Blood of the Moonlight: The Secret of the Vampire

"Supposedly, I should be dead—there's no reason one could survive on that battlefield, right?!" The sergeant was extremely surprised to find himself still capable of thought—yet, besides thinking, it seemed he couldn't do anything else. He couldn't even feel his own existence. It was a surprising condition, but he was more concerned about how he managed to survive. At that time, Captain Mr. mimicked the classic actions from thousands of years ago on ancient Earth. He gave a thumbs-up to the sergeant, then detonated his own body, thereby pulling away hundreds of alien bugs. However, this only bought the sergeant and his squad a few more minutes of survival. They were running out of ammunition, isolated and abandoned. Their main fleet had long withdrawn, leaving this planet behind to defend more critical locations. Their squadron, with a total of fifty-four Spirit Armor suits, was left as sacrifices, decoys, and rear guards, facing millions—possibly more—of the aliens, trapped in dire straits. His comrades beside him grew fewer and fewer, the frontline retreated step by step, his Spirit Armor's Gauss machine gun ran out of ammunition, the beam grenades were depleted a day earlier, and the psychic cannons were too weakened by mental exhaustion to be usable. If he forcibly fired one more shot, it would definitely blow up his own brain. Several rookies next to him died because of their lack of experience. So, in the end, they, wearing the most advanced Spirit mechanical armor, the elite of the elite, the pride of the army, could only resort to the most clumsy, most primitive method, which was to pull out ion swords or psychic swords to hack and s***h—God bless, this sergeant had served in the military for nearly eight years, always thinking that these were just decorations. However, despite their best efforts, the aliens they finally killed could fill dozens of fifty-by-fifty swimming pools. But in the end, he inevitably failed. He originally wanted to imitate his immediate superior by detonating himself and saying, "This is a man's romance!" But he didn't even have the strength to do that... "That cold-blooded bastard..." Thinking of this, the sergeant felt an itch in his teeth for the fleet admiral who sold them out. Although strategically, what the fleet admiral did was understandable, he could never forgive him. So, he should be... defeated in battle and then captured by the aliens? What would the aliens do with him? Specimen? Food? Modification? Well, since he's still alive now, it should be the last option. Then he would switch sides and rampage through the universe with the bugs—anyway, all his brothers-in-arms under his command were dead. He had no good feelings for the decadent and incompetent federal government, the cold-blooded fleet admiral, and the other cowardly deserters who abandoned him... Thinking of this, the sergeant sighed softly, "Although the aliens are hateful, at least these bastards won't betray their comrades." Thinking so, he began to feel his body—that was a sensation of sliding from a very narrow place, making him very uncomfortable. "Darn it, what's going on?! Is it breaking out of the cocoon?" The sergeant thought so while trying to move his body a little. He felt that his body seemed to have undergone a tremendous change. "Right. I've been modified, there should be an adaptation period..." He thought so while trying to say something, asking for help or asking about the situation. But in the end, what came out of his mouth was neither the Federal High Gothic nor the hoarse and unpleasant meaningless roar of the aliens but the crying of a baby. "This voice is not right!" The sergeant thought so, then struggled to open his eyes. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't open them... He only heard another commotion around him. He didn't know who was there or what they were doing. He seemed to be wrapped up in something, with most of his body covered. Then he heard someone say something in a language he couldn't understand. "It's a boy." An old but very powerful voice said so. Then he picked up the sergeant's small body. A kind of psychic energy that had never been experienced before directly swept into his body, making him feel as if he were completely exposed. "What's going on?!" He struggled desperately, trying to break free from the person holding him. He even punched the person who was holding him hard in the face. "Bang!" Although the force was not enough, the place where he was attacked was the weak spot, the eyeball. This caused a little damage to the person holding him. "What a strong little guy." The person laughed lightly without being annoyed. "Very healthy. And talented. The Castan family has a successor." The next sentence, however, was said to the pale-faced mother lying on the bed. "I hope he will become a true Nightward in the future." The mother smiled reluctantly and said such words, but the sorrow between her eyebrows did not dissipate because of the smile. "I believe that day will come." The old voice responded like this. Seeing the sorrow on the mother's face, he sighed slightly and then asked, "So, what name do you want to give him?" Speaking of this, the mother seemed even sadder. After a long time, she spoke again, "My husband told me... if it's a boy, call him Valerid, Valerid von Castan." "It's a good name." The old man nodded, agreeing with the mother's words, then sighed and persuaded her, "Weis died for our clan. He died bravely and deserved it. Don't be too sad." "But father..." When it came to this, the mother finally couldn't help it and cried, "Anyway, he's dead. Even if it sounds good, he's dead. The person I love is dead. Why should I live..." Seeing his daughter crying loudly, the old man was a little flustered. Even the gesture of holding the baby became stiff. He felt the same sadness in his heart. His son-in-law, the Count of the Castan family, was usually very good and matched well with his daughter. Although the two sides were a political marriage, they were also childhood sweethearts, growing up together from childhood, and had a good relationship. After marriage, they were even more affectionate. A few years ago, they had a daughter, and now they have a son. But unexpectedly, a war took his son-in-law's life in the end. The day he received the intelligence happened to be near the due date. This sudden event caused his daughter to be unable to bear the shock, resulting in premature birth. Almost both mother and child lost their lives... The more the old man thought about it, the sadder he felt, and he unconsciously used more strength in his arms holding the child. This made the sergeant feel very uncomfortable, so he protested in the way of a child—by crying. The old man immediately reacted when he heard the crying, and hurriedly comforted the child. At the same time, it was this crying that made the old man suddenly had an idea. He came up with a way to persuade the mother, "Don't we still have children?! Your children—Valerid and Isabella. Even if it's for them, you have to live well!" After hearing the old man's words, the mother suddenly woke up. She stared blankly at the old man's arms. The old man understood, took a few steps forward, and handed the child over. "Valerid, Valerid, Valerid, my child Valerid..." The mother hugged the infant who had just been named Valerid, as if holding her own life. She didn't look like a normal person. But she finally calmed down. The old man also relaxed slightly, feeling a little relieved. Although he didn't have the heart to disturb her again, according to the rules, there were still things to do next... In the mother's arms, the sergeant felt tired. His consciousness was blurry, and he was about to fall asleep. And it was in this blur that he vaguely heard the intermittent prayers of the people around him: "May the Death Truth we believe in bless our new clansman, may he be healthy, handsome, and graceful; may he wield long swords, wands, and ride on spirited horses; may he be powerful, may he rule the world... May death's blessing be upon our clan, making us stronger. And we will, according to the laws of death, reshape this world with swords and magic, sweep away all chaos and conflicts, and establish absolute and eternal order..." "Could this be... some kind of cult?" The sergeant's last thought before falling asleep was this. He didn't know how long it had passed, but when he woke up again, he could already open his eyes and see the world. By this time, it was completely dark, and there were no lighting devices around. The room had only a small, pitiful window, three meters high on the outer wall. A faint moonlight shone in, but it didn't have much effect. However, under such circumstances, the baby named Valerid, for some reason, could still see the surroundings clearly. Whether it was the soft velvet bedding, the dark red bedside table with gold trim, the blood-red sword hanging on the wall as a decoration, or the kite-shaped shield with bat wings and a cup full of blood drawn on it. Everything was clear to him. This made him feel very strange—it didn't seem to be the ability of the aliens—nor did he have compound eyes or insect vision. The world he saw was still seen from a human perspective. It was just clearer and more detailed. "Perhaps, I'm involved in something worse than being modified by aliens." He thought so and struggled to lift his arm. He lifted it to his eyes. As expected, just as he felt, it was a baby's arm.