The Funeral Bell Tolls, Blades are Drawn, Hear My Call, Devils of Another Realm! Test Time!

# Chapter 10: The Death Knell Rings, the Blade Is Drawn, Hear My Summons, Demons of Another World! Test Time Begins!

Daylight was always annoying; vampires easily fell into fatigue under such "full exposure" conditions. By the time the sun reached its harshest midday peak, Murphy had already hidden inside the house and drifted into a light sleep.

"Ding-dong"

A notification sound from the forum jolted Murphy awake from his half-asleep state. He glanced at the forum and saw new messages in the application section.

A fresh test application link had just been posted, and already some leeks were lining up?

This self-aware?

Murphy opened the application and saw the applicant's ID: "Chen Dian Niu Niu Not Afraid of Difficulty," with a tag reading [Athletic Student]. This immediately cracked Murphy up.

This was clearly one of the bros that A-Cha'en from Dormitory Six Bros had specifically roped in. That kid had serious execution skills—no wonder he was a model student.

He glanced at the applicant's questionnaire answers and made a preliminary judgment that, like Dormitory Six Bros, this was an innocent college student with little social experience. So he approved it.

An old hand like Murphy loved these innocent youths; getting them to do things was way too easy.

But there was other information in the application section. Those bizarre IDs opened Murphy's eyes wide and made him feel the strange disparity of the world. Just look at the names these sandbox netizens came up with!

"Black Silk Under Keyboard" was already on the less abstract side. The remaining few made Murphy unable to bear looking at them.

"Duo Dao Le San Wu Dou," "First Day of Abstinence," "Electronic Succubus Lao Qu."

The theme was pure abstraction.

Too abstract!

In the "referrer" field at the end of these guys' application questionnaires, they all wrote Meow Brother's ID. They were probably his real-life friends.

Sure enough, that flashy foot-washing man had top-tier social skills too. Murphy was now genuinely curious about the composition of Meow Brother's social circle.

But to be fair, these guys' questionnaire results were all excellent—rich gaming experience, loved roleplaying, eager to tackle hardcore challenges, law-abiding. They were practically perfect little player candidates in Murphy's eyes. As if!

Such consistent results definitely meant they filled out the questionnaires under Meow Brother's "careful guidance," right?

Murphy thought about holding them back.

But then he remembered he had absolute control over player accounts and could ban them anytime. Plus, he urgently needed to replenish his numbers, so he could indeed relax the review standards a bit.

At worst, if he confirmed these guys weren't suitable, he'd throw them into the "cannon fodder group" and send them on the most dangerous missions.

Terrible game experiences would always drive away those who didn't fit.

Though he wondered—if players got banned, how would those mysterious game helmets be recovered? Surely they wouldn't spin 360° on the spot and self-destruct?

Emmm, probably wouldn't explode, right?

Murphy curled his lip and approved these four guys' applications too. That brought his available manpower to twelve, plus himself and "temporary assistant" Mirian, making fourteen.

That was enough to fight a battle!

Provided the Witch Hunters didn't "spawn" right in his face now.

Based on Murphy's sneaky lurking in the player group, from application approval to helmet delivery took time. Even using the fastest local logistics channels, it averaged about 6-12 hours.

Maxim had been gone for over two hours now. Accounting for detours and the fact that vampires couldn't move quickly in large numbers under sunlight, Murphy concluded:

If everything went smoothly, the powerful reinforcements would arrive earliest this evening. In other words, in the most optimistic scenario, he just needed to survive this day, and everything would be fine.

As for whether he, as a disposable pawn, would be abandoned by the vampires?

Murphy wasn't worried about that at all.

He'd left a backup plan when Maxim departed. As long as that loyal blood servant delivered the letter alive, the Midnight Hunters would definitely come to save him!

"I've placed all the usable weapons and armor in those intact rooms at the village entrance, just as you requested. Is there anything else you need me to do?"

Mirian, wearing an old leather jerkin and carrying a Witch Hunter light crossbow on her back, walked in. She stood at the door and asked Murphy, her tone not exactly friendly.

