Trenches, Guns, and Magic

While following Morin into the city, the 1st Company veterans, despite being battle-hardened, were clearly somewhat restrained in this "sneaky" infiltration and reconnaissance operation.

Although they had seen plenty of hardcore action, Morin was still able to introduce them to entirely new levels of it...

Especially with Morin walking at the very front. His pace was absurdly steady, without any pauses or hesitation, as if it wasn't his first time here. He even occasionally looked up at the street signs, acting as if he were truly a Romanian officer on patrol in Bucharest.

Along the way, the sound of artillery from the northeast continued intermittently. The city was filled with residents who had been awakened but didn't dare leave their homes. Occasionally, a head could be seen peeking out from behind a curtain, only to quickly pull back.

In this environment, any fully armed group appearing on the street could raise alarms.

But Morin led the team too naturally.

So naturally that most of the Bucharest residents hiding behind windows merely glanced at their Romanian uniforms before pulling their curtains tight again. The five-hundred-meter distance was quickly covered.

The barricade at the intersection ahead was now close at hand.

Several overturned carriages, sandbags, wooden crates, and two hurricane lanterns hanging on wooden poles.

Behind the barricade were about a dozen people wearing police uniforms.

Their weapons were a mixed bag: Mannlicher rifles standard issue to the Romanian Army, revolvers, and even an old hunting rifle dug out from who knows where.

When Morin and his men turned the corner, the police didn't react at first.

It wasn't until the distance closed to just over thirty meters that a young policeman dozing off by the sandbags jumped up abruptly.

"Someone's here!"

Chaos instantly erupted behind the barricade.

Some grabbed for their guns, some put their hats on backward, and one hurriedly tried to blow the whistle hanging around his neck but failed to make a sound after stuffing it in his mouth for a good while. When they finally clearly saw that it was a squad of Romanian soldiers approaching, the tense atmosphere deflated.

The old policeman leading them had just breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Morin's epaulets and officer's uniform, snapping to attention immediately.

"S... Sir!"

But Morin didn't give the other party a chance to ask questions. He knew very well that in this situation, he had to seize the initiative...

Morin walked up to the barricade, his expression perfectly matching the role he was playing.

When his accentless Romanian came out, even the 1st Company veterans behind him were momentarily stunned.

And the lead policeman opposite them completely dropped his guard.

"Surprise night inspection!"

Hearing these words, the old lead policeman's back straightened instantly, while he turned to urge the others.

"Everyone, fall in! Hurry up!"

The policemen behind the barricade quickly scrambled out and formed a line.

One young policeman had panicked so much earlier that his rifle sling was tangled around his arm. Sweating profusely, the more he tried to untangle it, the worse it got.

Morin walked around the formation, stopping right in front of the man.

The young policeman's face went white.

Morin pointed at his rifle.

"If it had been an enemy night raid just now, you'd already be lying on the ground."

The young policeman swallowed hard, not daring to make a sound.

Morin then scanned the others.

"Loose sentry positions, weapons unchambered, absolutely no observers posted on the flanks of the barricade... Are you guarding an intersection, or waiting for someone to collect your corpses?!"

The question was delivered with booming resonance, the very essence of a professional officer. The old policeman began to sweat on his forehead.

"Sir, there's been fighting in the northeast all night, everyone is..."

"Whether there's fighting in the northeast or not is no excuse for your slackness."

Morin kept a stern face, perfectly nailing the posture of a junior officer dressing down his men.

Meanwhile, the instruction unit veterans stood behind him, trying their best to look like a group of silent elites.

It was just that everyone felt a sense of déjà vu about the scene before them...

It was exactly like when Morin first joined the unit, and they slacked off during night watch, only to be caught by this young officer.

The old policeman swallowed hard, but mustered his courage to try changing the subject again, attempting to make Morin forget what just happened.

"Sir, we just wanted to know if over in the northeast of the city... have the Saxons really broken in?"

Morin stared at him for half a second.

"Do you want me to connect a line to the City Defense Command so they can report to you first?"

The old policeman immediately shut his mouth.

Morin paused for a few seconds, acting as if he was suppressing his anger.

"Guard your own intersection well. Anyone passing through here tonight must be thoroughly questioned... If you spot suspicious individuals, fire warning shots immediately."

"Yes, Sir!"

Morin felt the act had gone on long enough and was preparing to lead the others forward when the old policeman suddenly took a step forward.

At this movement, a sergeant major behind Morin raised his muzzle almost instantly.

The other veterans weren't slow either. Although their guns looked like Mannlicher rifles under the illusion, real MP18s were aimed at the barricade. The old policeman hadn't expected Morin's men to react so fast and froze on the spot, both hands raised to his chest.

"Sir! Sir! I didn't mean anything by it!"

