Trenches, Guns, and Magic

The moment Morin's reconnaissance detachment turned out of the second alley on the west side of the royal palace, the changes on the system map caused him to frown deeply.

The movement trajectories of those special unit cards were abnormal.

They weren't pursuing along the streets; their movement paths completely ignored Bucharest's street layout...

This indicated that these Blood Thralls were moving directly over the tops of buildings, their method of movement completely detached from the logic of normal human locomotion.

"This mobility is indeed quite impressive..."

Morin sighed inwardly, then urged the others in a low voice:

"Everyone speed up! The enemy is very fast!"

Prompted by his urging, the reconnaissance detachment quickened its pace through an intersection.

A group of Romanian soldiers stationed nearby poked their heads out upon hearing footsteps, only to see a group of figures in their nation's uniforms flash past them. Before they could even call out, the group had already disappeared into the next alley.

This barricade was equipped with a water-cooled heavy machine gun, and about forty Romanian garrison troops were stationed around it on duty.

"Which unit just rushed past?"

"Don't know... What happened over at the royal palace? Heard pretty dense gunfire just now."

Just as several Romanian soldiers were looking at each other in bewilderment, they noticed several pale figures leap down from distant rooftops, landing squarely in the middle of the intersection.

The moonlight was thin, obscuring their faces, but everyone saw that not all these figures wore military uniforms, and their half-crouching posture exuded an indescribable eeriness.

The lieutenant commanding this barricade reacted fairly quickly. He raised his pistol and shouted forward.

"Who goes there! Halt! It is currently curfew!"

There was no response; the figures merely straightened up slowly, their pace actually quickening.

The lieutenant's voice trembled slightly, but he shouted again.

"Halt! Halt! Take one more step and I'll shoot!"

The figures still ignored his warning and instead broke into a jog. The Blood Thrall at the very front couldn't help but twitch its nose.

The air was thick with the body heat exhaled by forty-some living humans... and the scent of fresh blood, a fresh, vibrant smell.

These past few days, the blood rations provided by the secret society had been compressed to a bare subsistence level. Many Blood Thralls were already exhibiting premonitory symptoms of Blood Depletion Syndrome—clouding pupils, stiffening joints, and irritable, hard-to-control tempers.

Hunger gnawed at their remaining sanity...

And the fresh blood surging within the living humans before them, every single drop, was calling out to them.

The lieutenant shouted his warning three times, but the other party still didn't stop.

Finally, he had no choice but to pull the trigger first. The gunshot echoed in the street. The bullet struck the chest of the leading Blood Thrall; its body swayed slightly, then continued running forward.

"Fire! Everyone fire!"

The machine gun behind the sandbags began to roar, and rifle fire joined in intermittently, empty casings clattering onto the flagstone road.

The hail of bullets only stopped the Blood Thralls for two seconds. Immediately after, the other two Blood Thralls suddenly launched a sprint from the blind spot of the machine gun's field of fire.

One jumped directly from a second-story window of the building on the left, crashing into the flank of the barricade.

The impact of its landing overturned a nearby iron barrel fire used for heating. Scalding charcoal and sparks scattered everywhere. A soldier crouching nearby had his trouser leg instantly ignited; screaming, he rolled on the ground.

The other Blood Thrall dove headfirst into the barricade from the front.

Before the lieutenant could even turn his gun, a pale hand had already grabbed the back of his head, violently twisting it to the side, and then a mouth filled with fangs bit down.

The lieutenant's scream lasted less than a second before turning into a muffled whimper. Simultaneously, the gunner lying behind the machine gun was tackled to the ground, blood spurting as his throat was torn open.

The entire barricade plunged into total chaos.

Some desperately fired at the Blood Thralls, some dropped their weapons and ran, and others simply slumped to the ground in terror.

In the panic, a young private was knocked down by a fleeing comrade and lay flat on the cold flagstones. He rolled over, looked up, and found the lieutenant who had just been bitten standing two meters away.

His skin looked as if it had shriveled, but the wound on his neck was healing at a speed visible to the naked eye, the flesh rolling back and sealing shut.

The lieutenant's eyes had lost the light of a human being. He tilted his head, forcing an inhuman hiss from his throat.

Trembling, the private raised his rifle. The muzzle shook violently, his finger resting on the trigger, but he couldn't bring himself to pull it.

