Ashen Fief's Industrial Slaughter Trench

The Blood Moon hung over Old Valley, its red light pressing into the dry riverbed.

Deep within the Dark Bunkers on both cliff faces, all was quiet.

Gunners crouched behind narrow firing positions. Sweat ran past their eyes and dripped onto the Black Iron gun mounts, but no one raised a hand to wipe it away.

Armor-Shattering Shrapnel Shells were already loaded into the barrels, their ignition runes glimmering faintly in the dark.

Through the narrow firing slits, the Repeater Crossbowmen watched the ground below with trembling hands. The enemy was too close.

Close enough to see the bloodshot veins in the monsters' eyes and smell the Werewolves' rank stench.

From deep in the Gray Fog, the main force of armored Werewolves marched out to a heavy beat.

"Thud. Thud—"

Under the influence of the Blood Moon Law, the Werewolves entered their frenzy cycle.

Their bodies swelled further beneath the red light. Their reason faded as their physical strength and battle instincts surged.

Dragging chains behind them, the armored Werewolves advanced over a road of flesh paved with the corpses of lesser Werewolves and assorted Demonic Beasts. A few lesser beasts still twitched and whimpered in the bloody mud before their own kind crushed them underfoot.

Drawn by the flames and full of a predator's arrogance, they swaggered into the valley.

Commander Edwin stood beside a concealed Sacred Flame Altar on the cliff and looked down.

The armored Werewolves had crossed the first shallow trench, exposing much of their force to the half-buried cannons' firing arcs.

From his experience in the Whiteflame Lancer Order, now was the time to open fire and scatter their formation, then send the lancers charging in to cut off the enemy.

But Edwin held his hand in the air, forcing down the instinct to charge.