Recovering his wits, he quickly fished out two crumpled packs of cigarettes from his pocket, holding them out with both hands.

"Just... please don't report tonight's situation up the chain."

Morin took a half-step back, avoiding a distance where the other party might touch his clothes.

"Put them away."

The old policeman panicked even more.

"Sir, we weren't slacking off on purpose... Rations in the city have been getting tighter these past few days. The day before yesterday, the people from the supply department said that any barricade written up by higher-ups would have their bread and bacon rations cut in half the next day."

Morin's heart stirred. So the rationing system had already begun within Bucharest.

In Morin's view, it was impossible for the Kingdom's capital, Bucharest, to have absolutely no reserves. Yet after only a few days of siege, the city was already docking supplies per barricade.

This indicated the Romanians were not unprepared; they had already set up the framework for a long-term defense. The rationing system was intended to prolong their holdout under siege as much as possible, though execution was severely chaotic...

Seeing Morin didn't speak immediately, the old policeman thought there was hope and quickly continued:

"Sir, you and your subordinates clearly look like Army elites... Actually, army troops came to inspect yesterday and the day before too. But those people weren't inspecting at all; they were just looking for trouble! After two questions, they demanded liquor, meat, and even robbed us of half a bag of coffee beans!"

Hearing this, the other policemen also opened up, chiming in to complain about the inspectors from the previous two days.

Listening to this, Morin almost laughed out loud. So the Romanian garrison in Bucharest was like this... However, he knew he couldn't break character.

He pushed the two packs of cigarettes back, maintaining a cold demeanor.

"Put your things away... I didn't see you sleeping tonight, and I didn't see you take out cigarettes."

The old policeman was stunned for a moment, then his face filled with gratitude.

"Thank you, Sir! Thank you, Sir!"

Morin raised a hand and pointed to the side of the barricade.

"Move one man over there. Cover half the hurricane lanterns; don't let anyone see your position from a distance... And put that hunting rifle behind the barricade. What's the meaning of leaving it out in the open?"

"My apologies, I just set it down when arriving at the barricade and forgot to bring it in..."

The old policeman nodded repeatedly, his face full of gratitude.

Morin didn't linger. He led the reconnaissance detachment through the barricade. After they had walked some distance, the old policeman's scolding could faintly be heard from behind.

"What are you standing around for! Make the changes the officer just said! Hurry up!"

The sergeant major leaned in slightly, unable to resist speaking up next to Morin:

"Colonel, you even conveniently fixed their defensive deployment."

"I only realized it after I said it... occupational hazard..."

Morin replied softly, somewhat helplessly.

The few veterans behind them stifled laughs upon hearing this, but this relaxed mood lasted only a very short time.

Because the further they went into the city, the more Morin noticed things weren't right on the streets.

Many alleyways were boarded up temporarily. Crying could be heard from behind doors and windows, and occasionally, very soft prayers.

After passing a few more barricades and putting on a show of reprimanding them, the group noticed drag marks starting to appear on some street sections. When Morin asked some soldiers and police at the barricades what had happened, they hemmed and hawed, not daring to speak.

Only one young soldier muttered something about being told to stay strictly within the barricade and not run around when assigned his watch... But before this soldier could finish, he was pulled back by the others.

After moving some distance away, the sergeant major and the others also realized the atmosphere in the city was somewhat off.

"Commander, why does it feel like they all want to say something, but don't dare tell us?"

"Probably their direct superiors gave orders, and they mistook us for night patrols..."

As Morin spoke, he stopped at an alley entrance, crouching to examine some dark stains on the ground.

It was blood...

Judging from the fact that it hadn't completely dried, it hadn't been on the ground for very long.

The sergeant major saw it too.

"Colonel?"

Morin stood up, looking at the street ahead, which seemed even dimmer.

"Keep moving, don't stop... Prepare for combat!"

His tone was much lower than before.

Meanwhile, the atmosphere in the Bucharest City Defense Command was also somewhat oppressive, even though the artillery fire from the northeast had long ceased.

The reports coming back from the forward positions made everyone, including Ferdinand I, look grim.

Just as the Romanians had refilled the first trench line, the enemy artillery in the rear plowed the entire position.

Those soldiers who had finally mustered the courage to charge back hadn't even had time to catch their breath before they were blown to pieces by 105mm high-explosive shells. Meanwhile, the Saxon troops had quickly withdrawn, and withdrawn so cleanly that not even enemy corpses could be found in the recaptured position. Only the scattered shell casings everywhere proved the enemy had been there, and attested to their abundant firepower.

After hearing the latest telephone report, Major General Van gripped the receiver tightly, not putting it down for a long time.

The staff officers argued loudly nearby.

"We must continue reinforcing the northeast direction! The Saxons might have only temporarily retreated; they will come back!"

