Trenches, Guns, and Magic

The scene on the Romanians' position could be summed up in one word— a mess.

Many of these very rudimentary trenches had been completely destroyed by explosive satchels, filled with piles of dirt and scree.

The few machine gun emplacements were given special attention by the 20mm autocannons on the airship and were thoroughly pulverized.

A portion of the surviving Romanian soldiers was still lying in sections of the trenches that hadn't caved in, but their mental state had completely collapsed.

Some saw the Saxon soldiers charging over with leveled weapons and simply stood up from the trench with their hands raised.

Some didn't even raise their hands, just slumping where they were with expressions of total apathy towards life and death.

There were also those who tried to organize resistance; a few rifle shots rang out from a relatively intact section of trench.

But the instruction unit's reaction was faster than the counterattack they launched. The soldiers charging at the front immediately hit the dirt.

"Da-da-da—"

Multiple submachine guns fired simultaneously, sweeping bullets across the lip of the trench and forcing the Romanian soldiers who had poked their heads out back down.

Immediately following, several stick grenades were tossed into the trench. After a series of consecutive explosions, that section of trench fell silent.

Meanwhile, the L15 armored airship in the sky had already passed over the Romanians' front-line positions and continued flying toward deeper territory.

Morin stood on the bridge, observing the terrain ahead through the viewing window. From an altitude of two hundred meters, the field of vision was extremely open, and everything below was clearly visible.

Furthermore, this simultaneously fully illuminated all enemy units on the system map, allowing Morin to locate a temporary encampment marked "Division Headquarters" about two kilometers ahead.

Tents, horses, a few horse-drawn ammunition carts, and some figures hurrying between the tents.

Morin pointed out the location to Lieutenant Colonel Andreas and said: "We should have found their division headquarters."

Lieutenant Colonel Andreas immediately understood Morin's meaning and ordered the L15 airship to continue pressing forward.

Just as the massive shadow of the L15 approached the encampment, the observer in the bottom observation post suddenly shouted through the voice tube.

"Report! A cavalry unit has been spotted fleeing rapidly from the south side of the encampment below! Heading south! Numbering approximately twenty riders!"

Before Lieutenant Colonel Andreas could say anything, Morin patted his shoulder.

"Chase them. It's likely the enemy commander making an emergency retreat..."

Andreas didn't know why he trusted Morin so implicitly.

In any case, without any hesitation, he immediately issued the order to adjust heading.

The L15's hull tilted slightly as the massive gray behemoth adjusted its course and bore down on the fleeing cavalry unit.

The weapon stations beneath the airship swiftly traversed under the command of the Gunnery Chief; all twin-linked heavy machine guns and 20mm autocannons aimed in the direction of the cavalry unit.

Soon, the relatively more agile twin-linked heavy machine guns fired first, their bullets kicking up strings of dirt plumes on the ground behind the riders.

Hearing the gunfire from above and the sound of bullets striking the ground, the riders spurred their horses desperately to accelerate.

But no matter how fast a warhorse ran, it couldn't outrun an airship, much less a bullet.

The old major general of the 3rd Reserve Infantry Division, the one who relied on a cane, was currently protected by two guards, whipping his horse's rump desperately as he rode.

He had never imagined that the defense line he ordered his soldiers to construct would crumble so rapidly, failing to withstand even the first wave of attacks.

That Saxon war beast in the sky, spitting fire and dropping bombs, had completely shattered his and his soldiers' will to fight.

His only thought now was to escape, to get as far away from that devil as possible.

However, the increasingly loud roar of engines overhead made him look up in despair to see the massive shadow of the armored airship already catching up directly above them.

"Scatter! Scatter quickly! Break out in all directions!"

He roared with all his might, but it was too late.

The twin-linked machine guns and 20mm autocannons beneath the airship fired simultaneously, a deadly rain of bullets descending from the sky.

The cavalry unit was instantly decimated.

