My Players Are So Fierce

1027: 348.

Attention from afar +1_3

1027: 348.

Attention from afar +1_3

Most of them had no interest in “starting over.”

But if even half of what these vampires promised could be fulfilled, it meant they could take up their old trades in Transia, this “hotbed,” with a clean slate, and even receive some “startup funds” from those vampires.

Maxim had made it very clear.

Any fighter who made it to the second round would receive a gift of 100 gold coins, and the prize for reaching the third round would increase to 500 gold coins.

If they made it to the finals, they would even get a land deed in the Crimson Fortress Commercial District and the right to establish a guild.

There were some bold souls who had asked whether it was possible to set up guilds for smugglers or the black market, and Maxim’s response was quite explicit.

As long as they could make it that far and withstand the pressure from the Blood Rat Gang, and were willing to comply with the basic rules of governance, then a vast territory in the Crimson Castle sewers would naturally have their share.

As one of the “development team’s” optional factions for the little players, Murphy did not prohibit smugglers in his domain.

There was certainly room for a grey area in Transia, provided these guys really had the skill and could see clearly when it came to matters of great importance.

After receiving confirmation, nearly every prisoner with a bit of ambition began to form factions and prepare eagerly for action.

Growing up in the harsh cold of the Great Wilderness, these Northerners had bodies stronger than those of the Xilan People and the Kite People and a more barbaric fighting spirit, due to generations surviving in a climate unsuitable for habitation.

Count Bai of White Mountain had complained that gladiatorial combat was quite common in Nordtof.

Although the situation there was different from that of Transia, the people were still fierce and fond of fighting.

Not to mention that these men were all heroes from the ranks of rebels, military rogues, and criminals sifted out by the Northerners.

Almost each one of them had a robust physique and they had never been afraid of anyone when it came to being brave and fierce.

When Maxim first met these fellows, he had felt a unique aura.

Among this rabble, there were indeed a few individuals with real ability.

With the current tumultuous situation of the fighter selection, those few hidden “masters” had also begun to take action in secret.

In a shady area at the edge of the barracks, a few individuals wearing hoods were whispering quietly together.

All of them were tall, with both men and women among the five, but they were all remarkably silent and reserved.

From beneath the hoods, occasionally, an arm extended, revealing distinctive tattoos.

These weren’t the showy tattoos worn by street thugs to showcase their brutality; these insignias tended to be simple yet carried a unique beauty.

If one had to draw a comparison, they resembled the markings that the Psychics of the Circle Tower would tattoo on their skin, albeit with a more religious ceremonial flavor.

This was not a covert group.

Around them, some other minor followers were lurking, watching out for them.

However, these followers were clearly not of the same ilk as the five individuals and seemed more akin to dependents or acolytes?

“Turner!

Are you ready?”

The leader of the five spoke in a low voice to the person surrounded in the middle:

“We come guided, to witness the changes and waves beneath the facade of Transia for our god.

The eyes of our god have rested upon this land of suffering.

The Black Disaster is a calamity, yet it also brings opportunities!

We know, however, that even though you walk with us, you are not here solely to spread the faith of our god.

You have your own mission and vow.

If our god has told you the object of your quest lies in Transia, then we will bless your path to be smooth, my brother.”

“Thank you, Master Yuri.”

The man known as “Turner” struck his chest hard with his fist, the coldness twining around his fingers seeming more like a manifestation of a skill and strength honed a thousand times rather than mere illusion.

With an exhausted yet resolute tone, he said:

“Once I have fulfilled the vow I must complete in this mortal world, I will return to your midst with utmost enthusiasm, to our monastery, to dedicate my life to the scriptures of our god.”

“This is the right path, as it should be.”

The middle-aged leader nodded but still reminded:

“Turner, you are an Upasaka, a keeper of vows, favored by the God of the North Wind.

Remember that this battle is only to fulfill your vow.

We are not here to educate the Transia People to follow the teachings of the God of the North Wind, nor to provoke conflicts.

This land has its own destiny.

One must never indulge oneself in the illusion of valiance and fighting spirit, nor should one break vows recklessly for a moment of blood-fueled bravery.

Remember this at all times!

We Ascetics are different from those Monk Soldiers who have fallen into demonic barriers; we never bully the weak nor should we demonstrate force through cruelty.”

“Thank you for the reminder, Master.”

The Martial Monk known as Turner spoke humbly:

“I will make good use of my strength, and I am thankful to my brothers and sisters who have accompanied me thus far.

May all beings heed the teaching of the God of the North Wind, may all beings face the demons of the world with courage.”