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Chancellorsville, Virginia.

Jeremy nervously rubbed at a dark, dull stain on the oak stock of his rifle. He couldn't figure out what had stained it; after all, he had only been issued this long, narrow rifle three days ago. They had set out early this morning, marching nearly twelve miles with only one short break to rest, all while being constantly harassed by the Confederate army.

The sky had already darkened, and he rubbed the stock with increasing frustration. The stain looked so awkward that it made him feel uneasy.

"Heard about what happened at Fredericksburg?" Tommy, the guy next to him, was whispering sneakily to those around him. Jeremy didn't really like him—he was a loudmouthed kid—but he couldn't help but slow the movement of his hands and prick up his ears.

"That was months ago, who hasn't heard of it? Is there any shortage of failures on our Eastern Front?" A strange, cynical voice came from among the few men nearby. Jeremy couldn't tell who it was; they were all just a ragtag group thrown together at the last minute.

Hearing this, Tommy became even more spirited. He stretched his neck to peek around, then suddenly pulled it back, trying his best to lower his voice as he said, "Do you know how they lost? Huh? Something terrifying happened. There are things in the Confederate army that... well... just won't die!"

A faint, mocking laughter rippled through the crowd. Tommy said anxiously, "What! You don't believe me? That thing couldn't even be killed by a Gatling gun! It would pounce on people, bite them, and suck them dry into mummies!" The group couldn't hold it back anymore and burst into laughter, drawing a few glares from the sergeant major.

Jeremy curled his lip, losing interest, and went back to scrubbing hard. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the veteran diagonally across from him. The man was leaning against a tree with a vacant expression, his fingers white as he gripped the crucifix necklace hanging over his chest.

Jeremy couldn't remember which unit the veteran had been transferred from, which only made him feel more irritable.

"Assemble! Emergency assembly!"

The company lieutenant belonging to the Eleventh Corps shouted sharply, blowing his military whistle incessantly. Everyone scrambled to get up in a panic, with several still fumbling on the ground for their rifles.

The squad blindly followed the crowd as they gathered. It was already dark, and everyone looked around nervously, as if they could somehow discern what was happening. The sergeant major was already cracking his whip, forcing each squad to line up according to the training manual. Jeremy knelt on one knee, leaning against a rock, holding his rifle and checking repeatedly to ensure the bolt was locked.

After the chaotic scramble, the entire formation fell strangely silent, following the officer's orders to raise their rifles and stare into the woods on both sides. Jeremy looked left and right; beside him were the loudmouth Tommy and the taciturn veteran. They looked just as terrified as he was—even the veteran.

Swish, swish, swish...

There was truly movement in the woods now. No lights were visible, but the sound of footsteps grew denser. The sergeant major raised his hand, and the line tightened, everyone shouldering their rifles, ready to fire.

The figures of the enemy became clearer. Their speed began to increase, as if they intended to charge straight in rather than trade gunfire. Jeremy nervously glanced at the sergeant major on the flank.

"Fire!"

Finally, the officer's command lit up the night with flashes of gunfire. In that instant, the figures of the Confederate soldiers opposite were illuminated. Their uniforms were loose and sloppy, their faces ghastly, and they ran forward with their mouths wide open. But to everyone's surprise, they were empty-handed, carrying no weapons at all.

Jeremy clearly saw that he had hit an enemy in the chest, but before he could feel any joy, the veteran beside him let out a wailing cry and dropped his gun to run away.

He was still confused when he felt someone grabbing at his feet. It was Tommy, lying on the ground with unfocused eyes, clawing blindly at his surroundings. A Confederate soldier was crouched on his chest, tearing at his throat. Blood bubbled out, and Tommy made a wheezing sound in his throat; he was choking to death on his own blood.

Bang!

Before Jeremy could recover, he was tackled by a Confederate soldier. In his desperation, he held his rifle horizontally in front of him, pushing back with all his instinctual might. Snap! Jeremy finally saw the face of the enemy biting down on his rifle. The corners of its mouth seemed to stretch all the way to its ears, its teeth were as sharp as a beast's, its skin was deathly pale and covered in dark blue veins, and those blood-red eyes were glaring at him. Jeremy felt the last bit of strength in his body slipping away.

"Ah!"

Suddenly, his body felt light. The monster in front of him let out a miserable shriek and slammed into a tree trunk three or four meters away. Jeremy clearly heard a dull sound of breaking bones. He scrambled away hysterically, crawling into a thicket of bushes.

A very tall, burly man walked toward the monster lying under the tree. He kicked the monster's head up and pinned it straight against the tree; for a moment, red and white matter splattered like a smashed watermelon.

The man turned around and scanned the surroundings. He wore a deep brown leather trench coat and a black, slightly reflective silk mask, revealing only a pair of dark eyes. His hair was neatly combed back, and he was very clean, not a single drop of blood having splashed onto him.

"Jack! Take a squad up the slope, free fire!"

James issued the order to the captain of the family gunmen at his side. Jack Pitt quickly pointed out a few names and climbed the mound. Seven or eight gunmen fired shots here and there at the Confederate vampires.

To the surprise of the Union soldiers, these monsters that couldn't be killed by bullets screamed and fell under the fire of these gunmen, gradually going silent. Their corpses then quickly rotted, oozing pus and blood.

James continued to roam the battlefield, supporting Union soldiers in danger. His attacks were simple and brutal, either smashing heads with his fists or kicking them to pieces. Combined with the Howlett Family's team of gunmen—who were not only well-equipped and well-trained but also carried silver-inlaid bullets and daggers—they were the bane of the vampires.

The decline of the Northern Union army was quickly reversed, and the first wave of charging vampires was steadily wiped out.

"Victor! Damn it!"

James cursed in frustration. Once Victor entered the battlefield, he became a completely unbridled wild horse. He ran on all fours like a living tiger, pouncing into the enemy ranks. Ignoring any vampire bites or rifle fire, he killed his way deeper and deeper. He lacked the precision of James's combat style, instead using his sharp claws to tear through every obstacle in his path.

Seeing Victor killing his way deep into the Confederate lines, James had to follow, worried that Victor would lose control of his wild nature.

Rip!

Victor hooked his claws into a vampire's shoulder blades and clamped his other hand onto its thigh. With a surge of strength, he tore the entire body apart from the chest and abdomen. The vampire looked at its own severed lower half and the black-red organs in its abdominal cavity, shrieking in agony, but after a few cries, its head was crushed under Victor's foot.

Bang bang! Bang! Bang bang!

Victor let out a muffled roar, his body pausing as he took several bullets in the back. He shook his shoulders in pain and slowly turned around.

Two trembling, ordinary Confederate soldiers were operating a new type of four-barreled Gatling gun. The bullets fired slammed solidly into the back of this wildly oversized giant, but he seemed only to feel the pain as he slowly walked toward them. The giant grinned hideously, revealing long canines, and reached for the machine gun mounted on the cart.

The claws at his fingertips grew a few inches longer, and he lightly sliced through the gun barrels, twisting them like taffy as if playing a game, looking mockingly at the two soldiers who didn't even reach his chest in height.

"I... I... surrender! We surrender!" The two soldiers suddenly couldn't feel their legs, and they knelt on the ground trembling, raising their hands with their heads bowed, not daring to look at the monster slowly walking toward them.

Victor walked up to them and slowly reached out his hand toward the head of one of them.

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