August 21, 1111, evening. Southern border of Transia, at the entrance to the Filthy Swamp.
The sixty Midnight Hunters under the command of Lady Femis, along with twenty fully armed blood thralls, had already left camp and headed for the swamp's edge to hide in ambush.
Meanwhile, Murphy, his two servants, and sixteen little players were lying in wait at a prearranged spot in the Smuggler's Woods near the swamp's edge. They were hiding in a short stretch of trench they had dug in advance, peeking out at the unsettling forest before them, shrouded in darkness.
At that moment, even the most carefree little players had stopped roughhousing.
The Dormitory Six Bros and the athletic Niu Niu had been assigned to the forward foxholes. They held the crossbows and hunting crossbows they had seized from the Witch Hunters, with various handy melee weapons laid beside them.
They were the first wave of attackers.
The Dormitory Six Bros had plenty of complaints about that, but the tactical assignments had been decided by drawing lots. However unhappy they were, they could only blame their bad luck.
Meanwhile, up in the branches, the young lady Lumina Sunscar had been chosen as a sniper. Taking a cue from a scene in a war movie she'd watched, she had made herself a grass wreath and was lying prone on a wooden board propped across a fork in the branches, scanning for targets.
She wasn't sure how many people she could hit in this pitch-black night.
But she knew this was the men's unspoken chivalry and preferential treatment. After all, her position was practically the safest one in the entire tactical setup.
"Could've at least brought some gum to chew."
In the crooked trench, Meow Brother muttered under his breath. Mud Truck, beside him, handed him a blade of grass and gestured for him to stick it in his mouth. It might help ease his nerves a little.
But after yesterday's accidental ingestion had almost made Meow Brother the first person to get kicked out of the game in the wilderness, he'd developed a psychological scar when it came to wild plants.
"Relax, I asked an NPC. It's not poisonous. Hey, after you logged off yesterday, did you make an emergency run to the bathroom? I'm really curious whether that kind of mental anguish actually gets transmitted to your body."
Mud Truck grinned with the blade of grass between his teeth. Meow Brother scowled and punched him, and only then did Mud Truck put away his grin. He adjusted the follower's leather helmet on his head and said wistfully:
"I heard from our NPC that there's an adventurers' association on this continent, founded by halflings, that goes around exploring. They've got plenty of survival experts, all of them practically wild Bear Grylls. I've gotta meet them someday if I get the chance."
"And when's that supposed to be?"
Banzai Happy Stick, the overall commander of the operation, crawled over from the rear with a dwarf hunting rifle in hand and grumbled to Meow Brother:
"We don't have any means of reconnaissance at all. We can only sit here and wait. It's so annoying. Sigh, if only I had a flare right now."
"What do you want one of those for?" Forklift Operator asked curiously from beside Mud Truck.
"To use as a signal?"
"Bullshit!"
Happy Stick mimed firing into the sky, his expression vicious.
"Shoot one over the 'friendly' position, and we wouldn't have to sit here suffering. We rushed this whole plan too much. Next time, we need to seize the initiative!
Seriously, we can't keep fighting this passively.
Look at this amazing virtual reality, this incredible war-torn setting! It'd be a complete waste of the technology not to make a name for ourselves here."
He then launched into a string of baffling mutterings about "leveling the anti-aircraft guns" and "neutron annihilation," leaving the little players around him exchanging bewildered glances and shivering.
After Happy Stick grumbled and wandered off, Duo Dao Le San Wu Dou, one of Meow Brother's "Four Heavenly Kings," nudged his boss on the shoulder and whispered:
"Meow Brother, what does your buddy do in real life? He's kind of scary."
"He makes sand tables, I guess. Usually likes playing Paradox games."
Meow Brother was starting to regret bringing that warmonger along. Had it been a good idea, or a bad one?
"Oh, he's a Paradox war criminal! Then it all makes sense."
The others immediately understood.
Happy Stick's strange behavior suddenly had a perfectly reasonable explanation.
Though Happy Stick had spoken with confidence in front of everyone else, after inspecting the positions and returning to the rear alone, he too took several nervous, gasping breaths.
He looked at the notebook filled with the details of all his plans and gave himself a pep talk as he breathed deeply.
Everything they had arranged tonight had been his doing, but in truth, he was the most nervous person there. Was he actually any good, or was he just an armchair strategist? They would find out soon enough.