After all, this was the commanding officer who had been speaking to him just three minutes ago.

Unfortunately, the lieutenant, now converted into a Blood Servant, gave him no time to hesitate. With a push of his legs, he lunged forward.

And scenes like this played out almost simultaneously across multiple barricades and sentry posts in Bucharest tonight.

Once the Blood Thralls poured out in full force, the garrison troops, police, and reserve militias deployed along the streets paradoxically became the easiest targets to attack.

Their weapons posed a minuscule threat to the Blood Thralls, while the blood in their bodies was the very sustenance the Blood Thralls had long craved.

As chaos erupted throughout Bucharest, Morin led the reconnaissance detachment darting through street after street at extreme speed.

The twenty veterans picked from the instruction unit's 1st Company were indeed physical monsters. The daily training intensity of the instruction unit could be considered perverse by the standards of any army in Europa...

But even so, they only barely managed to keep up with Morin's sprinting pace.

With his physical attributes enhanced by the potion, Morin's top sprinting speed completely exceeded normal human limits.

On the system map, the pursuing Blood Thrall unit cards were getting closer and closer.

They chased from rooftops and walls, a route much shorter than navigating the streets. The winding alleys did not restrict their speed.

Morin glanced back. From the tops of distant buildings, several rapidly moving figures could be seen, closing the distance by leaping from roof to roof.

In a flash of insight, he quickly made a judgment.

"Sergeant Major!"

"Sir!"

"Lead the team and keep running along the original route! Do not stop! Run to the edge of the city and rendezvous with the trucks!"

The sergeant major opened his mouth to say something, but he had been with Morin long enough and understood this young colonel's operational style well enough; once an order was given, it wouldn't easily be changed.

"Yes, Colonel!"

Soon, the reconnaissance detachment split from Morin at the next fork in the road.

The twenty veterans sprinted into an alley leading to the city outskirts without looking back, while Morin slowed his pace and darted into another, wider street.

He knew his own energy fluctuations were the best bait for these Blood Thralls, and a spellcaster's blood, for vampires that rely on blood to survive, was likely equivalent to the finest vintage wine.

Sure enough, the pursuing unit cards on the system map showed no hesitation between the reconnaissance detachment and Morin; all of them changed direction and headed straight for Morin.

Morin confirmed the surrounding terrain while continuing to move rapidly. On both sides were three-story stone residential buildings, and the street ahead extended straight for about fifty meters before forming a T-junction.

"Alright, bring it on."

He cast [Misty Step] from his 3rd-circle spell slots, enhanced by the [Empower Spell] metamagic feat. Activating the spell as his feet hit the ground, his body flashed and appeared far down the street.

And a nearly 30-meter-long corridor of grayish-white smoke spread across the street surface.

The dense fog swallowed the entire street. Morin dodged into the smoke, preparing to execute a "Demon in the Smoke" tactic based on past experience.

This tactic had worked flawlessly on the Western Front. Within the smoke, he could pinpoint enemies using the system map, while the enemies couldn't see him.

However, this time, the situation changed.

The first Blood Thrall to charge into the smoke didn't slow down at all.

Its vision was indeed hindered in the dense fog, its head whipping side to side attempting to locate the enemy, but then it abruptly turned toward Morin's location.

"Hiss—"

With a strange cry like a leaking windpipe, the Blood Thrall lunged straight out of the smoke.

Morin made a split-second judgment: smoke concealment was ineffective against these things.

Clearly, these Blood Thralls possessed perception methods beyond vision, highly likely a sense of smell or some ability to detect blood and life energy.

"Then I can't play dirty..."

As this thought flashed through his mind, Morin, who had already pulled spell components from his chest rig, quickly completed the incantation and casting posture. [Bull's Strength] was instantly activated, and a surge of power flooded his limbs and bones.

Morin felt the muscle fibers in his entire body further activate, pushing his already terrifying strength up another notch.

With a precise sidestep, he evaded the Blood Thrall's lunge trajectory, then raised his knee and unleashed a ferocious roundhouse kick.

This kick, carrying the combined power of his potion-enhanced physique and [Bull's Strength], landed its shin bone solidly against the Blood Thrall's flank.

The first Blood Thrall to catch up completely didn't expect its prey to unleash this level of brute force.

Caught completely off guard, it was sent flying horizontally by the kick, smashing into the brick wall alongside the street. Its entire body embedded into the wall, showering broken bricks and dust.

