Trenches, Guns, and Magic

When he saw the [Intelligence] prompt, Morin knew this trip was worth it. At the very least, he could gather more information about the enemy.

Since there was an anomaly in the direction of the Old Royal Palace, Morin naturally intended to go investigate. But he could also guess that the Old Royal Palace right now was probably quite dangerous.

After all, the "High-Tier Vampire" mentioned in the [Intelligence] certainly didn't sound like an ordinary unit.

He only brought 20 good men today, and to maintain mobility, they didn't bring heavy weapons.

Although he wasn't worried about ordinary Romanian soldiers, facing this kind of supernatural unit with unknown strength was somewhat risky.

But since he was already here, Morin definitely hoped to gather more intelligence before heading back. What's more, they were now wearing the skin of [Disguise Self], making them less likely to be discovered.

After thinking for a moment, he raised his hand and pressed down.

The sergeant major following behind leaned in closer, his voice very low.

"Adjust heading. We're going toward the Old Royal Palace."

The sergeant major didn't ask questions. He turned and signaled to the soldiers behind him.

The team turned into a narrower street, moving closer to the city center along Morin's newly chosen route.

The further in they went, the more noticeably different the surrounding buildings became.

The low brick residential buildings on the outskirts were gradually replaced by three-to four-story stone buildings. The streets also widened considerably, and the road surface changed from potholed dirt to neatly paved flagstones.

And Morin's perception as a spellcaster became increasingly active as the distance closed.

That strange energy reaction changed from a vague feeling initially to becoming clearer and clearer, as if someone suddenly started beating a drum in a quiet room, and the drumming grew louder and louder.

At the same time, the personnel stationed at the sentry posts and barricades along the way also underwent a qualitative change.

The police and reserve militias napping with hunting rifles on the city outskirts were gone, replaced by regular Romanian Army soldiers in standard uniforms and issued rifles.

Although these men weren't much better in terms of individual quality and training, they were at least significantly stronger in basic military literacy—sentries manned their posts, intersections had guards, and machine guns could be faintly seen set up behind the barricades.

Morin walked at the very front. He didn't deliberately slow his pace, nor did he continue sneaking around.

Now that they were wearing the skin of [Disguise Self], the more open and natural they acted, the less suspicion they would arouse.

When passing an intersection, half a platoon of Romanian soldiers stood behind the barricade nearby. A corporal saw them and was just about to raise his hand to stop them when Morin spoke first.

"South patrol unit. Ordered to fill gaps on the perimeter of the royal palace."

The corporal was stunned for a moment, then hurriedly stepped aside.

"Sir, didn't a unit just pass by earlier?"

"That's why we're called to fill gaps!"

Morin didn't stop walking. As he kept moving, he turned his head and glared at the corporal.

"Do you want to come with me to the palace gates to confirm?"

The corporal immediately pulled his head back and saluted.

"No need, Sir."

The team passed through the intersection smoothly.

Although these regular soldiers were more vigilant than the police on the outskirts, after confirming Morin's officer identity, they didn't pursue the matter further.

Simultaneously, Morin also noticed that the smoother their passage, the more he could see how chaotic the defense of the entire city was on the system map.

The feint in the northeast had thrown Bucharest's defense system into chaos. Troops from all directions were being drawn out, backfilled, and drawn out again. Command transmission was a mess, conversely giving them an excellent opportunity to fish in troubled waters.

Another ten or so minutes later, the reconnaissance detachment finally approached the area of the Old Royal Palace.

The Old Royal Palace of the Kingdom of Romania wasn't particularly magnificent.

At least from Morin's angle, the building looked more like a large-scale Eastern European-style manor.

Stone walls enclosed the main building. In front of the main gate was a flagstone plaza. On either side of the plaza was a row of low buildings with corridors, likely the guard barracks.

Morin led the reconnaissance detachment back into the shadows of a back street across from the palace plaza, crouching behind a low wall to observe.