"Whoosh."
A shadow landed silently behind him and patted him on the shoulder. Happy Stick whipped around to find Murphy watching him in the darkness.
"Lord Murphy."
Happy Stick started to say a few words, following the way the others addressed Murphy, but Murphy shook his head and stopped him.
He told Happy Stick:
"You're the commander. You should be with your soldiers!
Don't be nervous, my brave warrior. You've all done the best you could, and I've seen it with my own eyes. We've done everything in our power. The rest is up to fate.
I think fate may be a bitch, but tonight she'll still favor the brave."
"Yes, sir!"
Encouraged by Murphy, Happy Stick instinctively straightened his back and gave a military salute. Murphy waved at him, then disappeared silently into the night.
The vampire was nervous too.
But when he glanced at his character card and saw that his Blood Vulture Swordsmanship had reached "mastery" and his character level had reached level eight, a surge of confidence welled up inside him.
For the past two days and nights, apart from sleeping and interacting with the little players, he had spent all his time improving his swordsmanship. He had finally crossed that last threshold, proving that his potential was being brought out.
As long as he survived tonight—
Murphy narrowed his eyes at the forest beneath the night sky and clenched his fist, thumping it hard against his chest.
No. He would survive!
He would go home with a victory. Triss was waiting for him.
"Maxim, get ready!"
Murphy spoke to his loyal servant, who was standing guard up front.
"Once we get past this hurdle, no one will be able to stop us from making something of ourselves."
The tall servant replied in a low voice:
"Yes, sir. I've never doubted it."
Meanwhile, at the camp by the entrance to the Filthy Swamp, the two vampire interrogators from the Blood Eagle Clan were preparing for tonight's "entertainment."
The gaunt one grabbed a bone-cutting knife from the wagon. He stared at Natalie, the Huntress, who was panting with her head bowed, and pressed the blade against her grime-covered abdomen. His voice was gloomy as he said:
"You hunting dogs have some hard bones. It's been three days, and you still won't talk. But you know what? I don't actually want you to give in. The more stubborn you are, the more delighted I am.
The truth and answers aren't what I'm after. All I enjoy is your suffering."
"Pfft."
The knife sank into flesh, precisely slicing open a scabbed-over wound. Natalie's body jerked, and the interrogator licked his crimson lips at the scent of blood.
He leaned close to Natalie's face and rasped:
"Hang in there, girl. The night's still young, and I'm eager for more fun."
"Warband... The warband is..."
Natalie mumbled a few words, seeming close to giving up information.
The interrogator's face twisted with disdain at her show of weakness, but the young lady was waiting for news. He moved closer to Natalie's mouth, hoping to hear more clearly.
"Smack."
Her bloodstained left hand slipped free of the loosened manacle. The halfling anesthetic device clenched in her fist clicked open, its long, thin spike springing out and plunging into the vampire's neck.
Natalie had mustered all her strength to stab the vampire interrogator in the vein. He let out a scream and staggered backward, but the halfling-made anesthetic took effect almost instantly. It wasn't weakened at all against supernatural beings, and the interrogator's muscles went limp until he fell to his knees.
The noise immediately drew the attention of the other man at the door.
He rushed in and saw what was happening, then lunged to strangle Natalie as she struggled to get free. But the veteran Norman, who had been hiding nearby, caught him off guard from behind and used the last of his strength to stab a second anesthetic device into his spine.
Vampires were supernatural beings, but their bodies were very similar to humans'. Their spines were just as vulnerable, and the anesthetic took effect even faster. The vampire dropped face-first to the ground with a thud.
Natalie had already freed her right hand.
Her body went limp on the ground, but then she gritted her teeth, pulled the bone-cutting knife from beneath her ribs, and threw herself onto the two vampires. In silence, she stabbed them again and again.
Blood sprayed everywhere until it soaked her completely, turning her crimson, like a demon crawling out of hell.
A few minutes later, the four captives supported one another as they climbed out of the reeking wagon. Natalie found two cans of lamp oil that had been deliberately left beside it.
She glanced at the wagon behind her.
Without materials to exorcise them, ordinary weapons alone couldn't kill vampires for good. The two vicious bastards would recover soon, and in their current condition, the captives had no chance of escaping.
"Use fire! Burn them to death!"
