Trenches, Guns, and Magic

Over the next two days, the battle situation in the direction of Bucharest fell into a state of relative calm.

Neither side actively provoked hostilities. The entire city and its surrounding positions remained in a quiet standoff.

However, the various mobile reconnaissance detachments and cavalry regiments of the Kampfgruppe continued their surveillance of the city's perimeter as usual, or bypassed the urban area to patrol the outskirts, recording any abnormal movements from the Romanians.

Outside the city, the various units of the Morin Kampfgruppe methodically advanced their fortification construction and position reinforcement operations.

The first trench line had extended forward from its initial position 5 kilometers away to a distance of 3 kilometers from the edge of the city.

The Saxon Imperial Army had always been renowned for its earthwork efficiency; the soldiers' skills in this area had long been perfected.

The excavated dirt was directly piled into breastworks, which were then covered with a layer of turf for camouflage. The specifications for firing embrasures and drainage ditches strictly followed the field earthworks manual.

The three trench systems were distributed in echelons, with three layers of barbed wire strung. Landmines and various explosives covered over sixty percent of the main approach axes.

Aside from these conventional fortifications, a brand-new "special weapon" was also successively emplaced along the forward edge of the positions by combat engineers over these two days.

When Morin first inspected these finished products, his mind was filled with a sense of déjà vu.

The combat engineers first used "arc welding" to temporarily weld some captured metal plates into special containers.

These containers were roughly knee-high, shaped like slightly curved rectangular boxes, with only the front side left open.

Then, depending on the actual volume and placement of the container, about 15-20 kilograms of military explosives were packed into the bottom. Prefabricated silver shrapnel plates were placed vertically in front of the explosives. The entire container was then half-buried in the ground, with the single opening facing directly toward the front of the position.

Detonation wires were led out from the bottom of the container, extending all the way back into the firing trenches along pre-dug shallow ditches, to be manually triggered by the soldiers in the trenches.

The principle was actually similar to a shaped-charge armor-piercing shell. When the explosives were detonated, the explosive energy would be constrained by the rear and side walls of the metal container.

Then, everything would be blasted out from the front opening, propelling the prefabricated shrapnel out at extremely high speeds.

Directional blasting—this concept was no longer new within the Saxon Army since Morin had introduced the shaped-charge armor-piercing shell.

"Has this thing been tested?"

Morin squatted next to a completed device and patted the outer shell of the container.

The combat engineer platoon leader responsible for this section of the position nodded.

"Tested, Colonel! We test-fired two in the rear today. After detonation, the coverage density of the prefabricated shrapnel within a fan-shaped area of about 120 meters directly ahead was quite considerable."

The platoon leader squatted down, gesturing with his hands.

"We ran a simulated test with wooden boards. The boards within 120 meters were basically turned into sieves. I don't even want to imagine the effect of this shrapnel hitting a human body..."

"It would definitely leave them black and blue~"

Morin nodded, stood up, and brushed the dirt off his knees.

"Deploy a few more sets along the main axes. Keep the spacing reasonable, and make sure to create overlapping coverage... Also, properly moisture-proof the detonation wires so they don't fail to trigger when the time comes."

Morin stared at the oversized "Anti-Vampire Claymore" before him for a moment, feeling something was missing.

After thinking for a moment, he suddenly clapped his hands together in realization, then looked at the combat engineers around him.

"Right, if you guys have any paint, it would be best to write a warning on the front of this thing."

"A warning? Something like what, Colonel?"

"FRONT TOWARD ENEMY!"

Aside from the ground preparations, the Kampfgruppe was also not idle in the air.

Richthofen, Immelmann, and the third pilot maintained daily aerial reconnaissance over the Bucharest urban area, while simultaneously dropping a new batch of leaflets.

As they executed their reconnaissance missions, the fog of war in Morin's system would also be illuminated once again.

Through the system map, Morin could see the rough deployment changes of the garrison inside the city every day. More importantly, the movement trajectories of those special unit cards—the Blood Thralls—were also within his field of vision.