There were two sentry groups at the main gate, four men each, stationed on either side.

There were also patrols on the plaza, about eight to ten men per group, walking back and forth along fixed routes on the plaza and outside the palace walls.

Because of the battle in the northeast, security around the royal palace had clearly been strengthened.

However, after watching for a few minutes, Morin noticed a pattern.

The patrol shift change rhythm had been disrupted by tonight's state of emergency. Between the new patrol coming from the east barracks and the old patrol, there was a gap of about ten to twenty minutes.

During this time, only the fixed sentries at the main gate were on the plaza, with no mobile patrols... This kind of situation would be simply unimaginable in Saxon Army units.

But for the current defenders of the Kingdom of Romania, it made sense, fitting the "matchmaking mechanism" of the Balkan Peninsula.

The northeast direction had just been thrown into chaos by the feint. The City Defense Command temporarily reinforced the palace guards, but the subordinate units weren't sufficiently prepared, so it was normal for the scheduling to be this messy.

The sergeant major beside Morin also figured it out.

"Colonel, it seems we might be able to slip through near the east barracks?"

"Pretty much."

Morin stared in the direction of the plaza.

"Before the next team comes out of the barracks, we'll walk out from the same direction... As long as our steps are orderly, the men at the palace gate will mistake us for a late patrol team."

The sergeant major looked back at the team.

These were all veterans picked from the 1st Company. Discipline and tacit understanding were not a problem. The only issue was they looked too much like elites.

Morin thought for a moment, then added in a low voice.

"Don't march too perfectly. Loosen up a bit."

The expressions of several veterans in the team instantly became somewhat awkward. This was the first time they'd received such a request.

"Follow me!"

The reconnaissance detachment followed Morin out from the street corner and stepped onto the plaza in front of the royal palace.

The footsteps of the twenty-one men hitting the flagstone pavement produced an orderly sound. Everyone straightened their backs, trying to mimic the demeanor and posture of a changing Romanian patrol team.

The light from the bonfires on the plaza illuminated the outlines of the Romanian uniforms on their bodies. The effect of the 5th-circle [Disguise Self] once again showed Morin the wonders of magic.

The sentries on either side of the main palace gate were the first to notice this team, but they merely noticed them.

Morin walked at the very front, his pace steady, his back straight, completely immersing himself in the role of a patrol officer—at least the patrol officers he had just observed all strutted around like this.

Thirty meters... twenty meters...

The sentries looked at the direction they came from, then at the uniforms and weapons of the team, and made no further reaction.

Morin breathed a sigh of relief inwardly. It seemed the disguise was effective. The sentries at the main gate highly likely assumed they were the new patrol coming from the direction of the barracks.

He led the team along the edge of the plaza, continuing to approach the palace gate.

Just as they were less than ten paces from the main gate, a robustly built officer walked out from inside the gate.

Judging by his epaulets, he was a captain. Based on the information on the system map, Morin deduced he should be the duty captain of the Royal Guard.

The appearance of this captain tightened Morin's heart slightly, but outwardly there was no change, and his footsteps didn't stop.

After the captain walked out, he yawned, then glanced in Morin's direction.

However, because of this single glance, his yawn was abruptly cut off halfway.

The captain's gaze swept over the column behind Morin, then frowned.

Because in his eyes, compared to the patrols that had passed by earlier, this team had a completely different spirit and energy... And this kind of spirit and energy would not appear on the Bucharest defenders during this period.

"Wait a moment."

The captain raised his hand.

"Which unit are you from?"

Morin led the team to a halt. He didn't salute immediately, but first showed a hint of impatience at being delayed.

"Temporary Garrison 2nd Division, 7th Infantry Regiment, 2nd Battalion Temporary Patrol Detachment. Ordered to fill gaps on the royal palace perimeter."

The captain nodded after hearing this.

"7th Infantry Regiment, 2nd Battalion?"