The one-armed veteran Porter, who had lost a leg, gritted his teeth and shouted:
"I'll stay here. You go! Norman, Amber, take little Natalie and get out!"
"Shut up!"
The Huntress snapped at him. Struggling to twist off the lamp-oil can's lid, she poured the oil over the wagon behind her. Limping forward, she spoke weakly but firmly:
"No one gets left behind! We either leave together or die together! Hurry! Set this place on fire. The bigger the flames, the better. The Plantagenet Kingdom's convoy is passing through the Smuggler's Woods, and the vampires are going to ambush them!
Warn them!
The fire has to be big enough for them to see!
Get moving!"
The other three said no more and searched for kindling despite their pain.
Witch Hunters were stronger than ordinary people, and their natural affinity for spirit energy let their wounds heal faster. Otherwise, anyone with injuries like theirs would already be dead.
Soon, flames blazed at the camp by the entrance to the swamp.
Sparks licked at the oil-soaked wagon canopy, and in an instant, the fire soared into the sky, illuminating the entire camp. The two vampires in the wagon screamed horribly and struggled to crawl out of the flames, but the veteran outside kicked them back in.
Old Norman watched the evil creatures scream in the fire with grim satisfaction. The flames illuminated his scarred face.
Behind him, the three Witch Hunters stood as if mourning their fallen comrades.
The firelight stood out terribly in the darkness.
The moment it ignited, it made Lady Femis at the swamp's edge whirl around. Confusion flashed across the rich girl's doll-like face. She seemed unable to understand what had happened there, but in the next instant she realized something was terribly wrong.
"Prepare to attack!"
The young lady gave the order with a savage expression, and the other Midnight Hunters rose from their hiding places.
The convoy in the Smuggler's Woods had just passed the swamp and was still nowhere near the ambush site Murphy had prepared farther ahead. But unless they were blind, they couldn't possibly miss the fire behind them.
The original ambush plan had already fallen apart.
They could only attack head-on.
"Adele!"
The young lady turned and shrieked at the blood-thrall steward behind her, who was gripping a thorned rapier:
"Take the blood thralls and find Murphy! Tell him to enter the battlefield from behind and support us! Go!"
"No! This concerns Murphy. This is his—Don't go! Young lady! It's dangerous!"
Lady Adele had already figured everything out from the fire burning at the camp, but she couldn't stop the young lady and the Hunters from charging into battle. She could only stamp her foot, then turn and rush toward the rear with several blood thralls.
At the edge of the Smuggler's Woods, the Plantagenet convoy, escorted by several hundred soldiers and fresh out of the Filthy Swamp, had also halted.
In the central carriage, a spirit mage from the Tower of Rings cast a spell that let him survey the place where the fire had sprung up. But in the next moment, he saw the blood-red bat wings rising from the swamp's edge in the darkness.
"Blood Eagle ambushers! At least sixty!"
The spirit mage grabbed his battle staff and shouted a warning:
"We're under attack! First, second, and third squads, prepare for battle! Fourth squad, escort the supplies out of the battlefield!"
Several spirit mages at the rear immediately stood and began casting spells. Blinding solar spirit energy was summoned, spreading like sunlight through the night to keep the vampires from charging in.
The front and rear carriages were unhitched and left in place. Massive gas tanks were connected to the cold machinery.
As levers connected and flywheels spun, the heavy steam-powered repeater guns stored in the carriages swung toward the direction of the attack. The roar of the steam boilers and the clank of machinery filled the area with a deadly tension.
The well-trained soldiers quickly formed ranks and loaded their hunting rifles. The Witch Hunters among them also drew their blades, ready to counterattack.
The black carriage carrying the important supplies pulled away from the formation, continuing forward under the escort of twenty cuirassier riflemen.
"You'd better protect this cargo!"
The spirit mage who had first spotted the Blood Eagle attack rapped on the carriage window and called to the person inside:
"You know this is General Loren's private property. If anything goes missing, your clan chief will be held responsible too."
"Tch. Who are you trying to scare?"
A disdainful voice came from inside the carriage.
"Worry about yourselves. I can smell the stench of those rotten vultures from all the way over here. I hope they don't mistake you for carrion and eat you.
Happy hunting, sir.
As for me, you needn't worry.
A hungry wolf-bat like me can always take care of himself."
Before you continue