However, the Romanians' ability to learn wasn't bad either.

After discovering the Saxon airplanes frequently appearing during the day, the troops in the city quickly changed their strategy.

As soon as the buzzing of airplane engines could be heard in the distance, defenders operating in the open would quickly duck into buildings or camouflage shelters to hide.

Even the activity patterns of those special unit cards adjusted accordingly... They basically didn't move during the day, all holing up in their respective strongholds.

Morin stood in the command tent, staring at the system map for a good while.

"Their learning speed, or rather adaptation speed, is quite fast..."

He stroked his chin, calculating in his heart.

With those Blood Thralls in the city inactive during the day, it was difficult to gather information. At night, the fog of war would cover the system map again.

Unless he personally snuck into the city for another run... which clearly wasn't a good idea.

However, even without seeing the full picture at night, just by piecing together the information accumulated from daytime reconnaissance, Morin could roughly deduce that the overall posture of the city's defenders hadn't undergone any fundamental changes.

At least before reinforcements arrived, the Bucharest garrison would highly likely not take the initiative to come out and fight a field battle with him.

"Highly likely..."

This judgment also kept Morin from completely relaxing. Because after encountering the unexpected time and time again, he felt that his constitution's "highly likely" was essentially equivalent to "will definitely happen"...

And facts proved his vigilance was justified.

Evening, two days later. Bucharest Old Royal Palace.

Ferdinand I stood in his study and changed into his military uniform.

Since accepting the legacy of Vlad III, he actually preferred to wear traditional Romanian aristocratic attire, or to don a suit of armor...

But tonight was different. Tonight, he needed to appear at the City Defense Command in the capacity of "King" and "Military Commander."

Although... the officers who were about to see him no longer needed to care what his identity was.

Soon, Ferdinand I arrived at the City Defense Command set up in the basement of the Army General Staff building. Aside from the city defense officers who volunteered to stay behind, the Army high command had long evacuated the city.

When Ferdinand I pushed the door open and entered, everyone inside stood up.

City Defense Commander Major General Van stood beside the sandbox, his posture upright and his uniform immaculate. At first glance, he looked no different than usual. But a closer look revealed some clues.

His skin had an unnatural pallor, a scarlet hue floated in the center of his irises, and when his lips parted slightly, two extra fangs could be glimpsed.

The several staff officers behind him looked identical.

Pale, red-eyed, fanged.

All characteristics of a Blood Thrall...

And this was the decision Ferdinand I made after his "consideration" that night.

Although he hadn't chosen to activate the "Blood River," he could indeed no longer avoid the issue of controlling the upper echelons of the city's military.

The Saxons' leaflets had caused the situation in the city to deteriorate sharply. Major General Van and his officers had already begun secretly investigating those sentry posts attacked by the Blood Thralls.

Dragging it out any longer would definitely lead to major problems.

So, after repeatedly weighing his options, Ferdinand I chose the most direct method... converting these officers.

The forced conversion of a Blood Thrall and a voluntary conversion were completely opposite extremes.

Ferdinand I did not want to recall the struggles and agony Major General Van and the others experienced during their forced conversion.

He only remembered Major General Van's final human expression... a twisted mix of unwillingness, fear, and anger.

But none of that mattered anymore.

Once the conversion was complete, an effect akin to a "mental brand" would ensure these Blood Thralls' absolute obedience to him...

Their military literacy and combat experience remained, but the object of their loyalty had shifted from the "Kingdom of Romania" to the "Heir of the Impaler," the "True Dragon of Wallachia"—Ferdinand I himself.

However, Ferdinand I also noticed a subtle situation.

Although Major General Van and the others obeyed him implicitly, when the black-robed old man—Ceaușescu, who had now discarded his black robe for traditional Romanian aristocratic attire—walked in, these military Blood Thralls almost simultaneously showed wariness and hostility on their faces.

However, the leader of the society seemed to care nothing for this. Accompanied by several other secret society members who had also changed their attire, he walked straight to the other side of the sandbox.