Bullets easily tore through the flesh of men and horses; the agonized neighs of warhorses mingled with the screams of soldiers.

The old major general's mount was cut in half by a burst of 20mm shells. He was thrown from the horse, landing heavily on the ground.

He struggled to get up, but only then did he realize that both his legs had just been completely shattered by the autocannons.

"Boom! Boom!"

The violent explosions from the dropped explosive satchels engulfed him and everything around him. Dirt, scree, and severed limbs were thrown high into the air, raining back down.

When the smoke cleared, only several massive craters and a mess of mangled flesh remained on the ground.

The command center of the Kingdom of Romania Army's 3rd Reserve Infantry Division had been completely wiped out.

Having lost their commanders, the Romanian soldiers became completely chaotic, like headless flies.

Under the instruction unit's assault, the defense line collapsed entirely in less than twenty minutes from start to finish...

This speed surprised even Morin himself.

He had originally estimated they would have to fight for at least an hour.

After all, they were facing a division-sized force; even an under-strength reserve infantry division numbered in the tens of thousands.

Yet in less than twenty minutes, they were completely broken.

But thinking about it carefully, it was reasonable.

Starting from the vanguard regiment's offensive and defensive battle in the morning, the elite portion of this reserve infantry division had already been firmly pinned to the high ground by the 3rd Battalion and had lost more than half its strength.

Then they suffered airstrikes from reconnaissance aircraft; their artillery was crippled, their marching columns strafed, and troop morale had already plummeted to the bottom.

Now came an aerial war beast that no nation on the Balkan Peninsula had ever fought against, dropping explosive satchels directly into trenches from overhead... How long any unit from the Balkan nations could hold out under such continuous strikes was a question mark.

Confirming the battle had entered "garbage time," Morin didn't spend much time lamenting, because the next steps were more important.

"All units of the Kampfgruppe, attention—the three main battalions of the instruction unit are to immediately disengage from combat and re-board vehicles. Destination: Ploiești!"

The order was quickly transmitted to the command posts of the three battalions via telegram.

Steiner and the others immediately sent messengers to notify the frontline troops. The instruction unit soldiers still clearing out remnants on the enemy positions also ceased their pursuit under the urging of company and platoon officers.

"Come back! Everyone back! Board the vehicles!"

"Never mind those, leave them for the Guard units to clean up!"

The main forces of the instruction unit's three battalions, along with the 12th Guard Reserve Infantry Regiment which had coordinated with them the longest, quickly withdrew from combat from all directions, running back to the radiant crystal trucks parked in the rear.

Soldiers vaulted into the truck beds; before they were even fully seated, the trucks were already moving.

The entire process was clean and crisp. From receiving the order to the convoy moving out again, it took no more than fifteen minutes.

And the 5th Guard Reserve Cavalry Regiment, which had had no opportunity to participate in combat from beginning to end, finally obtained a rare opportunity for a raid, joining the attack toward Ploiești.

The other two Guard Reserve Infantry Regiments stayed behind, responsible for clearing the battlefield and capturing prisoners.

Calling it "capturing prisoners" was more like just picking people up.

A large number of Romanian soldiers had thrown away their weapons. They squatted in twos and threes by the roadside, on field ridges, or in bushes, hands raised above their heads. Some even voluntarily walked toward the Guard infantry.

A Guard NCO led a few soldiers escorting a group of prisoners toward the collection point. As they passed a crater, they found five Romanian soldiers squatting inside.

Seeing the Saxons approach, the five raised their hands in unison.

An older one among them babbled in Romanian with a pitiful expression.

Although he didn't understand the language, the Guard NCO roughly guessed what the other was saying.

Nothing more than "don't kill me" and the like.

"Come out, come out, nobody's killing you." The NCO waved them out of the crater in Saxon.

The five Romanian soldiers obediently climbed out and lined up voluntarily.

