.

He wished these houses had been modelled like the ones near the gate houses, it would make things a lot easier.

The risk of slipping off the roof would be zero for example.

But he couldn’t blame them, there were no signs that they would be besieged by such a large number of zombies.

Seer there shouldn’t even have been enough people in the region to support these numbers.

Before he could dwell on the implications of that though he had reached the original house.

Stepping off the plank he immediately unslung his beamer and walked over to the railing.

In the process though he almost fell as he skidded on a mostly whole tile.

Thankfully an infantrymen managed to grab him by his shoulder before he actually fell down.

The infantrymen then pulled him over to the railing, plopping him against it.

Bertrand felt a bit insulted by the treatment but he bit his tongue and readied his beamer.

Aiming towards the crossroads, if any zombies were going to attack them, that's where they would come from.

Well he didn’t know that for certain but what other possible reason could there be for everyone to defend this point?