"We cannot withdraw any more troops! The southwest is only guarded by police and reserve militia. What if the enemy's real attack comes from there?"

"They only have about one division! It's impossible for them to attack from all sides!"

"But they've already launched a night raid tonight! Who can guarantee they won't do it again?"

The arguments mingled with the ringing of telephones. Ferdinand I stood before the map, leaning against the edge of the table, his fingertips slightly tense.

He was very tired, having barely slept well these past few days.

Worse still, the craving in his body was becoming pronounced.

It was a deeper need; every breath seemed to remind him that blood was the only thing keeping this body strong. However, Ferdinand I had actually been resisting all along.

From the moment he drank the Original Blood, fully aware of where this power originated, he viewed the change as a disaster that must be suppressed.

But at this moment, the arguments of the officers, the disastrous defeat at the front line, and the Saxon artillery fire all pushed him into a corner he couldn't avoid. The voice in his head appeared again.

"Accept reality; human ability has its limits..."

"Frail humans can only be torn to shreds by steel and gunpowder in battle..."

Ferdinand I's breathing grew heavy. He remembered the silver cup presented by the black-robed old man the first time they met in the study.

He remembered the changes in his body, and the reasons he had used to convince himself at the time...

For the Kingdom of Romania, to prevent Saxon military boots from crushing this city...

"Your Majesty?"

Major General Van's voice made him look up.

"Should we continue mobilizing the reserves?"

Ferdinand I didn't answer immediately. He just closed his eyes again and let out a long breath.

The next moment, he gave up his resistance and actively reached out to touch the door within his body that he had constantly kept shut with reason.

Not long after, Ferdinand I snapped his eyes open. His originally pale irises were now covered in blood red.

Several officers close by in the command center instinctively stopped arguing.

But it was only for a very brief instant.

The light from the oil lamps was dim, and Ferdinand I quickly lowered his head, so no one dared to be certain of what they had just seen.

But Ferdinand I no longer cared, because he found that after fully opening the "door," he could sense the Blood Thralls within the city.

One, two, ten, a hundred...

The number kept increasing, finally settling on 442 Blood Thralls.

These combat units, converted by the secret society using his blood, were scattered across various strongholds in Bucharest.

The catacombs of the grand cathedral, old noble mansions, or simply lurking in blocks near the city defense forces' warehouses.

Ferdinand I's heart sank sharply. The black-robed old man had never told him the number had swollen to this extent.

Immediately following, he sensed things even further below.

In Bucharest's newly completed sewer system from recent years, there were over two hundred presences that seemed "lower-tier" to him.

These "lower-tier presences" lacked complete thought, possessing only hunger and obedience... Some ancient information surfaced from the depths of Ferdinand I's brain.

Blood Servants—these were the defective products formed when humans had their blood drained by "Blood Thralls."

Their physical constitution was stronger than ordinary humans, and they possessed regenerative abilities, but their reason had collapsed, and they could not operate in sunlight during the day.

Ferdinand I's expression changed slightly, because the black-robed old man hadn't told him about this either.

More ironically, he found he could command them, even more easily than commanding the Blood Thralls.

This was because Blood Servants didn't think or question; they only executed the commands of their superiors. They were a relatively perfect killing machine—at least during the cold-weapon era.

And he was the only superior they could sense right now...

The telephone rang again.

A staff officer picked it up, and his expression quickly eased.

"Commander, confirmed from the northeast direction: the Saxons really have completely withdrawn! Observation posts saw a large number of trucks leaving!"

The arguments in the command center immediately quieted down considerably. Another officer spoke up immediately:

"I said this was a probing attack! The Saxons are testing our defensive reactions."

However, as City Defense Commander, Major General Van remained cautious.

"It could also be a feint."

"A feint for what? Where else could they slip in? We have barricades and patrols in every direction."

Listening to these words, Ferdinand I's mind was no longer in the war room.

Only one thought occupied his mind right now: someone had deceived him, and deceived him greatly.

At this time, Major General Van also looked toward his King.

"Your Majesty, should we recall a portion of the reinforcing troops and restore the defense lines in other directions?"

Ferdinand I looked up.

"The Command Center will decide at its own discretion."

These words stunned Major General Van. After all, previously, even if Ferdinand I didn't understand specific tactics, he would ask many detailed questions. But now, he seemed a bit too calm...

"Your Majesty?"

"I have a matter requiring me to return to the royal palace."

Ferdinand I didn't explain, turning and leaving. Although the officers exchanged bewildered looks, no one dared to stop him.

Some time later, inside the study of the Old Royal Palace.

When Ferdinand I pushed the door open and entered, the black-robed old man and the key members of the secret society were already waiting inside.

The moment the doors opened, these mysterious black-robed figures simultaneously prostrated themselves on the floor. The voice of the leading black-robed old man held ill-concealed excitement.