A Guard officer watched these five soot-covered prisoners, then looked at the dust kicked up by the instruction unit's trucks in the distance, and the armored airship slowly drifting away in the sky. He couldn't help but shake his head and let out a sigh.

"These guys... fight wars like it's a competition."

His adjutant nodded in deep agreement.

"Yeah. We're still clearing roads, and they've already finished a battle... Now we've just arrived on the battlefield, and they've moved on to the next one."

"Fighting alongside them always makes you feel like you're holding them back."

The convoy of the Kampfgruppe's assault force sped south along the makeshift road.

Ploiești was about forty kilometers from the river valley exit; at full speed, the radiant crystal trucks could arrive in just over an hour.

During the drive, the convoy encountered absolutely no organized resistance.

Occasionally, they'd spot Romanian deserters from unknown units wandering by the roadside. Seeing the massive convoy approach, they would either sprint away or dive directly into the roadside ditches, pretending to be rocks.

But the assault force convoy couldn't be bothered to deal with these stragglers, roaring past them and leaving the people by the roadside covered in a face full of dust.

Just past four in the afternoon, the vanguard of the convoy reached the outskirts of Ploiești.

Ploiești was the Kingdom of Romania's most important radiant crystal mining area. The city wasn't large, and the garrison force wasn't numerous.

After the Kingdom's massive mobilization and concentration of forces to attack the Kingdom of Bulgaria, only one under-strength local garrison battalion and some military police remained in Ploiești.

When the instruction unit's trucks poured in from the north of the city, the reaction of the garrison was virtually identical to that of the Romanian soldiers outside the river valley earlier.

First a wave of panic, then a burst of gunfire, and then it was over.

Around five in the afternoon, Bucharest.

Inside the royal palace, a telegram from the Ploiești garrison was delivered to King Ferdinand I of Romania, who had resolved to fight to the bitter end in the capital.

The telegram was very short, consisting of a single sentence:

"Ploiești has fallen. God bless Romania."

When Ferdinand I saw these words, he was in the war room discussing the city defense of Bucharest with a group of officers who had sworn to live or die with the capital.

The contents of the telegram caused an uproar in the small war room.

"What? Ploiești... has fallen?"

"How is that possible! Between the Predeal Pass and Ploiești stands the defense line of the 3rd Reserve Infantry Division! Even if the Saxons broke through the pass, they couldn't possibly..."

"Didn't we predict it would take them at least three days to reach there... It hasn't even been a day?!"

The officers debated animatedly, everyone's face written with shock and disbelief.

The fall of Ploiești meant there was no longer any organized military force directly in front of the capital, Bucharest, that could block the Saxon advance.

That industrial city, less than forty kilometers from the capital, was Bucharest's last shield.

But now, the shield was gone.

Ferdinand I gripped the thin sheet of telegram paper, his heart similarly churning, but as King, he had to remain composed.

He suppressed the terror in his heart and spoke in the steadiest tone possible:

"Gentlemen, it seems we underestimated the enemy's speed... but now is not the time to discuss how they did it, but how we should respond."

He scanned the ashen-faced officers.

"The Saxons could be at our gates by tomorrow morning at the earliest... We are out of time."

The meeting ultimately ended hastily in an extremely oppressive atmosphere. Ferdinand I, with a grim expression, returned to a secret chamber deep within the royal palace.

In the secret chamber, the mysterious old man in the black robe and several members of the secret society similarly attired were already waiting.

"The Saxons will arrive tomorrow morning."

Ferdinand I's voice was hoarse and low as he relayed the latest military intelligence to these men.

"The time left to us is running out."

The old man in the black robe didn't move his hunched frame. From the shadows beneath his hood came his ancient, calm voice.

"Your Majesty, please rest assured."

"The conversion of the 'Blood Thralls' has been very successful... Before the Saxons arrive, we will convert as many 'Blood Thralls' as possible."

Hearing the term "Blood Thrall," an image involuntarily surfaced in Ferdinand I's mind.

