Vampire is a vampire

"I should have died—on that battlefield, there's no reason anyone could survive!" The sergeant was astonished to find that he could still contemplate, but beyond thoughts, he seemed incapable of any action. He couldn't even sense his own existence. It was a surprising situation, but what concerned him more was how he managed to survive.

Back then, Captain Wes performed the classic gesture from ancient Earth, giving a thumbs-up to the sergeant before detonating his own mech, sacrificing himself to take out countless alien bugs. However, it only bought the sergeant and his squad a few more minutes.

They ran out of supplies, left isolated and abandoned. The main fleet had long retreated, leaving this planet behind to defend more crucial positions. The fifty-four Ghost Armor suits, the elite of the elite, became sacrifices, decoys, and rear guards facing an overwhelming number of alien bugs—possibly over a million.

Teammates dwindled, the front line retreated, Gauss machine guns were out of ammo, and beam grenades were depleted. Psychic cannons weakened from excessive use and were too risky to activate, risking the sergeant's brain exploding. Inexperienced recruits died due to lack of skill.

In the end, despite their best efforts, the alien bugs they killed could fill several Olympic-sized swimming pools. Yet, the sergeant inevitably faced defeat. He thought about following his superior's example, self-destructing, and saying, "This is a man's romance!" But he lacked the strength even for that.

"That cold-blooded b*st*rd..." the sergeant thought, remembering the admiral who betrayed them. While strategically the admiral's actions might be justified, the sergeant couldn't forgive him.

So, he must have been... defeated and captured by the alien bugs? Why would they capture him? Specimens? Food? Experimentation? Well, he was still alive, so experimentation seemed likely. Maybe he should just embrace it, wreak havoc across the universe with the bugs—after all, his comrades were all gone, and he held no affection for the decaying Federation government, the cold admiral, or the other cowardly deserters.

With these thoughts, the sergeant sighed, "As despicable as the bugs are, at least they don't betray their comrades." Thinking so, he began to feel his body—a sensation as if passing through a very narrow space, making him uncomfortable.

"D*mn, what's happening? Am I breaking out of a cocoon?" he thought, attempting to move his body. He felt a significant change.

"Right, I've been modified, there should be an adjustment period..." he thought, trying to speak, ask for help, or inquire about his situation. However, what came out of his mouth was neither the high Gothic of the Federation nor the raspy, incomprehensible hiss of the alien bugs—it was the cry of a baby.

"This voice is not right!" the sergeant thought, struggling and trying to open his eyes. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't open them. All he heard was commotion around him. Someone said something in a language he didn't understand.

"It's a boy."

An old but powerful voice declared. Then, the baby, named Valred von Castanien, felt his mother's embrace. She held him as if holding her own life, unlike a normal person. But he finally calmed down. The old man relaxed a bit, understanding the situation. However, following customs, there were still things to be done.

In his mother's arms, Valred felt tired. As his consciousness faded, he faintly heard fragmented prayers around him.

"May the death truth we believe in bless our new clan member. May he be healthy, handsome, and have a noble appearance. May he wield a longsword, wield a magic wand, and ride a swift horse. May he be powerful and rule the world...

And may death bless our clan, making us stronger. We will reshape this world with blades and magic, following the laws of death, eliminating all chaos and conflicts. Establishing absolute and eternal order..."

"Is this... some kind of cult?" the sergeant's last thought before falling asleep again was questioning the strange ritual.

The sergeant slept, and at some point, when he woke again, he could open his eyes and see the world. The room was shrouded in complete darkness, with no apparent light sources. There was only a small, pitiful window on the outer wall, positioned three meters high, allowing a faint moonlight to seep through, offering little illumination.

Oddly, despite the conditions, the baby named Valred could still see his surroundings for some unknown reason. It wasn't due to any alien ability; he didn't have compound eyes or insect-like vision. He perceived the world through a human perspective, but clearer and more detailed.

"Perhaps I've become entangled in something worse than being modified by the alien bugs," he thought, trying to lift his arm. As expected, it was an infant's arm.

"It seems that, for some unknown reason, I have been resurrected in the form of a baby in another world... This world is either a medieval one, or my parents in this life are lunatics. This requires further observation. Besides, I seem to have a certain night vision capability. My physical abilities have also been enhanced, and most importantly..."

He tried to use a bit of spiritual energy, and immediately, a faint, pale flame appeared on the upraised fingers of the newborn.

"My spiritual energy is increasing, and my innate talent is even better than the specially adjusted artificial body I had before. This world is also rich in spiritual energy, a world where high-energy usage doesn't require artificial synthesis. In a sense, this is a stroke of luck amid misfortune. Well, no matter how bad it is, it can't be worse than the world I lived in before. Anyway, being able to continue living is what matters."

Although there were still many