Although dawn was approaching and the world was about to enter daylight, which severely weakened vampires, this was still the darkest part of the day. The cover of night had sharpened Murphy's senses far beyond their usual limits.
As soon as he heard the gunshots, he and Maxim hurried toward the scene. As they drew closer, his supernatural senses picked up a faint sound beneath a cellar door that was pinned down by a corpse.
Someone was hiding down there!
A woman, too!
Amid the blood-soaked village, Murphy caught a faint scent of perfume. It wasn't strong, but it made him narrow his eyes. His left hand settled on the hilt of the scarlet basket-hilt rapier at his waist.
The weapon, once used by Triss's mother, was covered in the vampire clan's boundless artistic flair. Delicate vulture patterns had been carved into the basket hilt.
It was the symbol of the Blood Eagle Clan, one of the seven great vampire clans.
The blade was called the "Blade of the Desire Lineage," and "desire" was the Blood Eagle Clan's original sin.
It was a rather peculiar concept in traditional vampire culture. Each of the seven great clans had an associated original sin, marking them as members of the "eternal race of sinners."
"Bang!"
Murphy arrived just in time to hear another gunshot.
The shot was muffled, but it came from inside the cellar and blasted wood splinters everywhere. The three players had taken cover nearby and were shouting loudly.
"Hey, isn't this supposed to be a fantasy game? Why the hell are there guns?"
Leading Pigeon clutched his head. Blood trickled from his forehead; it seemed he'd narrowly escaped having his head blown off by the last bullet. The guy was unbelievably lucky to have dodged it.
"What are you asking me for? I don't know either! This is my first time playing a game this intense. It's like we jumped straight from The Witcher to Red Dead Redemption! We were just trading blows with a Witch Hunter, and now we're doing American-style quick-draws."
A-Cha, crouched on the other side of the cellar, vented his frustration. Coo-Coo Chicken had just regained his sight and was gripping his hand-and-a-half sword, ready to charge in, but A-Cha held him back with all his might.
The other side had a gun. They couldn't just rush in!
They had to outsmart her.
"My ignorant warriors, do you think our world is ruled by a bunch of primitive savages?"
Murphy came over and gestured for his rookie warrior players not to panic. As he shoved the corpse off the cellar door, he explained:
"The Brass Dwarves had records of using firearms as far back as Year 400, when they laid the first brick of the Brass Fortress. When the Seland Kingdom, the country these Witch Hunters belong to, began its military reforms in 1040, it had already fully adopted the dwarves' weapons. Forty years of reform gave that nation steel fangs, and it swallowed another country in just one year, forming the Plantagenet Kingdom we have today.
"What I'm saying is, this world is a lot more complicated than you've seen.
"You should be a little more humble."
"Then what year is it now?"
A-Cha, the most studious and highest-scoring member of the Dormitory Six Bros, couldn't help asking. Murphy glanced at him and said:
"It's the tenth year of the Ten-Year War, August of Year 1111. But we can talk about history later. Shh."
He motioned for them to be quiet, then stood to one side and pressed down on the cellar door. He drawled toward the darkness below:
"Miss, are you coming out on your own, or do I have to drag you out?"
His voice was hoarse and weak from the poison in his blood. Yet in that moment, it seemed to carry a sinister edge, like a wicked cat about to catch a poor mouse and torment it.
But the next second, Murphy's keen ears picked up the sound of a gun being cocked below. The unlucky vampire jolted and took two steps back.
"Bang!"
Another muffled shot sent splinters flying from the cellar door. A woman's frightened, furious shriek rang out from the darkness.
She clearly hated vampires.
Murphy didn't rush forward. He waited several seconds for her to reload, then, after confirming how long it took, knocked on the cellar door again to bait her into firing. The moment she took the shot, he charged inside.
He leapt through the cellar's broken door and into the darkness. To Murphy's eyes, the woman stumbling backward through the shadows glowed with points of light, like an infrared image.
Her blood had to be clean.
The thought made the vampire's thirst flare.
He licked his lips and lunged. He didn't even need to draw his sword. With a wave of his hand, he knocked the heavy hunting rifle from her grasp, then grabbed her by the throat and slammed her face-first against the cellar wall.
Dust filled the air as the supernatural creature's strength became unmistakable.
It hadn't been much use against the Witch Hunters, but against an ordinary person, he could take her apart as easily as chopping vegetables. The girl couldn't even follow Murphy's swift movements in the dark.
