Chapter 13

Vlad von Carstein's relentless campaign of conquest continued unabated, his Undead legions sweeping across the lands like a tide of darkness. From the ravaged villages of Middenland to the ancient forests of Hochland and Ostland, no corner of the Empire was spared from his insatiable thirst for power.

As Vlad's forces marched ever onward, the people of the Empire faced a grim choice - bend the knee to the Vampire Count and live, or resist and face certain death. Despite their valiant efforts, the living stood little chance against the relentless advance of the Undead.

In village after village, town after town, Vlad offered the same grim bargain, his voice echoing with the promise of salvation or destruction. Some chose to fight, rallying to defend their homes and loved ones against the encroaching darkness. But their defiance was met with swift and merciless retribution, their resistance crushed beneath the iron heel of Vlad's Undead horde.

With each victory, Vlad's legion grew larger and stronger, bolstered by the fallen foes who now served him in death. The sight of miles-long columns of refugees fleeing westward served as a haunting reminder of the terror that Vlad's reign of terror had unleashed upon the land.

Turning his gaze eastward, Vlad led his forces along the ancient Old Forest Road, cutting a swath of destruction through Hochland and into Ostland. Despite the best efforts of the Empire's armies to halt his advance, they were powerless to stem the tide of darkness that swept over them.

In battle after battle, the Undead legions proved unstoppable, their ranks swelling with each fallen foe. It was a war of attrition that the living could not hope to win, as Vlad's forces pressed ever onward, leaving naught but death and despair in their wake.

In a particular battlefield of Bluthof, as the clash of steel echoed through the battlefield, Atlas found himself locked in a fierce duel with a knight bearing a glowing magical sword. Though the blade was formidable, it lacked the raw power of some he had encountered before. Still, Atlas knew better than to underestimate his opponent.

With a deft parry, Atlas managed to evade a devastating blow aimed at his neck, the enchanted blade whistling past his ear with a menacing hum. In retaliation, he lunged forward, his own sword slashing through the air with deadly precision. But the knight was skilled, and their dance of blades continued unabated.

Suddenly, pain flared through Atlas's side as the knight's sword found its mark, leaving a deep gash in his flesh. Gritting his teeth against the agony, Atlas refused to falter, drawing upon the dark energy that pulsed within him.

With a guttural roar, Atlas unleashed a torrent of dark magic, calling forth the dark knights he had raised in the previous battle to his aid. The undead warriors surged forward, their spectral forms engulfed in a swirling vortex of shadows.

Caught off guard by the sudden onslaught, the knight found himself overwhelmed, his blows faltering under the relentless assault of the dark knights. With a final, desperate swing, Atlas's enemy stumbled, his magical sword clattering to the ground.

Seizing the opportunity, Atlas moved in swiftly, disarming his opponent with a swift kick to the chest. As the knight staggered backwards, Atlas snatched up the enchanted sword, his fingers closing around the hilt with a triumphant grin.

With his newfound weapon in hand, Atlas knew that victory was within his grasp. Turning his gaze towards his defeated foe, he offered the knight a mocking bow of appreciation – and then stabbed him through the heart with his own blade.

As Atlas gazed over the chaotic battlefield, his eyes were drawn to the epic clash unfolding between two powerful adversaries. Count Vlad Von Carstein, a towering figure wreathed in darkness, faced off against the Count from Ostland, a formidable opponent wielding a legendary Runefang weapon. Mortal challenged undead. Both their power legendary.

The Runefangs, forged by the renowned Dwarf Runesmith Alaric the Mad, were among the most coveted and feared weapons in the Old World. There were said to be twelve of these ancient swords, each imbued with powerful enchantments and steeped in centuries of history. As symbols of authority, they were divided among the ten Elector Counts, serving as both a sign of office and a potent weapon against the forces of darkness.

Behind Vlad, unnoticed by the vampire lord, a group of knights and captains surged forward, their weapons raised high as they prepared to strike. The Count of Ostland pressed his advantage, his Runefang gleaming with otherworldly light as he delivered blow after devastating blow.

At Bluthof, the decisive moment came as the Count of Ostland's Runefang found its mark, piercing through Vlad's dark armour and lodging itself deep in the vampire's unbeating heart. With a roar of triumph, the Count of Ostland withdrew his blade, leaving Vlad Von Carstein to fall, his then body pierced by five lances; not taking any chance he would regenerate.

The defeat was a bitter blow for the vampires, and with their forces in disarray, the survivors had no choice but to order a retreat. As Atlas limped from the battlefield, his once indomitable spirit now weighed down by the sting of defeat, none liked the idea of losing before they even saw the walls of Altdorf.

With Vlad Von Carstein's absence casting a shadow of uncertainty over the undead forces, chaos threatened to engulf the ranks of the vampires. Yet, as the hours turned into days, a semblance of order began to emerge among the undead legions.

The vampires, having learned from past mistakes, exercised restraint and patience, waiting with grim determination for their lord's return. Without Vlad's guiding hand, they understood the importance of maintaining discipline and unity, lest they fall prey to the machinations of their enemies.

In Vlad's absence, a temporary council of vampire nobles convened to oversee the affairs of Sylvania's army and ensure that the war effort continued unabated. Each lord pledged their loyalty to the cause, vowing to uphold the legacy of the Von Carstein bloodline and defend their dark realm against all who dared to oppose them.

Though the absence of their fearsome leader loomed large, the vampires remained resolute in their purpose. They knew that their survival depended on their ability to stand united against the forces of the Empire and other foes that sought to extinguish their unholy existence.

And so, beneath the darkened skies of Sylvania, the undead legions waited in grim silence, their ranks unbroken and their resolve unwavering. For in the absence of their lord, they knew that their strength lay not only in their individual power, but in their collective determination to conquer and rule the mortal realms.

They didn't have to wait too long.