Just two days ago, he had personally witnessed the birth of the first "Blood Thrall."

He was a soldier of the Royal Guard, a young man in his twenties, physically fit and fiercely loyal.

After a drop of Ferdinand I's faintly glowing blood was placed into his mouth, the young Royal Guard soldier endured a process of agony almost identical to what Ferdinand I himself had experienced.

Bulging veins, pale skin, sharply magnified senses.

But when everything subsided and the young man stood up again, Ferdinand I didn't know if this soldier was still his original self.

Outwardly, his skin had merely become much paler, and a glint of scarlet would occasionally flash in the depths of his pupils.

But his physical attributes had undergone an earth-shattering change.

In subsequent secret tests, this newly born Blood Thrall displayed astonishing strength, speed, and reflexes.

Even more surprising was that his physical toughness had also vastly increased. Ordinary swords hacking at him would only leave a shallow white mark that quickly healed.

Furthermore, because this soldier had undergone military training prior to conversion, his shooting accuracy with firearms was also incredibly enhanced.

Whether with a rifle or a pistol, he could deliver astonishing accuracy while moving rapidly, as if possessing some kind of dynamic vision and reaction speed beyond normal humans.

For the Kingdom of Romania, this was simply the perfect super soldier.

And the process of creating such soldiers was horrifyingly simple—it only required a drop of his blood.

The only problem was that these newly born Blood Thralls needed to consume fresh blood daily to maintain their condition and sanity.

If deprived of a blood supply for extended periods, they would become manic, irritable, and even lose control, attacking any living creature around them.

"Where does their 'food' come from?"

These past few days, Ferdinand I had asked the black-robed old man this question more than once.

Every time, the old man's answer was the same.

"Your Majesty, you need not worry about this. The society has specialized channels to address the need for blood."

The old man's face, forever hidden in shadow, prevented Ferdinand I from seeing his expression or judging the veracity of his words.

But at this point, he had no other choice.

The black-robed men left the secret chamber silently, like phantoms melding into the shadows.

Ferdinand I stood alone in the secret chamber for a long time before turning and returning to his study.

Not long after he sat down, the study door was gently pushed open, and Queen Marie walked in carrying a cup of hot tea.

"My dear, you look terrible."

Queen Marie placed the teacup in front of him, her eyes filled with concern.

She walked behind Ferdinand I and gently placed her hands on his shoulders.

"Are you feeling... unwell anywhere today?"

Ferdinand I shook his head and covered the hand his wife had placed on his shoulder.

"I'm fine, Marie... I'm just a little tired."

Queen Marie remained silent for a moment, seeming to weigh her words.

"My dear..." she finally spoke, "since last night, some... disturbing rumors have been circulating in the city."

"What rumors?"

"People say monsters have appeared on the streets attacking pedestrians, and... citizens have been disappearing for no reason."

Ferdinand I's grip on his wife's hand tightened abruptly. He quickly realized something, but his face remained impassive.

He turned around, looked into Queen Marie's worried blue eyes, and forced a comforting smile.

"My dear, don't believe such nonsense."

"The city is in a state of panic right now. It's perfectly normal for civilians who couldn't evacuate in time to experience illusions and auditory hallucinations due to fear."

He patted the back of the Queen's hand gently.

"Have you forgotten? Bucharest is under a strict curfew every day. The streets are full of patrols after dark... If there really were monsters, wouldn't they notice?"

Queen Marie looked into her husband's eyes. She could sense that he knew something.

But she ultimately chose silence.

This Queen, who had chosen to stay behind with her husband, simply leaned down and gently kissed Ferdinand I on the forehead.

"Then rest early. Don't exhaust yourself."

With that, she turned and left the study, leaving the space to her husband.

The moment the door closed, the smile vanished from Ferdinand I's face.

He picked up the hot tea, only to find his hand trembling slightly.

This King of the Romanians knew that the "food" for those Blood Thralls couldn't possibly appear out of thin air...