And the second Blood Thrall charged out right behind it.

However, Morin, already accustomed to high-speed combat, had moved his left hand to the MP14 submachine gun hanging on his chest the moment the roundhouse kick was completed, simultaneously casting [Magic Weapon].

A layer of magic, invisible to the naked eye, enveloped the gun and all the bullets in the magazine.

Calmly watching the second Blood Thrall lunging at him, Morin raised the gun and pulled the trigger.

Muzzle flashes tore orange spots in the smoke. When the enchanted bullets struck the Blood Thrall, a reaction Morin had never seen before occurred at the edges of the wounds.

The struck flesh was not only torn into larger wounds, but it also didn't begin to heal immediately. Instead, charred black patterns spread out from the bullet holes.

The Blood Thrall let out an agonized howl. This sound was completely different from its reaction when hit by ordinary bullets at the palace gate earlier.

That time, it was merely staggered; this time, it seemed to be in genuine pain...

Morin emptied half a magazine, driving the Blood Thrall staggering backward, its chest and abdomen torn open with a cluster of bullet holes churning with black patterns.

Taking advantage of the opponent's inability to counterattack, Morin's right hand grabbed an M1915 grenade from his waist, bit the pull ring, gave it a yank, and with one hand accurately shoved the grenade right into the middle of the cluster of bullet holes on the Blood Thrall's chest.

Then he kicked the opponent and used the momentum to quickly back away.

"Boom!"

The explosion erupted behind him. Many fragments hit his [Mage Armor], sending ripples of magic across it, and the blast wave pushed Morin's back, sending him two steps forward.

After the explosion settled, he looked back. That Blood Thrall had been blown in two, its upper and lower halves separated by two to three meters.

However, the vitality of this Blood Thrall was even more tenacious than Morin imagined. The mouth of its upper half was still opening and closing, and its fingers were clawing at the ground, attempting to crawl.

Without a word, Morin ran back and brought the sole of his military boot down with his full body weight. After the muffled sound of a crushed skull, the thing finally stopped moving.

Meanwhile, the smoke on the street was gradually clearing, and more footsteps and those distinct hisses came from ahead.

On the system map, at least four special unit cards were rapidly approaching from the rooftops of the buildings on both sides.

Morin remained calm and collected, pulling a pre-rolled mixture of bat guano and sulfur from a small pouch on his chest rig.

"Finally... I can finally throw a fireball in actual combat..."

Since becoming a spellcaster, Morin had always harbored the dream of "throwing a fireball with my left hand, then another with my right."

Unfortunately, due to a series of reasons, he ultimately had to embark on the path of the "Invincible Turtle Build" first.

However, as the situation gradually improved, Morin also added some offensive spells to himself during his spell-learning selection process.

The first to bear the brunt, naturally, was the incredibly classic 3rd-circle Fireball of the Evocation school.

And for this combat reconnaissance mission, to deal with special situations, Morin also prepared an upcast [Fireball] in a 4th-circle spell slot.

Harboring inexplicable excitement, Morin fluidly completed the casting motions and incantation.

Driven by mana, the material in his palm began burning fiercely, quickly forming a basketball-sized fireball at Morin's knuckles.

Seeing four more Blood Thralls jump down from the rooftops and land on the street, Morin launched the fireball down the street as if firing a gun.

The orange-red ball of light drew a slightly arced line of fire in the air, then exploded about twenty-five meters away from him.

"BOOM!!!"

The power released by an upcast [Fireball] in a narrow street far exceeded that in an open field environment. The walls of the buildings on both sides acted as natural reflectors, repeatedly stacking the shockwaves and high-temperature flames.

The shockwave blew back, forcing Morin to turn around, cover his head, and retreat several steps.

The heatwave scorched the back of his neck, and his ears rang.

When he steadied himself and looked back—the street thirty meters ahead had turned into a sea of fire.

Of the two Blood Thralls directly hit by the fireball, not even ashes remained. Only twisted metal short swords and half a charred military boot proved that something had been in that spot just moments ago.

The other two Blood Thralls weren't directly hit, but one had its entire right half burned off, and the other was completely engulfed in flames, rolling and struggling on the ground.

Their regenerative abilities were indeed working desperately, the burned muscle fibers attempting to regrow, but this level of damage clearly exceeded the limits of regeneration.