Morin answered quickly, even conveniently rattling off the company and temporary detachment numbers.

These designations weren't made up randomly.

Over the past two days, the reconnaissance detachments of the instruction unit had actually captured quite a few "tongues" on the outskirts of Bucharest, extracting a lot of information about the garrison's organization from them.

Combined with the annotations on the aerial photos and the system map, and with the help of [Intelligence], what Morin pieced together was enough to fool most people.

But the captain didn't step aside immediately. He looked at Morin, then at the team behind him.

"In the middle of the night, your men look quite energetic..."

The captain took a slow half-step forward, a slight smile even appearing on his face.

"Who sent you? I've seen most of the officers in the 7th Infantry Regiment. Why do you look like those reported missing outside the city earlier?"

As the other spoke, Morin also noticed his right hand, which had naturally dropped to rest beside his holster.

The surrounding guards hadn't reacted yet, thinking it was just a normal conversation between two officers.

Morin, however, sighed.

"If everyone in your Kingdom of Romania Army were this meticulous, things would be a lot more troublesome."

The smile on the captain's face vanished instantly, but before his hand could unfasten the holster flap, Morin was already in front of him.

His left hand pinned the opponent's wrist, while his right hand, moving like a blur, formed an open "V" shape and struck the throat.

The captain's voice was forced back down his throat. His body bent over uncontrollably, his mouth wide open but unable to make a sound.

Morin didn't give him a chance to recover. His right hand flipped into a knife-hand strike, chopping fiercely at the back of the captain's neck, instantly dropping him painlessly.

The entire process was absurdly fast.

The sentries on both sides of the main gate hadn't even registered what had happened... After all, from their perspective, one second two officers were talking face-to-face, and the next second their captain flopped to the ground.

Then it was the turn of the 1st Company veterans.

These veterans, who had fought their way from the Western Front alongside Morin, didn't need any orders. The instant the captain fell, the soldiers closest to the sentries lunged forward.

Before the four sentries could even raise their rifles, Saxon veterans tackled them from the side, pinning their barrels down, while sharp combat knives deeply severed their vocal cords and tracheas.

The other four sentries were even less lucky. Swiftly overpowered by the 1st Company soldiers, their noses and mouths were pinched shut until they suffocated to death.

Morin dragged the captain lying at his feet into the shadows beside the palace gate. He looked up at the massive wooden doors. Only one side was currently closed; the other was ajar, the gap wide enough for a person to slip through sideways.

Just as he was planning to leave a few men outside to stand guard while he led the rest inside to scout, two unit cards marked with special colors on the system map began moving rapidly from deep within the palace.

"...Scatter to both sides of the gate, guard the interior of the palace!"

The moment Morin's low shout landed, the veterans had already taken up firing positions against the walls on both sides of the gate.

A few seconds later, two figures appeared in the darkness at the end of the corridor.

Two men wearing Romanian military uniforms. Their walking speed was incredibly fast yet almost silent. They almost literally "emerged" from the shadows.

One second the corridor was empty, the next second the two figures had reached a position less than twenty meters from the palace gate.

They carried rifles on their backs and short swords at their waists. The firelight illuminated their faces; their skin was unnaturally pale.

The leader glanced down at the captain lying in the shadows, then slowly raised his head, his gaze meeting Morin's.

"Looks like Saxon rats..."

"Do it!"

As Morin shouted, the MP14s in the hands of the veterans behind him opened fire.

In the narrow space inside the palace gate, the MP14 submachine guns roared simultaneously. A dense hail of bullets sprayed out. The two Blood Thralls didn't even have time to draw their weapons before their bodies were forced backward repeatedly by the impacts.

A normal human taking a volley of submachine gun fire at this range would have long been turned into a torn sack, but those two things only had their movements suppressed.

The leading Blood Thrall took at least fifteen or sixteen hits to the chest and abdomen in the first volley. The massive kinetic energy shoved him back several steps, his back slamming into a stone pillar in the corridor.