The two groups confronted each other across the sandbox, the atmosphere quite subtle.

Ceaușescu could naturally sense the hostility from these military Blood Thralls, but he didn't care.

Over hundreds of years, the Bloodstone Society had experienced too many scenes like this.

No matter what these soldiers thought, as long as Ferdinand I needed the Society, their attitude was irrelevant...

"Your Majesty."

Major General Van spoke first, shifting his attention away from Ceaușescu.

"The mortal troops on the outer perimeter positions have been notified. Tonight, no matter what commotion they discover, they are not to leave their positions by even half a step."

Ferdinand I nodded.

"The reason?"

"I informed all units that a special elite force will launch a night raid on the Saxons tonight, and all perimeter troops only need to hold their positions and await the results."

Ferdinand I didn't evaluate whether this excuse was good or bad.

He closed his eyes, extending his perception outward, ultimately reaching a group of Blood Thralls and Blood Servants already assembled at the edge of the city.

The Blood Servants, having lost their reason, were particularly agitated. They could smell the scent of humans drifting over from other areas of the city.

Those warm, fresh scents kept them hovering on the edge of losing control.

Ferdinand I used his authority as a "Vampire Superior" to suppress them firmly, preventing their thirst for blood from collapsing the final order.

The scene of that Saxon squad infiltrating the city that night still lingered in his mind.

Since the opponent dared to infiltrate his city at night, he could entirely send his own forces right to their doorstep at night.

Ferdinand I's command quickly transmitted through a special connection unique to vampires.

The Blood Thralls and Blood Servants lying dormant at the edge of the city received the signal simultaneously.

Tonight's Blood Thralls were fully prepared. They wore military uniforms and combat webbing, currently checking their weapons, securing magazines, and tightening scabbards.

...

Over a hundred Blood Servants stood up from the shadows one after another, emitting low whimpers and growls. Arching their limbs, they took their first step into the darkness outside the city.

They made almost no sound in the night. Hunched over with bent backs, moving rapidly close to the ground, they looked like a horde of things crawling out from beneath the earth.

The forty fully equipped Blood Thralls spread out further back, maintaining their distance, waiting to see the situation ahead.

The night was thick. The moon hid behind heavy clouds, only occasionally leaking a ray or two of cold light through the gaps.

Soon, these probing Blood Thralls and Blood Servants, relying on their vastly enhanced speed, approached the Saxons' first defense line covertly and dispersedly.

However, the Blood Thralls quickly discovered their first problem.

The area in front of the Saxons' position was constantly swept by numerous searchlights, lit up as bright as day.

Ferdinand I, through his connection with the Blood Thralls and Blood Servants, quickly learned of this situation as well.

But after only a moment of hesitation, he ordered the Blood Thralls and Blood Servants to attack according to the original plan, charging through the illuminated area at maximum speed.

Upon receiving the directive from their vampire superior, the Blood Thralls, who still possessed human reason, waited for the optimal moment to cross, but the Blood Servants simply charged out directly.

Because to their mindless selves, they could not precisely comprehend Ferdinand I's orders...

A thousand words ultimately translated into one simple command—Attack.

Over a hundred Blood Servants charged out violently on all fours.

The Blood Thralls in the rear hesitated for a moment and ultimately didn't follow immediately. Instead, they chose to wait and see if these Blood Servants could create a better opportunity.

At a distance of five hundred meters, the continuously sweeping beams of light in front of the position finally caught the moving targets.

Incandescent beams shone on the Blood Servants, fully revealing their pallid skin and contorted limbs.

The illuminated Blood Servants didn't slow down at all. Instead, they pushed harder with all four limbs, accelerating their sprint.

The next second, the Blood Thralls still in the rear secretly congratulated themselves on their decision.

Because the alert level of the Saxons' position was much higher than they imagined. The Blood Servants had barely been caught by a few searchlights before flares shot up from the corresponding positions.

"Pop—pop-pop."

Over a dozen flares trailed the bright light of white phosphorus into the night sky, then slowly drifted down.