Newly grown tissue was scorched again by the residual high temperature as soon as it appeared, repeating back and forth.

Seeing these two Blood Thralls slowly cease moving under the high-temperature scorching, Morin didn't waste time going over for a finishing blow. Taking advantage of the flames cutting off the route of subsequent pursuers, he turned and sprinted at full speed in the direction the reconnaissance detachment had evacuated.

Soon, Morin's figure became a blur on the streets of Bucharest.

He chose the shortest route marked on the system map, passing through two narrow alleys, vaulting over a low wall, and leaping across a dry drainage ditch.

And those pursuing Blood Thrall unit cards behind him, after being blown back a distance by the fireball, were regrouping. However, when Morin pushed his enhanced speed to the limit, he even managed to completely shake off the pursuing Blood Thralls for a time.

The buildings on both sides of the alleys grew lower, the layout more scattered, and the smell of dirt and hay could be detected... The city limits were near.

For the last hundred meters or so, Morin squeezed through a gap in a wooden fence, the pavement beneath his feet changing from flagstones to soft dirt.

The Romanian defenders on the outer perimeter had been tormented enough tonight. The commotion of the feint in the northeast drew most of their attention. Utilizing the gaps marked on the system map, Morin took a moderate arc to avoid the only remaining two groups of defense troops.

After sprinting madly for a while longer, Morin vaulted over a long-abandoned low stone wall and saw the abandoned farmhouse in the fields ahead.

The four radiant crystal trucks were parked under a row of old oak trees behind the farmhouse, and the veterans of the reconnaissance detachment seemed to have just arrived as well.

The sergeant major was half-crouching beside the lead truck, holding his submachine gun aimed at the direction Morin was running from.

Upon confirming it was Morin, he let out a long breath.

"Colonel!"

"Is everyone accounted for?"

"All present, none missing!"

Morin scanned the group, quickly counting heads. Twenty men, plus the four light machine gun teams and drivers left to guard the trucks, were all present.

"Mount up! Let's go!"

He was the last to vault into the passenger seat of the lead truck, slapping the door the moment his rear hit the seat.

The engines of the four radiant crystal trucks roared almost simultaneously. The wheels rolled over the hard, dry dirt road of the fields, the kicked-up dust dissipating into the night.

At the same time, Bucharest Old Royal Palace.

Ferdinand I stood before the window of his study, able to see fires starting in several directions within the city.

He could feel every High-Tier Vampire, Blood Thrall, and Blood Servant within Bucharest... including those killed by that Saxon tonight.

The instant the life link severed, what was transmitted back was a brief sting similar to being pricked by a red-hot iron wire.

Although it couldn't be considered pain to him anymore, it was still very clear.

However, what unsettled Ferdinand I even more right now was what those Blood Thralls sent out to hunt down the Saxons were doing...

They were attacking the garrison and civilians in the city.

Barricades, sentry posts, patrols—wherever they encountered living humans, those starving Blood Thralls would stop.

Some drained corpses lay by the roadside, and some unfortunate soldiers were undergoing a conversion process worse than death—turning into mindless Blood Servants.

Ferdinand I closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the cold window glass. Ultimately, between anger and restraint, he made his choice.

Continuing to pursue that Saxon who slipped away was meaningless. The other party's escape speed was simply too fast; even the Blood Thralls couldn't catch up to them.

And clearly, if he let these Blood Thralls pursue for even one second longer, the more Blood Thralls would be exposed to the garrison and civilians in the city.

The more witnesses there were, the harder it would be to clean up the mess.

Soon, an order was transmitted through the connection of vampire perception—all Blood Thralls were to cease pursuit immediately and return to their respective strongholds.

The power surging within Ferdinand I caused this directive to spread throughout the entire city almost instantly. The Blood Thralls wandering the streets stopped their footsteps one after another, then disappeared into the shadows of the buildings.

But even so, tonight's losses had already occurred.

Ferdinand I turned to look at the black-robed old man standing in the corner of the study.

"How many witnesses will there be in the city?"

"Difficult to estimate... Your Majesty."

The black-robed old man kept his head down, his voice hoarse.

"But please rest assured, the Society has operated in the Kingdom for hundreds of years. We have our people in every echelon..."