The other Blood Thrall was also staggered, taking several hits to the left shoulder and thigh, his body tilting.

But they didn't fall.

The leading Blood Thrall looked down at the bullet holes in his chest, then straightened up. The edges of those bullet holes began contracting at a speed visible to the naked eye.

"Fuck... not this again..."

A veteran cursed in the darkness.

And in the few seconds of opening created by the veterans' first volley, Morin had already drawn the shortened bayonet specifically meant for close-quarters combat. Pushing off the ground, he charged into the doorway.

Just as the first Blood Thrall steadied himself, Morin drove the combat knife into his chest with a speed faster than his reaction.

The tip of the blade passed precisely between the ribs, pinning the heart. The blade, driven by the strength of Morin's entire body, penetrated deep, leaving only the hilt exposed.

If this were an ordinary person, the battle would be over.

But this Blood Thrall merely let out a low growl, twisting his body to force himself backward violently.

Then a ghastly pale hand reached out, five fingers grasping the hilt protruding from his chest, and forcefully yanked the bayonet out.

The wound began healing from the inside out, muscle fibers churning and rejoining.

The extracted knife was casually tossed to the floor by the Blood Thrall, making a sharp clatter.

Morin's eyebrow twitched at the sight.

"This recovery speed is indeed fast, living up to the vampire stereotype..."

"Do I really need silver weapons?"

Meanwhile, the other Blood Thrall seized the opportunity to rush out from the side, attempting to bypass Morin and pounce on the nearest 1st Company soldier.

He was fast—so fast that by the time the veteran swung his muzzle around, the opponent had closed to within three meters.

But Morin pivoted on his foot, interposing himself with a speed even more absurd than the Blood Thrall's. With a front kick, the sole of his boot planted squarely into the Blood Thrall's side ribs.

There was no fancy technique in this strike.

The leg strength of Morin, enhanced by the potion, was absolutely terrifying. Even back at the medical center, conventional instruments couldn't measure his strength.

So this kick sent the opponent flying horizontally, smashing into the stone wall beside the palace gate, sending stone fragments flying.

The veteran who was nearly pounced on froze for half a second before gasping for air and backing into his firing position.

Morin didn't have time to confirm the other's status before turning back, because the leading Blood Thrall, his wound healed, lunged again, incredibly fast.

Realizing Morin's combat power was extraordinary, the opponent abandoned his rifle, drawing his short sword to thrust straight at Morin's face.

Morin blocked the first strike with a reverse grip on his combat bayonet. The opponent's strength wasn't small, but he managed to hold it.

The Blood Thrall seemed surprised by this, causing a very brief pause in his offensive.

Morin seized this opening to side-step the second strike. With a sliding step, he maneuvered behind the Blood Thrall, gripped the opponent's jaw and the top of his head with both hands from behind, and twisted violently.

"Crack."

The sound of cervical vertebrae snapping was exceptionally clear in the corridor.

The Blood Thrall's body lost control and went limp. As Morin let go, he stomped down, the thick sole of his military boot crushing the opponent's skull.

The things that splattered out into the corridor made several veterans involuntarily take a step back.

On the other side, the Blood Thrall who had been kicked flying just got up from the ground. His shattered ribs formed unnatural bulges under his skin. He tilted his head, catching sight of this scene.

He was clearly stunned for a moment by Morin's gory attack.

"Vampires!"

Morin turned his head and roared behind him.

"Conventional weapons can't kill them! Focus fire and suppress him!"

Snapping out of it, the veterans didn't hesitate. Three or four submachine guns simultaneously aimed at the recovering Blood Thrall and opened fire again, pinning the sluggishly dodging creature in place with a hail of bullets.

Morin quickly turned to the veteran closest to him.

"Where's your wallet?"

The veteran looked bewildered.

"What?"

"Do you have any silver Marks on you?!"

