My Players Are So Fierce

925: 314.

Call from the Swamp_3

925: 314.

Call from the Swamp_3

Vomit Mud Sauce, with the hunting gun in his hands, was trembling so hard that his brain was devoid of any thoughts.

He just kept charging with his brave old man, firing off shots and fumbling to reload whenever skeletons lunged at him.

It wasn’t until they met up with the players coming to their aid that Vomit Mud Sauce realized he had been shot with an arrow in the butt.

He hurriedly pulled it out and tossed it aside when nobody was looking, pretending to be unscathed to avoid becoming a laughingstock.

Although he had only joined the game a day ago, he had heard plenty of “dark secrets” from other players during his time as “Deep Sea Mud Monster” on the forums.

“Dude, why are your pants red?”

Border City Prodigal, wielding a bone knife snatched from a skeleton soldier and slashing wildly, suddenly noticed Vomit Mud Sauce’s pants stained red and screamed:

“You’re injured in the butt?”

“No!

It’s the enemy’s blood, it dyed my battle armor red!”

Vomit Mud Sauce quickly replied.

Then he caught the subtle looks exchange between Border City Prodigal and Mr.

Ziwei standing next to him.

Come on!

Come up with a better excuse, will you?

We’re fighting skeleton soldiers here!

Where would the blood come from?

“Retreat!

Retreat!”

Little Brother Fu’s shout rang out from above:

“Our mission is accomplished, we’ve got the people, there are too many enemies, don’t keep stubbornly fighting them!

Retreat!”

Meanwhile, the students who had circled back for a surprise attack on the camp also managed to break free from the encirclement and reached the previously located campsite pinpointed by Ayu.

To their disappointment, the camp, established on a forest high ground, was already deserted.

The campsite was in chaos.

There were ashes of burned letters fluttering in the air from the flames, a clear sign that the person in charge had left in a hurry and hadn’t managed to take many things.

Cheche and Electronic Snail rushed to open the chests in the camp, grinning as they pulled out several bags of coins, and Life is Pretty Good, who had followed from the shadows, managed to find a necromancy manual among the unburned letters, and several weapons with decent attributes in the travel bags of the camp.

But that was all.

Bull Bull and Gebao looked grim, believing that the random event they triggered was a complete failure.

The futile feeling was unbearable, like punching into cotton.

“The skeleton army is still encircling us, which means the controller hasn’t gone far!”

Life is Pretty Good surveyed the flickering battlefield in the woods from this lofty position, turned his head to the student group, and warned:

“If we chase now, we might still catch up.

Can’t you vampires track life?

Sense it quickly, we might still catch the tail of this guy.”

“No use, I already tried.”

Meow Meow Shark shook his head and said:

“There’s no life presence worth tracking here; the principal must not be a living being.”

“Let’s go, retreat.”

Gebao stomped his foot in frustration and said:

“Let’s fall back and analyze slowly, take everything we can carry from here and see if we can piece together some clues.

It’s just an accident that it got away this time!

We from the Wild Beast Group will just camp out here from now on, boosting our reputation with the Blood Claw Jackal Wolf People while continuing the search.

I don’t believe we can’t catch this sly ghost!”

—

“Phew…

what a hassle!

These damned vampires are nothing like the legendary Blood Vultures in the stories, how dare they charge at us with a numeric disadvantage tenfold?

Do such nocturnal creatures really possess that level of courage?”

Pah!

Aside from the Blood Covenant, do vampires even deserve to be associated with the word ‘courage’?”

On the edge of Smugglers’ Forest, a mysterious figure shrouded in a black hood muttered to himself as he rode a luxuriously decorated skeleton horse through the trees, heading towards the Polluted Swamp.

He pulled a strangely shaped bone wand from his chest and mumbled to himself:

“If the Festival Wand had been taken by them, the Lord would probably skin me alive, ugh, back to that damned swamp again, I hate its sunless, decaying stench.”

“Well put!

I also despise swamps; the mud always finds a way to dirty my favorite boots.

If I could help it, I’d never step foot in a swamp again, but sadly, fate doesn’t act according to our wishes.”

A voice spoke up from behind, as if adding to the complaint, and then, with interest, asked:

“But you’re already dead, aren’t you troubled by these sensory annoyances as well?”

“!!!”

The rider atop the skeleton horse was shocked.

Before he could react further, scarlet threads of Spiritual Energy converged from all directions like a tightening fishing net, dragging him off the skeleton horse and into the air, then stretching his limbs in an unshakable manipulation, as if crucified.

The Festival Wand at his waist fell to the ground and was quickly snatched up by Murphy, who emerged from the shadows of his Shadow Cloak.

The object was bone-chillingly cold to the touch, sending a penetrating chill right to the soul.

Murphy hovered inches off the ground.

He raised his head, eyeing the individual he and Cui Si had caught red-handed, and passed the Festival Wand to Cui Si, who stepped out from behind the Shadow Cloak.

He then addressed this rare “Necromancer” in Transylvania:

“So, you come from the Polluted Swamp?

Judging by your words, there seems to be many of your kin there.

Can you tell me what exactly you are planning on my turf, and what is your relationship with ‘The Origin’?”