Ferdinand I naturally understood the old man's implication. He remained silent for a long time, finally speaking calmly:

"Start spreading the news in the city from now on... Tonight, the Saxons sent an infiltration unit using dark magic. They disguised themselves as Kingdom soldiers and attempted to sneak into the royal palace to assassinate me..."

"Those 'monsters' seen by the soldiers and civilians were evil creatures created by the Saxons."

"And these evil dark creatures have all been killed by our defenders."

The black-robed old man raised his head, a flash of admiration in his blood-red eyes.

"Your Majesty's judgment... is extremely wise."

"Enough, go do your work..."

The black-robed old man said no more, leading the other Society members out of the study.

Ferdinand I stood alone in the empty room, gripping the back of a chair with his right hand, his knuckles white from the force.

He knew very well how long this lie could hold up.

He hadn't received the numbers on how many men the city defense forces lost tonight, but the Romanian soldiers in those barricades and sentry posts attacked by the Blood Thralls genuinely died at the hands of their own "allies."

This matter couldn't be kept under wraps forever. He might not even have to wait until dawn before Major General Van and the City Defense Command realized something was wrong. But he had no other choice now. The Saxons' artillery shells were still waiting for him outside the city. His only unconventional force to rely on... were these Blood Thralls he increasingly loathed.

Meanwhile, after bumping along for about twenty minutes, the trucks passed through a checkpoint on the Kampfgruppe's perimeter defense line.

The instruction unit officer on duty saw it was Morin's convoy returning and quickly moved the roadblock to let them pass, while simultaneously phoning the rear command post.

By the time the convoy stopped steadily in the clearing beside the Kampfgruppe's temporary command post, Kleist was already waiting there.

"Colonel!"

Kleist hurried forward, looking Morin up and down.

"Medical team!"

"No need, no need, check them first."

Morin waved his hand, pointing at the veterans jumping down from the truck beds.

"Have the medics check everyone thoroughly, especially look for any bite or scratch marks on their skin... Everyone must be checked!"

Although Kleist was bewildered, he immediately complied.

The medical team quickly arrived, checking the physical condition of the reconnaissance detachment members one by one under the lights.

Morin stood aside watching the examination process. Only after the medics confirmed no one had been bitten or scratched did he take a canteen from an orderly, tilt his head back, and take several large gulps.

Setting down the canteen, Morin waved to Kleist and led the way toward the command tent.

"Let's talk in the tent, and bring Manstein and Paulus over too."

Five minutes later, in the tent of the Kampfgruppe's temporary command post, the dim light of the oil lamp cast the shadows of the four men onto the canvas walls.

Morin sat at the unfolded camp table, elbows resting on the surface, fingers steepled over the bridge of his nose, cosplaying Commander Ikari.

Kleist stood opposite, with Manstein and Paulus on either side.

"Bad news. There really are vampires in Bucharest."

The atmosphere in the tent instantly felt wrong. The three exchanged glances, all feeling a certain PTSD flaring up. And Morin continued:

"Furthermore, it is highly probable that the source of these vampires is King Ferdinand I of Romania himself within the Old Royal Palace..."

Kleist's expression shifted repeatedly. He couldn't speak for a good while, but ultimately looked at Morin with a complex expression.

And seeing his deputy's expression, Morin had already anticipated what he was going to say.

"Colonel..."

"Mhm."

"Yesterday you asked me about the legend of Vlad III and vampires..."

"That was a coincidence~"

Morin's answer held no hesitation whatsoever.

"Pure coincidence."

Kleist stared at him scrutinizingly for several seconds, while Morin returned his gaze without changing expression, then waved a large hand.

"That's not important."

"Hey, Colonel! How is that not important?!" Kleist's voice noticeably rose.

"Because the most important thing right now is how to deal with the vampires in Bucharest, and..."

This sentence from Morin immediately pulled the attention of the three men away from the question of "How exactly did the Colonel guess it?"

"...What's important is what we do next."

He stood up, walked to the simple map of Bucharest hanging in the corner of the tent, and tapped the urban area.

"First of all, in my capacity as Supreme Commander of the Kampfgruppe, I want to make one thing clear: until more reinforcements and supplies arrive, I will not let the Kampfgruppe launch an attack on Bucharest. I will also send a telegram to His Highness the Crown Prince later to explain the situation."

This statement allowed all three to breathe a sigh of relief.