"Your Majesty, you have finally accepted the full call of the Original Blood."

Ferdinand I stood at the door, not stepping forward.

"The Blood Servants in the sewers... what's the meaning of this?"

The study was quiet for a moment. The black-robed old man bowed even lower.

"Those are some people who should no longer live in the sunlight... Some glimpsed the ritual and tried to inform, and some failed during the conversion process."

"To avoid waste, they were turned into Blood Servants and contained underground, awaiting the coming battle."

"Avoid waste?"

Ferdinand I repeated these three words.

The black-robed old man did not become flustered by Ferdinand I's icy questioning.

"Your Majesty, human lives would originally perish in war anyway... We are merely allowing them to continue serving the Kingdom in a more valuable way."

Ferdinand I walked to the desk, pressing his fingers onto the surface.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

The black-robed old man slowly raised his head.

"Because you were not ready yet."

This sentence almost enraged Ferdinand I, but he chose to listen to the black-robed old man continue.

"The Society observed you for a long time... You are the suitable candidate, possessing royal lineage and sufficient willpower."

"But you are too accustomed to thinking like a human monarch..."

"In the history recorded by the Society, there were successors of the Wallachian Dragon who, unable to accept the transformation, tore themselves apart between the Original Blood and reason, eventually losing control and perishing."

Ferdinand I: "So you decided to make the choice for me?"

"No, Your Majesty... We believed you could make the choice. We were merely waiting for you to complete the metamorphosis."

The black-robed old man half-rose, his tone increasingly respectful.

"From this moment on, you have transcended humanity and become a higher being!"

The black-robed old man's words acted like a command. The Society members in the study simultaneously raised their left hands.

Then, they drew daggers and deeply slashed their own arteries. Blood gushed out, falling onto the rug and wooden floor.

"Offering our loyalty and lives to the great King!"

Ferdinand I coldly observed this scene that could only be called madness, standing perfectly still without making a single movement.

And those Society members simply allowed the blood to continuously drain from their bodies. Their complexions grew increasingly pale, while the black-robed old man maintained his bowed posture, letting his sleeves become soaked with blood.

Time ticked by minute by minute. The smell of blood in the study became incredibly thick.

It wasn't until some people began to collapse limply onto the floor, unable to hold on due to severe blood loss, that Ferdinand I finally began to move. He raised his hand, his body subconsciously completing the casting of "Blood Magic."

Immediately following, the blood continuously flowing from the wounds of those Society members defied gravity and began to float.

This blood coalesced in mid-air into piercing red streams, then all surged toward Ferdinand I's direction, ultimately absorbed into his body.

During this process, Ferdinand I discovered for the first time that he could actually perform such exquisite energy manipulation, or rather, use "blood" as a medium to manipulate some kind of energy in the air.

Moreover, he could clearly distinguish the blood components of each different individual in mid-air.

He filtered and purified this blood within his body. The converted blood became more viscous and filled with power.

Some time later, Ferdinand I flipped his palm, precisely sending this brand new blood, endowed with the power of the Original Blood, back into the bodies of their original owners.

Infused with this power, the bodies of the Society members who had fainted on the floor began to convulse violently.

As this special conversion ritual—which appeared much higher-grade compared to the crude conversion of Blood Thralls and Blood Servants—was thoroughly completed, all the black-robed men rose from the floor one after another.

They reached up and in unison pulled back the hoods covering their heads.

Everyone's skin had grown slightly pale, and their irises had similarly turned the same soul-captivating blood red as Ferdinand I's.

Feeling the powerful force surging within their bodies, the black-robed old man and the others once again knelt on one knee to their King... expressing eternal submission.

Meanwhile, Morin led the reconnaissance team around two small streets, continuing to advance toward the Old Royal Palace.

He had just glanced at the system map. The feinting troops had begun disengaging. The unit cards of the Romanians re-filling the first trench line were covered by artillery fire, throwing the position into chaos.

Ludwig and his men had played their part perfectly. Thanks to the defenders' attention they attracted, the obstacles on Morin's side were indeed vastly reduced, allowing them to proceed as if moving through an uninhabited land.

However, just then, Morin, who was steadily exploring toward the Old Royal Palace, suddenly stopped in his tracks.

His perception as a spellcaster was gently plucked by something...

In fact, just like any other spellcaster, Morin could sense abnormal energy fluctuations.

But he quickly realized that this energy reaction was entirely distinct from any conventional magical reaction he had previously encountered.

Yet for some reason, this unfamiliar energy could still be clearly captured by his spellcaster senses.

Morin furrowed his brow, looking up at the night sky in the direction of the Old Royal Palace. The system's [Intelligence] interface in his mind also refreshed with a new prompt.

[Bucharest Old Royal Palace: High-Tier Vampire conversion ritual in progress.]