The Blood Moon Season Descended

The clouds above Blackpine Fief had stopped moving and were pressing heavily on the fortress's spire.

The Blood Moon hadn't fully risen above the horizon yet, but its thick, dark red hue was already seeping out little by little along with the Gray Fog.

Todd stood in the trench, each breath feeling like swallowing cold iron filings. The little bit of protective fighting Battle Aura within him could still barely circulate, but his temples were throbbing in waves.

"Don't stand there, keep up!" Veteran Kyle's low shout jolted him back to reality.

Kyle trudged forward through the ankle-deep, foul-smelling mud, his steps steady and firm.

Todd gripped the newly issued Silver-Plated Iron Spear tightly in his hand and hurried after him.

To him, this narrow, dark trench no longer resembled a fortification, but rather a coiled intestine underground.

These people have been training here during the day and sleeping here at night. When the Blood Moon descends, they will most likely die here.

"Imaginary enemy, directly ahead, pouncing stance!" Kyle's command was as short as a knife.

The next moment, the entire seven-person team moved simultaneously.

Kyle showed no fancy moves whatsoever. He lowered his shoulders, bent his knees, and thrust his Ironwood Shield forward with a thud, plunging it into the mud.

He stood like an iron stake driven into the ground, blocking the opening at the front of the trench.

"Main assassin, position three!"

Todd's mind was still a mess, but his body had already moved according to the instincts he had developed over the past month.

He sidestepped into the gap to Kyle's left rear, gritted his teeth, and thrust his hips forward, the iron spear in his hand plunging out through the narrow gap on the side of the shield.

The spear tip tore through the air, producing a sharp, short, piercing sound.

This fighting style is known in Blackpine Fief Territory as the Fang-Splitting Formation, and it was invented by Lord Shien.

But Shien knew very well that this was not a military strategy that originally existed on this continent, nor was it a strategy he had imagined out of thin air.

The true foundation is a modified version of the Mandarin Duck Formation, which Shien derived from the core logic of the Ming Dynasty Anti-Wokou Mandarin Duck Formation in his previous life, and transformed it into a demonic version within the Canon of Grace and Righteousness.

Shien broke down this battle strategy into a few extremely simple movements.

The shield bearers at the front first blocked the opening, preventing anything rushing in from crashing headlong into the center of the formation.

The hooked arms on both sides followed closely, specifically hooking the forelimbs, twisting the neck, or slamming into the knees and armpits to deflect the momentum, making it tilt, fall, and stick to the mud.

Once that brief opening appears, Todd, a spearman, will strike.

Throat, eye socket, jaw, armpit—wherever it's soft, that's where you prick. Don't worry about aesthetics; just aim for accuracy and depth.

If they're still not completely dead by then, those in the back row wielding longswords will immediately take their place.

Cut the neck bone, smash the back of the head, and take away the last bit of life.

That's how things are in the wilderness; even if you get your chest pierced, you might not fall down. Nobody dares to relax until their head and neck are smashed.

After this round is over, whoever's hand starts to shake first, or whoever runs out of strength first, should immediately step back so that the person behind them can take their place.

This is what makes the Fang-Splitting Formation truly terrifying.

It looks clumsy, even clumsy to the point of being devoid of beauty. It doesn't engage in open field battles or seek heroic duels. It is the ultimate trench warfare formation, yet it is just right for dealing with the most common things on this defensive line.

Werewolf like to pounce, Ghoul like to stick close, and Aberrant like to slip through cracks in the fog.

The Fang-Splitting Formation didn't try to outdo the other in ferocity; it simply ensured that every attack slammed into the shield, every loss of balance resulted in a hook, and every opening was immediately exploited by the spears behind.

Moreover, it never exists in isolation.

The First Ring's icy slopes and waste oil made the Magic Creature slip, the Second Ring's spikes damaged their legs, and the Third Ring's Venom Mist and explosive points drove them mad.

Those who manage to dive into the trenches are often already badly injured, but they are more chaotic, more in pain, and more ferocious than when they first started.

At this point, they are no longer met by a group of disorganized soldiers, but by groups of executioners who know when to raise their shields, when to lower their hooks, when to thrust their spears, and when to retreat.

If Todd were still a nobleman, he would definitely look down on this style of play.

This fighting style doesn't emphasize martial prowess, sportsmanship, or being the first to charge.

After practicing for a month, he gradually understood.

Because the Blood Moon Season has truly arrived, the Magic Creature won't show any mercy.

Shien placed everyone in a fixed position, telling them not to think too much, but simply to follow the orders and the order, and complete their assigned steps.

Add to that the Steam Repeating Crossbow in the distant Dark Bunker, and the layers upon layers of trenches filled with spikes, Venom Threads, and Venom Mist.

Over the past few months, Shien has been stuffing people and weapons into this defensive line, like filling a furnace with iron, painstakingly piecing together a killing machine.

Todd had just completed a standard backflip and was preparing to sidestep and switch positions with the back row.

The next instant, an eerie silence descended.

The sounds of clashing weapons, Kyle's curses, and even the heavy breathing of his comrades around him, which had been echoing in the mud, were all abruptly cut off at this moment, as if someone had suddenly covered the throat of the entire world.

Even the wind stopped.

The biting wind that had been howling through the cracks in the mud wall for a whole month suddenly stopped.

The torch stuck in the crack in the rock did not go out, but began to tremble violently and abnormally. The flame was flattened and stretched inch by inch, and the light dimmed as if the surrounding air was being slowly drawn away by some unseen behemoth.

"Vomit--"

Todd's stomach clenched suddenly, his chest tightened, and he could barely breathe.

That's not fear.

Or rather, it's not just fear.

It's a more primal instinct.

Like a rabbit in the grass suddenly spotted by a wolf, like a flock of sheep smelling blood at night.

Todd's back hairs stood on end, and even his jaw started trembling uncontrollably.

Kyle's rough, old face flickered in and out of the dim firelight.

He had spent two years on the Eternal Night Wall and knew what that meant.

Almost at the same moment the strange event occurred, he suddenly reached out and grabbed Todd's shoulder armor, then shoved the still-dazed recruit behind the shield.

"Calm down!" Kyle's voice was extremely low, yet taut like a bowstring about to snap.

Todd stumbled and crashed into the mud wall, half-kneeling on the ground, nearly dropping the iron spear from his hand.

He instinctively looked up, past the edge of the shield, at the darkness where the Gray Fog churned outside the trench.

"Ah!! Ah!! Ah!!"

At this moment, from the depths of the Gray Fog, countless long, mournful howls, filled with endless hunger and icy rage, tore through the deathly silence.

The sound traveled from the outermost edge of the defensive line all the way to the Inner Fortress walls, then collided back and forth along the stone walls and moats, echoing repeatedly in the air above Blackpine Fief.

Todd stared wide-eyed.

The last vestiges of gray on the horizon were completely swallowed up at that moment.

Blood spread.

The Blood Moon Season has arrived.