At that speed, neither a gun nor bullets could protect an ordinary person.
"Ah!"
The young woman choked out a scream as Murphy held her by the throat.
Her face was smeared with soot, and her long dress was tattered. Murphy glanced around and noticed another Witch Hunter's corpse in the cellar.
The dead man's trousers had fallen to his knees, a dagger was embedded in his chest, and half his head had been blown away.
Well, it seemed something had happened here before they arrived that couldn't be described in detail without getting censored. No wonder they'd only seen five of the six Witch Hunters.
The last one had come here to find a girl and ended up getting himself killed.
The stench of blood in the cellar made Murphy's eyes glow faintly red. As he felt the girl struggling in his grasp, he could almost see the hot blood flowing through the veins beneath her fair skin. His fangs began to ache with anticipation.
His weakened body craved blood.
But when he noticed the three little players watching from above, he snapped back to his senses. With a wave of his hand, he flung the girl away. She scrambled out of the cellar, only to be caught by the three "warriors" waiting outside.
"Smack!"
Amid the woman's piercing screams outside the cellar, a light slap landed on Murphy's cheek, driving away his bloodlust. He crouched in the darkness, picked up the hunting rifle, and searched the Witch Hunter's corpse for a usable ammunition pouch.
"You're not a monster, Murphy!"
In the darkness, Murphy reminded himself:
"If you drink an innocent person's blood, there'll be no going back. And I doubt you want a twenty-five-player raid team showing up to pound on your door in the future. Hm?"
As he tried to talk himself down, he reached out and touched something in the dead Witch Hunter's belt pouch.
A bloodstained little scroll unfurled in front of him. It bore a handsome portrait of Murphy, with specific information written beneath it. The glaring words made him furrow his brow.
"High-priority target. Kill on sight?"
"Shit!"
The portrait made Murphy realize how serious things were.
He knew the clan leader had sent him out as bait and cannon fodder, but that was one thing. The clan leader's malicious intentions were one matter; the fact that, after just one day out of the city, the Witch Hunters already had an accurate portrait of him was another.
Setting aside unpredictable psychic abilities, judging by the timing, the Witch Hunters must have known who he was, what he looked like, and exactly where he was headed before he'd even set out.
Otherwise, there was no explaining how they'd managed to lie in wait at Morland Village.
Tonight's events weren't bad luck. This was a trap set specifically for Murphy! If the little players hadn't bravely come to his rescue, he'd have lost his life here!
There was a traitor in the Blood Eagle Clan!
And one who could get direct access to the orders the clan leader had given.
"No wonder Triss told me to run. The Blood Eagle Clan looks like it has a huge advantage on its own turf, but in reality it's been infiltrated like a sieve. How the hell are we supposed to fight like this?"
Anger welled up inside Murphy.
Suppressing his temper, he emerged from the cellar with a stony expression. First, he told the three players to keep searching the village for anything useful. Then he gestured to Maxim, who had tied up the unfamiliar woman with rope.
The two of them, along with a "spare blood bag," entered a house that hadn't yet collapsed.
The fire at the other end of the village had died down. It would probably go out in another half hour or so, but no one cared anymore—not even the little players.
Murphy handed Maxim the Witch Hunter's scroll, the one bearing his portrait. Maxim took it and glanced at it, then widened his eyes and cried out:
"There really is a traitor in the clan? Unbelievable."
Maxim's words made Murphy roll his eyes.
Hey, pal, you haven't even undergone the Embrace yet. You're still human. Why do you keep going on about "the clan"? You're more loyal than me, and I'm the actual Blood Eagle here.
"The situation has changed in a subtle way, Maxim."
Murphy sat in a chair with a broken leg, rubbing his forehead as he tried to pick apart the situation. He drew on over a decade of hard-earned experience to figure out what to do.
He said to Maxim, who was visibly tense:
"These bastards, the Witch Hunters trained by the Old Church, are famous across the continent for their ferocity and unerring pursuit. They've caught my scent, and they won't stop until they've torn out my throat. If I run now, I'll fall right into their trap. The Witch Hunters nearby may already be closing in."
His pale fingers tapped lightly on the ash-covered table. As he thought, he gradually sorted through the jumbled information in his mind,
like a database, extracting and piecing together the key details.
This wasn't difficult for Murphy, a former professional software tester. In his past life, he'd grown used to untangling complex layers of architecture to find hidden, bizarre bugs. After his inexplicable transmigration, he was glad that this useful habit had come with him to the other world.
