《Bloodless》 Prelude: The First Machine Gun November 4th, 1885 London Dearest Elizabeth, I hope you are well, as I am writing to you with the greatest yearning in my heart. I know I promised to be home before the first snows of this winter, but I must stay here in London for perhaps a few weeks longer. Mr. Maxim''s invention is far more audacious than any of us could ever have imagined, and I have been tasked by the committee to examine his creation as thoroughly as possible. The others were as impressed as I was, and there is no doubt in my mind that this new weapon has the potential to change the future of our world.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. A gun with but a single barrel, able to fire almost as fast as the Nordenfelt gun! Can you believe it, Elizabeth? I felt that I could hardly trust my own eyes, even as I watched the beast in action. In the span of just five short seconds, it emptied a belt of fifty rounds! Mr. Maxim calls it a "portable machine gun", and I am confident that our Empire will benefit greatly from something as marvelous and ingenious as this. After so many centuries of fighting, on the mainland and in the colonies, this new weapon will surely become a great preserver of the peace. As for you, Elizabeth, do take care to stay warm. They say the coming winter will be even harsher than the last. I will write again as soon as I am able. Please tell little Emma that she is always foremost in her father''s heart and mind. With love, Jonathan Chapter 1: Kill Them All Gallica, AD 1462 The rolling plains of the Burgundian countryside stretched endlessly in every direction. Under the rays of the mid-afternoon sun, the fields of green and gold gave off a warm, inviting glow, and the scent of spring was fresh in the air. Soon, however, these plains would be stained with the red of freshly-spilled blood, and the air would reek with the raw stench of death. "Lord Adrian! We have you surrounded, but you still have reason to rejoice! Raise your hands to the sky and give thanks to God, for Grandmaster Montfaucon is merciful and does not wish to take you by force. He is offering you one last chance to surrender yourselves." Adrian remained unmoving atop his horse, and the visor of his helmet, fashioned to resemble the visage of a demon, prevented the messenger from gauging his reaction. The messenger hesitated slightly before continuing. "If you agree to go peacefully, the Holy Father has promised that you will be given a fair trial. You will be treated as noble hostages and will be allowed to defend yourselves before the Tribunal. But should you refuse even now, the lives of you and your lady shall both be forfeit!" At first, the vampire lord continued to show no signs of responding. As the seconds passed, however, his shoulders began to shake, and it soon became clear that he was trying to suppress a laugh. When he finally called out to the messenger, there was a tinge of good humor in his deep and gravelly voice. "Brave herald! I do not understand why we are discussing the terms of my surrender when we should be discussing the terms of yours. Tell your master to stand down, or he will never again taste of good wine or fine women¡­ No need to look so indignant, herald. You know just as well as I that your master is no saint." "So you would die, then?" "No. But I pray that God will have mercy on your soul. You will be seeing him soon enough." The messenger''s jaw tightened. "You will not leave these hills alive, demon. Whether you surrender or not, the Lord''s justice shall be done. Before the day is over, your bodies will lie broken, and you will return to the fires of hell from whence you came." "That remains to be seen." "Aye¡­ And it will be." Leaving no room for Adrian to get the last word, the messenger pulled up on his reins and turned his horse around. With a light kick, his horse broke into a gallop and retraced its path down the side of the hill. Before long, he had rejoined his fellows. Adrian squinted his eyes and watched with interest as the messenger approached his Grandmaster, who was mounted on a white stallion in the center of his lines. "He must be hiding the reality of this situation from his men. Why else would a lowly messenger be so unafraid to face me, while the Grandmaster himself chooses to sit in safety so far away?"This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. The vampire voiced his thoughts to no one in particular, but a few of his twenty men grunted in assent. "Not every man serves a worthy liege, my lord." Adrian laughed. "It would appear not." Returning his attention to the ranks of the enemy, he once again assessed the situation. By his estimation, the Knights had brought with them around two thousand men. A thousand stood directly before them at the foot of the hill, and the rest were dispersed in smaller groups surrounding the area, so as to prevent him from escaping. Over a quarter of the enemy was comprised of mounted troops. The rest appeared to be a mix of whatever the Knights could get their hands on. Among others, there were men-at-arms, mercenary crossbowmen, and infantry borrowed from the Holy Father himself. The most conspicuous part of the opposing army was the silver-plated cross that had been wheeled into position behind their main force. It towered over the men that stood in front of it, and Adrian knew well from fighting in the Crusades how effective such a standard could be. He half-smiled