Murphy didn't mind. He said:

"If the Witch Hunters come during the day, I can't fight in the sunlight. So I need you to act as bait."

"You want me to go die?"

Mirian's expression changed as she clenched her fists. But Murphy shook his head and said:

"No. Just help me divert their attention, creating an opportunity for my summons to ambush and pick them off one by one. Like the method you used to lure that Witch Hunter into the cellar and kill him—you should be familiar with that.

Don't be afraid, Mirian.

Their primary target is me. As long as I'm not dead, you're absolutely safe."

"If that's all, I'm willing to help."

Mirian let out a long breath.

Though she didn't have much attachment to her family, this was still where she was born and raised. Seeing her hometown burned to ashes by a mad Witch Hunter and nearly being violated herself filled her with rage.

The Transia region might be superstitious and isolated, but its harsh environment forged the fierce character of Transians. Even the women had fiery tempers.

And Mirian was a well-read scholar-in-training!

That made her both fierce and clever—the most troublesome type among Transians.

Seeing Mirian willing to help, Murphy immediately laid out his plan. Finally, he looked her up and down and added:

"Finally, I need your blood."

"I knew it!"

The wary Mirian instantly retreated a step, drawing the light crossbow from her back and aiming it at Murphy, shouting:

"I should never have trusted you! Damned vampire! You dogs would sell anything for a drop of blood!"

"Don't get worked up. Let me finish."

Murphy waved a hand, making a "tiny" gesture, and said:

"I only need a little—enough to clear my head and give my spiritual energy a nudge. One vial will do. Miss Mirian, you wouldn't want to see me die right in front of you, only for the Witch Hunters to burn you alive afterward, would you?

Look, I'm negotiating with you now.

But I could just as easily skip the talk."

The unlucky souls of Morland Village hadn't provoked anyone, yet war and destruction had still crashed down on them without reason. The geography of this place had been erased by last night's great fire; all that remained was a corpse waiting to rot and be forgotten, drawing in the vultures that chased after dead flesh.

It was dusk now, the cusp of day and night. On a path outside the ruins, a small squad of Witch Hunters on horseback moved swiftly, approaching the village with wary vigilance.

Among them, a hunter with spiritual talent kept scattering certain powders outward to block any possible spiritual detection from enemies lurking nearby.

Such petty tricks were worthless before a true spiritualist, but they were the most effective countermeasure these Witch Hunters—now cut off from organizational support—could muster.

"The last trace of Malus's squad is right there."

An old veteran on horseback lowered the rusted Model 675 Monocular Telescope in his hand.

This device had been designed and built by halflings for the warriors of the Avalon Church during the Unification War on Greeny Island in the year 675—over 400 years ago. But classic designs never fade with time.

Sadly, the Avalon Church of old was now a name no one even mentioned, referred to only as the "Old Church." Such oblivion, however, was well-deserved.

The veteran straightened in his saddle, grabbed the hand crossbow at his waist, and wound it. Then he spoke softly to the companion beside him—a figure draped in a hood like the rest of these rough men, but clearly a woman, carrying a heavy leather pack on her back:

"They haven't replied in over eight hours. Looks like they've fallen. Honestly, I suspect Malus himself might have set this village ablaze."

The female Witch Hunter leading the squad didn't answer. Another old hunter behind her, missing an arm, said coldly:

"Who else could it be?

Of the ten squads hunting near Cadman City, his was the craziest, the most corrupt. Losing their devotion to Avalon let their souls be devoured by evil.

The innocents who died at those fallen ones' hands are already—"

"Shut it, Porter!"

The veteran gripping the hand crossbow frowned and barked:

"Orders are orders! No more talk! And don't mention Avalon's divine name—if the lackeys of the Tower of Rings hear it, we'll be in trouble."

"Afraid of them?"

The one-armed old hunter Porter bared his teeth. Years of hunting had forged a violent temper, and he shot back like a brawling hound:

"I could take down ten of those clueless spiritual hunters myself! Pah, cheap imitations trained in our image."