After thinking for a moment, Murphy made up his mind. He spoke to the vampire's loyal servant, who was watching him:
"Dawn's almost here, and I'm very weak. I can't travel during the day. But the Witch Hunters are bearing down on us, and the only option is for you to take this letter from the clan leader to the agreed meeting place. Deliver it to the Midnight Hunters in my place, and have them send people to support me.
"The Witch Hunters have my portrait, and I'm their primary target, so I can't leave.
"Take the back roads east toward East Prussia, then make a wide detour through the Andmar Hills from the northwest. It's a longer route, but it should be safe enough to avoid any roadblocks.
"But you have to move fast.
"There are horses the Witch Hunters left behind in the village. Get going at once."
"But..."
Maxim looked hesitant.
He wasn't stupid.
When he saw the Witch Hunters carrying Murphy's portrait, he'd realized that staying here would probably mean certain death. He'd already prepared himself to be abandoned as bait, but he hadn't expected Murphy to pull such a complete reversal.
Maxim stared at him in shock.
His thoughts at that moment were: Lord Murphy, are you really the legendary vampire saint? You're using yourself as bait to protect a lowly blood thrall?
"No! My lord."
The albino blood thrall shook his head at once. He said:
"You should be the one to leave first. I'll stay behind and hold them off—"
"Don't be stupid!"
Murphy snapped:
"You saw how vicious the Witch Hunters are. They're dangerous! You won't buy us any time if you stay here. If you're truly loyal to the Blood Eagle Clan, then you should know that obeying my orders is the only way we'll all survive!"
He tossed Maxim the hunting rifle he'd retrieved from the cellar, along with its ammunition pouch.
It looked a lot like a classic Winchester, but it had a heavy, exotic feel to it. The delicate engravings on the gun and the short axe blade attached beneath the barrel marked it as a Dwarf Rifle, a powerful firearm made in the armories of the Brass Dwarves on the Genoa Peninsula.
In Transia, this weapon was practically synonymous with intimidation.
Even vampires stronger than Murphy would be in pain for ages after taking a shot. A special round to the heart could even knock them unconscious for a while.
"Take it! Get going at once. I'm putting my life in your hands."
Murphy pressed the clan leader's secret order, marked with a psychic seal, into Maxim's hands. He stood and patted the other man's shoulder as he said:
"Maxim, you've already proven your loyalty. Now I need you to show your wisdom and courage. You may be Lord Jade's blood thrall, but as a member of the Blood Eagle Clan bearing the Lasombra name of the night, I promise you this: if we both survive, I'll give you the Embrace.
"If you're willing, I'll handle things with Lord Jade."
At those words, light flared in Maxim's eyes.
He was a true vampire enthusiast. Ever since Jade had taken him in as a child, he'd served the Blood Eagle Clan. Becoming a real vampire had always been his greatest career ambition. But he knew his place. If Lord Jade truly valued him, she wouldn't have sent him on this suicide mission.
So Murphy's offer was impossible for him to refuse. Even if Murphy's sire was the infamous "King of Cripples," Lady Triss, so what?
Even the weakest vampire was still a vampire!
For those "purebloods" like him, simply having the status meant victory. His place in the family was something he could work on later.
"I'll leave at once, my lord."
Maxim slung the rifle over his shoulder, tucked the clan leader's order against his body, gave Murphy the Blood Eagle salute, and strode out.
After watching the loyal man leave, Murphy settled the quest reward for the three little players in the village and "kicked them offline," declaring the test session over.
Now that only he and a human prisoner remained in the village, he began to reconsider his options.
The Witch Hunters might be back soon. Murphy could regroup among the ruins of Morland Village. He had three little players who'd fought their first battle and four more who were "out of contact." Thanks to the Witch Hunters' "generosity," he wasn't short on weapons or armor. If he set things up well, he might have a chance of fighting them off.
It was also a perfect opportunity to finish the fourth new-player tutorial quest.
He sat in a chair with a broken leg, opened the forum again, and planned to chat with his players. On the one hand, their feedback would help him come up with better lies.
Ahem. Better testing plans.
On the other hand, he had plenty of questions he needed to ask them. The most important was how his little players were getting into the game in the first place.
Were they really using a keyboard and mouse?
Judging by how nimble they were in the "game," there was probably more to it than that.
Before you continue