beneath his mask. They were the Knights of the Silver Cross, after all. "Sana." Adrian turned to the woman on the horse beside his own. Like him, she protected herself with a suit of full plate armor. But where he also wore a helmet, she had only tresses of dark brown hair tied up and braided in a crown around her head. Unlike Adrian, she was much less wary about showing her face ¨C her light olive skin and emerald eyes were the kind that minstrels immortalized in their songs. There was little about her appearance that pointed to her true nature, to the bloodthirsty beast that dwelled deep within her. Little, except perhaps the otherworldliness of her beauty itself. "Can I trust you to handle them?" "Yes, your grace. However, I will need to change first if I am to take on that great a number." The vampire lord dipped his head in acknowledgment. "So be it." As if right on cue, the sound of a war horn carried up to them from the foot of the hill, and a deafening cry rose from the ranks of the enemy. The shouts were soon mixed in with the rustle of armor and the beating of hooves against earth; the main force of enemy cavalry was starting to advance. "Now then..." There was no need for Adrian to say another word. With a single swift motion, Sana hopped off her horse. As soon as she had landed and found her footing, she straightened herself up, removed her gauntlets, and began to undo the straps of her armor. Adrian crossed his arms. "Leave a clearing for your lady." His guards quickly obliged, moving back and fanning out to form a small line behind him. From there, they wheeled around in their spots, making sure to face away. Sana had now stripped down to her undergarments and was in the process of sinking her teeth into her own left arm. The surface of her skin opened up in a small fountain of blood, and her lips were stained crimson. Her "change" had begun. As Adrian watched, she raised her head and stretched out her arms. Her muscles rippled beneath her skin, and her entire body started to swell. "They have us outnumbered a hundred to one. But here on this field, numbers shall be rendered meaningless. Sana!" The vampire bride now stood over four meters tall. Wings sprouted from her back, and her body was covered in feathers the color of coal. Responding to her name, she reared back and roared. "In the name of Adrianus Romania s?ng Magnus¡­ Kill them all." Leaving a stream of wind in her wake, she bounded forward and leaped at the approaching enemy. To Adrian, it was a beautiful sight. Hundreds of cavalrymen, suddenly faced with this new enemy, stopped their horses and turned around in terror. In the confusion, many of the knights were knocked to the ground and were trampled by their fellows. Those who remained rode for their lives, back towards the lines of infantry. But no matter how fast their horses ran or how much they prayed, it was all for naught in the end. Sana bore down upon them in a flurry of claws and gnashing teeth, and the retreating army dissolved into a thick, red mist. Back at the top of the hill, Adrian lifted his visor and took a deep breath. For the first time in a long time, he felt alive. Chapter 2: Invasion Route Paris, Republic of Gallica, August 1919 "Monsieur Perrier¡­ I am interested in hearing more about this idea of yours." General Robert Perrier grimaced as the Marshal took another puff of his cigar. Mr. Perrier was not a smoker himself, and he quietly prided himself in the fact. Not only did the smell remind him and his sensitive nose of scenes he''d rather forget, but he was also convinced that the act was extremely unhealthy for both body and soul. "Well, Marshal Dumont¡­" The marshal held up a hand, motioning for Perrier to wait. With a grunt, he leaned forward in his seat and stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray on the table between them. He looked up and grinned. "I see that look on your face, monsieur Perrier. My apologies for forgetting. Please, don''t hesitate to remind me next time we meet." "I¡­ my apologies as well, Marshal. I will be as forward as possible in the future." The two men exchanged a mildly awkward laugh and the marshal returned to his usual position, slouching into the back of his thick, leather armchair. Not for the first time, Perrier noticed how round Dumont had gotten since their campaigns together in Africa. Indeed, the marshal''s growing waist told a story all on its own, of large plates of food and numerous bottles of wine¡­ "Don''t be too forward, now." Dumont patted his belly. "I know what you''re thinking, and some things are best left unsaid." Startled, Perrier snapped to attention, his cheeks flaring with heat. Dumont laughed, and the tips of his handlebar mustache quivered with his jowls. "Worry not. It takes willful ignorance to be as rotund as I am and not be aware of it. Ignorant I may be, but willfully ignorant I am not." He clasped his hands together. "But perfect timing, is it not? There''s no better way to get a man up and about than a big and bloody war. And here we are. Likely on the brink of a big and bloody war." "Yes indeed, Marshal. Though with the right preparations, this coming war could very well be neither big nor bloody..." "Mmm." Appearing deep in thought, Dumont stuck his hand into his pocket and produced a brass lighter. He was halfway through the process of reaching for the cigar he had put out earlier when he sighed and stopped himself. "Forgive me. It''s¡­ habit, you know." "I understand, Marshal." "Anyways¡­" Dumont stuffed his lighter back into his pocket before sinking into his seat once again. He clasped his hands together. "You wanted to discuss something with me." "Ah, yes. If you could just give me a moment." Perrier brought his hand to his chin as he gathered his thoughts. When he was satisfied, he cleared his throat.