Ghastly white light covered a range of two to three hundred meters in front of the position. The originally pitch-black wilderness was lit up as bright as day.

Those Blood Servants hiding their tracks in the darkness were now entirely exposed under the flares.

Over a hundred pale figures were scattered across the wilderness. Some lay on the dirt on all fours, some were leaping forward hunched over, and some had stood up straight, mouths agape, emitting meaningless hisses.

The reaction from the position was almost instantaneous.

"Large number of unknown targets sighted ahead! Fire! Fire!"

Multiple water-cooled heavy machine guns began pouring out firepower simultaneously. Tracer rounds drew streaks of orange-red trajectories, exceptionally glaring against the interplay of night and flare light.

Immediately following, the Saxon soldiers equipped with semi-automatic rifles and light machine guns, who had been resting in the trenches, also climbed onto the firing steps after being awakened and began shooting at the Blood Servants outside.

A hail of bullets covered the entire path of the Blood Servants' charge. Bullets tearing into their flesh sent pink mists of blood spraying into the air under the lights.

But these suppressed vampire creatures didn't stop.

A Blood Servant with a chest cavity shot through by a machine gun bullet had the flesh around the wound and the organs within the open trauma writhing violently, closing at a speed visible to the naked eye.

Some Blood Servants had their shoulders shattered, continuing to run forward dragging an arm that constantly regenerated while swinging.

Even those who fell weren't truly dead; they writhed and struggled on the ground for a moment before crawling back up.

The machine gun fire did indeed impede their advance speed.

The dense hail of bullets striking the Blood Servants was like an invisible wall constantly pushing them back. Every step forward required enduring several bullets.

But the killing efficiency of this conventional ammunition against these unreasonable supernatural creatures—in a world Morin critically appraised as a "Dark Fantasy Compilation"—was still a bit low.

After paying the price of over twenty permanently downed, the hundred-plus Blood Servants forcibly pushed through the hail of bullets to a position about seventy meters in front of the trench line.

Seeing this, the Blood Thralls in the rear also began to stir.

It seemed the Saxons' position was nothing more than this. Even full-power conventional weapons were just like a tickle against the Blood Servants.

Once the Blood Servants charged forward a bit more, they could take advantage of the chaos to flank from the sides—

"Boom!!"

Without any warning, the first explosion erupted abruptly.

The ground in front of the position seemed to be flipped up from below by a giant hand. Dirt, scree, and an indistinguishable torrent of shrapnel spewed forth.

Followed by a second, a third, a fourth—

Continuous explosions detonated in sequence along the forward edge of the position. The half-buried "Anti-Vampire Claymores" were detonated one by one by the soldiers in the firing trenches.

Driven by the directional blast of the explosives, prefabricated silver shrapnel spread out in deadly fan shapes directly in front of the position.

The effect of this hit was immediate...

The Blood Servants charging at the very front were mangled beyond recognition by the dense silver shrapnel. This was entirely different from the damage caused by ordinary bullets.

After the silver shrapnel embedded into the Blood Servants' bodies, large patches of charred black patterns rapidly spread around the wounds. The flesh no longer writhed and healed; instead, it began to curl outward and wither.

The Blood Servants let out unprecedentedly agonizing howls. This sound was distinctly different from their usual emotionless hisses; it was pure agony.

Within a mere dozen seconds, over two-thirds of the Blood Servants were knocked down by the silver shrapnel.

They didn't die immediately, but the silver fragments embedded in their bodies suppressed their regenerative abilities to a near standstill.

A large number of Blood Servants simply fell in front of the position, twitching and rolling in agony in the mud, unable to stand up.

The soldiers in the positions seized this window. Rifles and machine guns began focusing fire on the downed Blood Servants to finish them off.

The expressions of the Blood Thralls watching from afar changed. As one, they halted the steps they had just taken.

Those explosions... were lethal...

When this thought flashed through the minds of all the Blood Thralls, quite a few had even begun turning around to retreat.