"And then ten spiritualists would tear you into scraps even dogs wouldn't eat. Don't provoke the Tower of Rings. They're our 'masters' now—thanks to their protection, we've survived this decade."

The squad leader finally spoke.

Her voice was cold and hoarse, laced with a weariness she couldn't hide. She raised her left hand and gave a light wave; the remaining seven members of the squad immediately spread into an assault formation.

Gripping the hunter's sword at her waist—its hilt adorned with peculiar oak—the female captain said to the two squad leaders beside her:

"Whatever Malus did to this village, it's certain he clashed here with that wanted vampire courier.

I trust Malus and his men's combat ability. Even if that vampire courier isn't dead, he's surely badly wounded. We must get the letter he's carrying!

At any cost.

Norman, what about the other squads nearby?"

"We contacted them once at noon via falcon. All squads except ours are retreating to the border. This round of tactical interdiction has achieved its goal."

The veteran at the front tucked his hand crossbow into his belt, studying the deathly still village. He could even see the overturned carriage at the village entrance and the blood-slave corpse inside it.

He answered the huntress:

"After we finish collecting that vampire courier's body, we're leaving Transia too. Maybe forever. I hate this place. Hope this is our last mission here.

Still, this village gives me a bad feeling."

"It's dusk now. Even if that vampire's still hiding here, he wouldn't dare jump out and face us in broad daylight. And in two hours, it'll be dark. I don't know about you all, but I don't want to hunt a vampire who killed that madman Malus at night.

I say we move now."

The one-armed hunter sneered, offering his opinion as he looked at the huntress. She hesitated, then made a gesture and said:

"Second squad, stay outside the village on alert. First squad, with me into the village."

The order was given, and the team, which had been bristling with tension moments before, fell silent.

The one-armed hunter fitted a mechanical, movable bladed gauntlet onto his stump, flexing the rough, bloodstained three-claw spikes at his fingertips, then led his three men, dismounting to follow the huntress captain into the village.

But the stench of bodies burned by the fire and then baked by a full day's sun made even these hunters—who had witnessed true hell on earth—turn pale.

This scene was definitely not the result of battle—it was a damn one-sided slaughter!

"Malus should count himself lucky he's dead!"

The one-armed veteran spat, his voice cold:

"If he were still alive, I'd strangle him with my own hands. The Chapter Master has explicitly ordered no such actions."

"But I heard the psykers of the Tower of Rings are quite dissatisfied with the Chapter Master's soft command in enemy territory. Those cold bastards clearly prefer a reckless madman like Malus."

The team's psyker hunter muttered under her breath.

Unable to bear the sight, she stepped forward, pulled out a special vial, and smashed it on the ground.

The cyan light particles mixed with the ambient psychic energy, forming a breeze that swept through the entire village, finally easing the foul stench somewhat.

"By Avalon above, when will this hell of slaughter ever end?"

The scout grumbled. Under the vigilance of the other three, she returned her hand crossbow to her waist, crouched down, and pressed her five fingers to the earth, using her mediocre psychic technique. The next moment, emerald light flickered as her perception spread like radar through the ground beneath her feet.

While expanding her reconnaissance across the ruined village in this manner, she spoke to the sword-wielding female leader beside her:

"No living people in the village. Malus's body is in the cellar behind the village—his head blown apart by his own bullet, and he's not wearing pants. Hah, I can guess what he was doing before he died. What a disgusting beast.

Hmm?

No!

There's still someone alive!

In the house on the left at the far end of the village! A civilian, a young woman, injured and bleeding!

She's very weak, no threat."

The huntress gripping her killing sword nodded and gestured forward with her fingers.

The veteran with the mechanical claw and a middle-aged man holding a shotgun immediately moved in a two-man formation toward the location the scout indicated, while the remaining two stayed put to observe and stand guard.

None of this escaped Murphy's eyes.

The vampire was currently hiding in the shadow of the water tower at the highest point on the other side of the village, carefully peeking at this group that clearly looked like trouble.

He shrank his head back into the shadows, confirmed the enemy had split into three groups, then entered the forum and opened the group chat:

Alpha: [@everyone, folks, time to log in! Testing time!]