Reincarnated Femboy Vampire, with Max Survivability Stats

​While the elite knights were rushing back to their camp and Yuki was sprinting to intercept them, things at the forward base were proceeding as quietly as usual—or as quiet as it could possibly be deep within this frozen, isolated wasteland far from civilization.

​Inside the compound, soldiers and knights were diligently going about their routines, patrolling the perimeter and attending to their assigned tasks. Few were on edge; they had long since grown accustomed to the biting cold and the silent isolation of the northern region.

​Everything was going smoothly until—

​Beep. Beep. Beep.

​One of the researchers rolled his chair over to inspect the essence radar, wondering why the console was suddenly blaring. He looked at the display and froze, his face steeled in horror.

​"Shit..." he whispered under his breath.

​"What’s up?" a colleague asked, leaning back in a relaxed posture.

​"Cold front."

​Hearing those words, his colleague snapped out of his seat. "How bad?"

​"Level three. The system says it’s going to last for four hours."

​"Oh, okay... A Level Three is bad, but four hours isn’t terrible—"

​BEEP.

​"What’s that?"

​BEEP-BEEP-BEEP!

​Every console inside the observation tower erupted into a frenzy of red emergency alerts and overlapping warnings.

​"What’s happening?!" the first researcher yelled, frantically scanning his screen.

​Within seconds, the cold front rolled over the valley. The temperature plummeted at a terrifying rate, instantly punishing anyone standing outside.

​Inside the observation tower, absolute chaos broke out as staff scrambled for control. Outside, however, the stationed knights and soldiers merely activated the heat-reserving functions built into their armor and continued working as if nothing had changed. They kept conversing, cracking jokes to keep spirits high in the dreary weather.

​Soon, the sky turned a blinding white as a violent blizzard set in, completely obliterating visibility beyond a few meters in front of them.

​"Shit’s hitting the fan," one knight chuckled, playfully nudging his friend.

​"Let’s just hope it doesn’t drag out like last time. I’m not trying to deal with sixteen hours of this again."

​"Same here," the others laughed, blissfully unaware of the severity of the situation.

​Back in the observation tower, the crew scrambled to pinpoint the cause of the anomaly.

​"The left essence scanner just went offline, sir! Too much interference!"

​"Same with the right!" another researcher shouted from across the room.

​Shit... this is bad, the head researcher thought, gritting his teeth to maintain his composure. "Alright, people! We are effectively blind! Be ready to identify and report anything that shows up on visual!"

​"Sir!" they shouted back.

​Out in the whiteout, a monstrous entity sensed the opportunity and began advancing on the camp, intent on slaughtering every living soul inside.

​Bahameth, the Primordial Sin, watched with wicked glee as the snowfall grew denser, blanketing the entire region. The Silent Mountains were about to become very noisy, filled with the agonizing screams of men.

​Bahameth—a tall, shadowy, demonic horror adorned with multiple glowing eyes across its torso and a jagged, razor-sharp maw—crept toward the encampment. Its many eyes locked onto the men patrolling the ramparts, none of whom were aware of its approach. It grinned widely, watching the compound’s heavy searchlights fail to pierce through the thick veil of snow.

​Bahameth reached out, gripped a massive spruce tree, and ripped it straight out of the frozen earth, pulling up a massive chunk of soil with the roots. Using its colossal, clawed arm, it raised the tree overhead, cocking its elbow back like an Olympic athlete preparing to hurl a javelin—and launched it.

​The massive tree cut through the air at terrifying speed, blip-ping onto the compound’s radar for a fraction of a second right before impact.

​The men stationed on the highly reinforced front wall didn’t even have time to react before they were violently shredded into bloody chunks by the flying trunk.

​With a deafening CRACK, the entire base fell silent, everyone wondering what the noise was. Those on the far side of the compound simply continued their duties, completely unaware of what had just happened.

​The same could not be said for the eyewitnesses.

​One second, eight men were laughing and chatting; the next, they were torn to pieces by a projectile moving too fast for the naked eye to register. Because the inner base structures were lower than the front wall, the flying tree cleared their heads entirely, disappearing into the blizzard beyond.

​Before the surviving guards could process the scene and sound the alarm, a second tree slammed directly into the rampart, shattering on impact and raining jagged shrapnel of wood and stone in every direction.

​Within seconds, the base erupted into panic as men were torn apart by flying debris.

​CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

​"ENEMY ATTACK! ENEMY ATTACK! MAN YOUR STATIONS!" a voice screamed over the growing chaos.

​Knights and soldiers scrambled for their weapons, rushing out of the armories to prepare for a siege. Archers grabbed their heavy war bows and manned the mounted ballista’s. The base’s primary spotlight, along with dozens of secondary searchlights, swung out into the storm, frantically searching for the culprit.

​The radar consoles screeched to life as a single massive energy signature blipped on the outer perimeter, hovering silently just beyond the wall without drawing any closer.

​A researcher bolted out of the observation tower to brief the squad leaders and elite hunting captains on their readings. Moments later, thirty elite knights marched out of the compound at full force, plunging into the blizzard to eliminate the beast that dared assault their stronghold.

​Regrettably, this was precisely what Bahameth had planned: baiting the camp’s strongest defenders away to leave the compound unprotected.

​The demon knew those thirty elite knights could end its life in moments if they caught it—but it had no intention of fighting them directly. It only needed to lure them far enough into the storm to drag them into the domain of Lykagon, the Harbinger of Frost.

​Once the elites were occupied, the camp would be completely defenseless—and no ordinary soldier would survive what came next.

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