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. "So to begin¡­ As both you and I very well know, a war is all but inevitable. It may happen a year, two years, or even a decade from now, but when it does, it will involve the entirety of this continent. Given our current political ties, this war will likely pit us and the Russenians against the empires of Alamannia and Tyrol-Avaria." Perrier formed a mental map of the countries as he spoke. Russenia was the giant Slavic empire to the far east of Europa, and it shared its western border with Tyrol-Avaria and Alamannia. As one travelled further west, the empire of Tyrol-Avaria came to an end, while Alamannia stretched on until it finally gave way to the Republic of Gallica. He continued. "If that indeed turns out to be the case, the first enemies we encounter will be of¡­ the Alamannian variety." "Mmm." "The question now, then, is how we should approach this coming conflict. Both we and the Alamannians have built up significant fortifications along our shared border. The opening battles of this theater will undoubtedly favor the defenders, offsetting any advantage gained from launching the first strike." "A head-on attack would be too costly for either side." "Exactly. But like us, the Alamannians will want to end this war as soon as possible, over the course of a few decisive battles. With all these fortifications in the way, however, that simply won''t be possible. Not unless..." Dumont raised an eyebrow. "Unless?" "Unless they find a way to avoid our defenses entirely, marshal. And that way is painfully obvious. I believe they will try to attack us through our northeastern neighbor, the Kingdom of Belgia. Belgia is a neutral party, and neither we nor the Alamannians have set up notable defenses against them." The marshal grimaced. "I don''t mean this in an accusing manner, monsieur Perrier¡­ But this is not a new theory. Is this the only reason you wanted to meet? To tell me something I already knew?" "No, marshal." Perrier sat a bit straighter in his seat. "This Belgian invasion route¡­ Why can''t we use it as well?" *** Belgia, June 1922 "Will this really be as easy as they say?" "Don''t worry yourself, Henri. Belgia is a small country, and there''s no way they''ll be a match for us. Hell, I''d wager there''s a good chance they''ll surrender before we even get there." "You think so?" "I''ve been to Charleroi before. Almost everyone in the city is of Gallican descent. They speak the same language as us and practice the same customs. If they were to put up a fight, it''d be like brothers shooting brothers!" Henri thought about his platoon leader''s answer and found that he didn''t like it much. If the Belgians would be committing fratricide if they shot back, wouldn''t attacking them in the first place be the very same thing? "But wouldn''t we..." "You see that golden sun up there? That clear, blue sky? The Lord himself is smiling down upon us. So lighten up, Henri. At this rate, the war will be over before you''re done moping around." "Ah¡­ right." "Don''t lose sight of the real enemy. It''s unfortunate that the Belgians are caught in the way, but our time here should be short. And after that¡­ Alamannia." Unsure of what else to say, Henri simply nodded his head and fell back into silence. As they continued their march, the air was again filled with the crunching of boots against gravel and the jangling of metal as provisions banged against each other in their bags. Three divisions of men, each about 15,000 strong, had been tasked with taking the city of Charleroi, clearing the way for the rest of the Gallican army to attack Lucilinburg and Alamannia to the east. After Charleroi, the first three divisions would be reinforced before moving on to Brussels, the capital of Belgia. Henri turned his head and took in the sight around him. Rows upon rows of men and cavalry, marching on a small unpaved road through the middle of the Belgian countryside. It had been over fifty years since Europa had seen such a large Gallican army, back during Gallica''s war with what was then called "Prussia." Though Henri was unable to shake off his uneasiness, he couldn''t help but feel awed at the might of his country. Thousands of rifles were pointing defiantly at the sky. Thousands of young men and boys in their slick blue coats and bright red trousers were all marching steadily forward for the glory and honor of their great Republic. Henri raised his head and took a deep breath. Yes¡­ he could harbor his doubts, but he had known what he was doing when he volunteered to fight. He remembered the way his heart had swelled when he''d signed his papers, and how it nearly skipped a beat when he had donned his uniform for the very first time. In his head, he could still see his mother and his older sister beaming proudly at him. "Who in the world is this dashing young man before me?" his mother had exclaimed. And then¡­ A shiver ran down Henri''s spine as he recalled his father''s parting words, words that had set his heart alight. "Make me proud, son." Henri smiled. "I will."