"In the satchel behind me, Colonel!"

Following the veteran's direction, Morin quickly found a knitted coin purse. It looked like it was specially made by the man's daughter. Inside were about a dozen silver Marks, 98% silver content...

"I'll pay you back double when we get back!"

Morin dumped all the silver Marks into his hand, turned back to face the Blood Thrall still enduring the hail of bullets, then pinched a silver Mark and hurled it with force.

The silver coin spun at high speed through the air, glinting in the firelight, and accurately struck the Blood Thrall's hand raised defensively in front of him.

Powered by Morin's arm strength, the silver Mark struck with enough force to cause injury.

The instant the silver coin touched the Blood Thrall's skin, a puff of white smoke visible to the naked eye erupted from the impact point. Accompanied by a piercing, shrill scream, a hole was burned straight through the Blood Thrall's palm.

Seeing the "silver weapon" attack was effective, Morin didn't stop, hurling the remaining silver coins in succession.

Every hit was accompanied by white smoke and the sound of searing flesh. The Blood Thrall's screams grew increasingly agonizing, and its regenerative ability completely failed under the corrosion of the silver.

Morin followed up with a charge. This time, he didn't aim for the heart. Instead, he grabbed the opponent's hair and, using his own strength, smashed him into the stone wall nearby.

Once.

Twice.

After the third time, Morin pressed a silver coin into the wound on the opponent's forehead, then reached back to take an entrenching shovel handed to him by a veteran.

The blade fell.

The second Blood Thrall stopped moving, and the corridor finally fell silent.

Morin stood between the two unrecognizable remains of the Blood Thralls, his chest heaving, his palms sweating.

Immediately following, he heard more footsteps coming from deep within the palace. Far more than two... On the system map, more special unit cards were converging in this direction.

"We can't keep going."

He tossed the entrenching shovel back.

"Fall back! Take Route Two!"

Morin cast one last glance deep into the palace. The special energy reaction inside was still there, and even stronger. Regrettably, he didn't have time to delve deeper.

But tonight, at least one thing was confirmed: the trouble in Bucharest... was much bigger than anticipated.

At the very moment the two Blood Thralls were killed by Morin, somewhere inside the royal palace, Ferdinand I snapped his head up.

The disappearance of these two Blood Thralls was overly clear to his current perception.

A moment later, an order from the highest authority was transmitted through the connection between the vampires.

As Morin led the reconnaissance detachment into a small street on the west side of the royal palace, shouts erupted entirely behind them. The Romanian guards at the palace gates had finally reacted.

Some blew whistles, some shouted "Enemy attack!", and others fired randomly toward the street entrance.

Morin didn't look back. While running, he pulled the portable magitech communication device from his satchel and contacted the sub-unit on the extraction truck outside the city.

"This is Zeus. Extraction Point Two, start engines immediately. Fire restrictions lifted!"

Although the other party couldn't reply, Morin completely trusted his elite soldiers.

Furthermore, after the order was given, the four trucks outside the city began moving on the system map.

After contacting the extraction vehicles, Morin shoved the communication device back in and pointed to the alley entrance ahead.

"Turn left. Take the back streets, stay off the main roads."

The sergeant major led the front-rank veterans and immediately changed direction.

The alley the group navigated was extremely narrow. The buildings on either side almost blocked out the sky, and the air smelled of a mix of horse manure and damp plaster.

Despite experiencing combat, as long as Morin didn't actively dismiss it, the [Disguise Self] spell continued to remain active.

So even if someone looked down from a window, all they would see was a group of Romanian soldiers marching at a run.

However, Morin knew very well that the commotion at the royal palace wasn't small...

Gunfire travels far at night, not to mention that absurdly dense burst of MP14 automatic fire. Anyone with basic military knowledge could tell those weren't weapons equipped by the Romanian army.

And on the system map, a massive cluster of special unit cards had already lit up in the direction of the royal palace, spreading out in all directions.