It was just that he had been deliberately avoiding thinking about the most terrifying possibility.

Meanwhile, after occupying Ploiești, the Morin Kampfgruppe did not continue its triumphant advance.

This city, built upon radiant crystal mining and located a mere forty kilometers from Bucharest, naturally became the Kampfgruppe's forward base.

The L15 armored airship landed on an open field outside the city. Its massive hull, resembling a mountain range, drew the gaze of all the city's inhabitants.

Due to the Kingdom of Romania's total mobilization, most of the men in this industrial city had gone to the front, leaving only women, the elderly, and the weak. And they had even taken on the work of radiant crystal mining...

The advantage, however, was that the Kampfgruppe didn't have to worry particularly about the issue of enemy civilians right now.

The cargo bay of the L15 armored airship opened once again, unloading crates of ammunition, food, medical supplies, and various maintenance parts.

Morin stood in the temporarily erected command post, watching the blue arrow representing friendly forces on the map halt at Ploiești.

He dispatched multiple small reconnaissance units, primarily consisting of cavalry regiments, to advance toward Bucharest to ascertain the enemy's defensive deployments.

The main force began post-battle rest and reorganization within and around the city of Ploiești.

After the soldiers ate their first hot meal post-battle, they hurried to maintain their weapons and resupply ammunition. Field hospitals also began admitting wounded who couldn't be treated at the company level.

For Morin, momentary victory had not gone to his head.

The Kampfgruppe was now an isolated force deep in Romanian territory, its logistical supply lines stretched to the extreme.

Although the Prahova River Valley route had been opened, the stretch from the pass to Ploiești remained a long and fragile lifeline.

At a time like this, the most taboo thing would be to let success go to his head and force an attack.

Recklessness and rashness were always the greatest enemies of victory.

Because the next battle would be a siege against a nation's capital. Such a tough nut to crack was absolutely not something his single Kampfgruppe could easily handle.

After all, the Kampfgruppe's initial objective was merely to threaten the Romanian capital to force them to withdraw troops from the front to reinforce the rear, alleviating the pressure on the Kingdom of Bulgaria.

It was just that the current progress was somewhat faster than Morin and the others had simulated.

Moreover, Morin was now responsible for nearly twenty thousand fresh lives. As a commander, he indeed needed to practice "kindness does not command an army," but he also had to be responsible for every soldier, at least making sure their sacrifices were meaningful.

Early morning of May 13th, the sky was just getting light.

Morin's temporary command post was brightly lit.

On the massive map on the table, the outline of Bucharest was prominently circled in red pencil.

Synthesizing telegrams sent back by multiple reconnaissance units that had crept close to Bucharest overnight, along with the illuminated areas on the system map, a clear picture of the battlefield situation was presented to Morin.

The capital of the Kingdom of Romania, Bucharest, had completely become an isolated city.

All land routes connecting it with the rest of Romania had been cut off or were under surveillance by the Kampfgruppe's reconnaissance units. Yet, a considerable defensive force remained within the city.

"According to reconnaissance unit reports, Bucharest is under total martial law; no one is allowed in or out."

Kleist pointed to several spots on the map.

"No one allowed in or out... It seems my original idea of sending people to infiltrate the city for 'disguised reconnaissance' won't work."

Morin had initially considered having a few capable instruction unit soldiers change into civilian clothes and find a way into Bucharest to figure out the specific troop deployments and defensive focal points within the city.

But looking at it now, the opponent had clearly anticipated this move.

"What do we do next, Commander?" Manstein asked. "Do we launch a direct attack, or..."

"No rush."

Morin waved his hand.

"Siege warfare is not a matter of a single day... Since we can't figure out the situation inside, there's no need to risk a forced assault."

He walked up to the map and drew a line with his finger about five kilometers from the outskirts of Bucharest.

"The main force of the Kampfgruppe advances. We begin constructing positions along this line."