"Over the next few days, apart from the reconnaissance units carrying out their normal perimeter reconnaissance missions, the primary task for all other units is to continue improving fortifications and strengthening position security..."

"Especially at night. Although the feint tonight proved their night defenses are basically just for show, we cannot be careless. Who knows if those vampires might run out of the city to launch a night raid."

After listening to Morin, Manstein spoke up first.

"Colonel, regarding the combat capabilities of these Blood Thralls... could you be more specific?"

"Well, first off... they indeed can't beat me."

The tent fell silent again.

Manstein, usually the epitome of composure, almost lost it this time. He could only say in an extremely restrained tone:

"Colonel, given your current... forgive me for saying this, given your current rather non-standard human physique, plus your spellcasting abilities, the only ones who could probably beat you in a head-to-head fight are those high-circle mages."

Morin didn't deny this, merely continuing his previous thought:

"Erich, you are correct. But although I can deal with them, it will indeed be troublesome for ordinary soldiers to engage these things."

"Although the Kampfgruppe's current firepower is fierce, and conventional bullets aren't entirely ineffective against these vampires, the amount of ammunition required to truly stop them is exaggerated..."

"Moreover, judging from their combat performance tonight, their regeneration speed is very fast, their movement speed is a notch above a normal person's, and their mobility is terrifying. They won't be easy to hit in combat."

Kleist digested this information and asked: "Colonel, roughly how many of these things are in the city?"

Hearing this question, Morin recalled the unit cards on the system map at the time.

"I encountered at least several dozen during my retreat, and that was only in one small area."

He paused.

"I personally estimate the total number in the city is definitely more than that. Everyone, prepare for the worst... Judging from the current situation, this is very likely some sort of trump card for the Romanians."

Trump card.

This word completely activated the PTSD of Kleist and the other two. Their expressions changed almost simultaneously, as if some rather unpleasant memories were churning in their heads.

Ultimately, it was Manstein who broke the silence first.

"Commander, do you mean like the Gauls... and the Serbians?"

Morin nodded.

However, seeing the atmosphere in the tent rapidly sliding toward an unfavorable direction, Morin quickly spoke up to reel their emotions back in.

"But it's not all bad news."

Three pairs of eyes immediately looked at him.

"Tonight's encounter also allowed me to grasp some of the characteristics and weaknesses of these Blood Thralls."

"First, besides vision, these Blood Thralls possess other acute perceptive means, able to accurately locate living humans even in completely zero-visibility environments."

"Therefore, conventional smoke concealment tactics can be abandoned entirely. It's useless against them; using it will only put us at a disadvantage."

The three simultaneously crossed off a tactical option in their minds.

"Second,"

Morin pulled a remaining silver Mark from his pocket and held it up to the light.

"These Blood Thralls, just like in the legends, are weak to silver... I attacked them with silver coins tonight, and the effect was very significant. Silver coming into contact with their skin produces an immediate burning reaction and can suppress their regenerative abilities."

He slapped the silver Mark onto the table.

"Additionally, weapons enhanced by magic are equally effective against them. The bullets fired from the submachine gun I treated with [Magic Weapon] caused damage they couldn't heal quickly."

Manstein frowned.

"Silver is effective... Then a new problem arises..."

Paulus picked up his sentence.

"Where are we going to obtain a large amount of metallic silver? Also, if we go by the legendary accounts, would garlic, crucifixes, and holy water also be useful?"

Morin: "We can also reconsider conventional firepower. We captured so many explosives earlier, maybe they can be put to use."

For the third time, silence fell in the tent. Paulus and Manstein clearly began brainstorming based on the weaknesses the Blood Thralls had exposed.

Morin, meanwhile, looked at Kleist.

"Kleist."

"Here."

"Immediately draft an urgent telegram. Send it to both His Highness the Crown Prince and the General Staff, in my name and the name of the Kampfgruppe."

Morin enunciated every word clearly.

"State that there are a large number of unconventional targets within the city of Bucharest. The extraordinary combat power possessed by the defenders far exceeds expectations. The Kampfgruppe cannot safely resolve this issue under current conditions, therefore we cannot initiate an attack..."

"If His Highness the Crown Prince wishes us to make a bigger ruckus here in Romania, he might need to provide more support."

Since the subsequent supplies were originally going to be delayed for a few days anyway, this perfectly allowed the rear to make more thorough preparations.