However, an undeniable command poured into the consciousness of every Blood Thrall.

"Continue the attack. No retreating."

Ferdinand I's will crushed all hesitation and fear among the Blood Thralls through the vampire connection.

Their bodies stiffened abruptly. Then, involuntarily, they took a step, emitting hoarse howls as they charged toward the position.

As higher-tier vampire creatures, the Blood Thralls sprinted much faster than ordinary Blood Servants. They agilely wove through the wilderness in a serpentine pattern, attempting to avoid the explosive devices whose locations had already been exposed.

The sacrifice of the Blood Servants had indeed consumed a considerable portion of the "Anti-Vampire Claymores" in front of the position.

But explosions still erupted around the sprinting Blood Thralls. Continuously, Blood Thralls were hit by the dense silver shrapnel, tumbling to the ground and letting out agonizing wails.

One, two, three...

After crossing this distance of death, about twenty-some Blood Thralls, covered in wounds, lunged at the edge of the first trench line.

But immediately following, several streams of searing fire suddenly spewed from the trenches.

The flamethrowers operated by combat engineers aimed at the approaching Blood Thralls outside the trench. The viscous incendiary agent sprayed out, instantly wrapping the closest few Blood Thralls tightly.

Under this kind of area-of-effect attack, the Blood Thralls' evasion was clearly not as timely. Furthermore, the lethal effect of fire against vampire creatures was even better than Morin estimated.

The Blood Thralls hit by the flamethrowers hardly had a chance to struggle. The flames on their bodies burned the newly regenerated tissue even faster. The raging fire simply consumed all combustible tissue within their bodies.

Several burning Blood Thralls tumbled into the trench like this, crashing onto the muddy bottom. The flames leaped even higher in the narrow space.

The surrounding Saxon soldiers were forced to retreat to the sides. The trench was filled with smoke everywhere.

But more Blood Thralls bypassed the fields of fire of the flamethrowers, vaulting in from other locations along the trench.

The instant they landed in the trench, they drew the dual Steyr M1912 semi-automatic pistols they were equipped with, rapidly aiming at the heads of the Saxon soldiers ahead and opening fire.

Their enhanced physical attributes made the shooting accuracy of both their left and right hands absurdly high.

The soldiers in the trenches raised their rifles to return fire, but the bullets from rifles and submachine guns still struggled to inflict effective damage on the Blood Thralls. Bullets embedded in muscle were quickly squeezed out, and the wounds closed.

But the bullets fired by the Blood Thralls, as long as they hit, were solid damage.

After only a few minutes of exchanging fire, casualties began to rise among the Guard Reserve Infantry and instruction unit soldiers.

"Withdraw according to the contingency plan! Relocate to the second defense line!"

The officers in charge of command within the trenches, and the even more numerous NCOs, issued the order.

The soldiers began retreating orderly along the communication trenches to the second defense line in the rear. While retreating, some turned back to lay down covering fire and tossed grenades with the fuses pre-pulled for over three seconds.

More than twenty Blood Thralls occupied the first trench line. Some pursued the retreating soldiers, while others searched the trench for remaining targets.

In the City Defense Command, Ferdinand I opened his eyes. The information transmitted back through the vampire connection quickened his breathing.

The Blood Thralls had breached the Saxons' first trench line, and the opponent was retreating.

Although the price paid tonight wasn't small—a large number of Blood Servants consumed, over a dozen Blood Thralls killed by silver shrapnel and fire during the charge...

The twenty-plus Blood Thralls that broke in were currently in the trench, hunting down those retreating Saxon soldiers.

The Saxons' firepower was fierce, but ultimately couldn't stop the power of vampires. And this was just the beginning—a probing attack by a small force. If he committed more vampire units...

But this elation lasted only a few seconds.

Ferdinand I's body suddenly paused.

His connection with one Blood Thrall inside the trench vanished. Followed by a second, a third, a fourth...

Within a few short seconds, his connection with four consecutive Blood Thralls that had rushed into the trench was severed.

And this could only mean one thing—they had been taken out...