My Players Are So Fierce

1187: 401.

Damn, how did you guys ruin another Novice Village again!

– [Extra 8/10]_3

1187: 401.

Damn, how did you guys ruin another Novice Village again!

– [Extra 8/10]_3

The latter held it under his nostrils and sniffed it, the foul stench almost making him vomit, but he didn’t have an Item Identification skill to verify its authenticity.

Although unsure whether this lunatic would set him up again, he had no other option on someone else’s turf and had to muster the courage, pinch his nose, and gulp it down.

But this time, Lame Claw didn’t tamper with it.

The potion was disgusting, but it worked wonders.

In just a few minutes, Hog could feel the toxins that had been troubling him lately dissipating rapidly from his body, and the dizziness in his thoughts also cleared up considerably.

“Follow me!”

Lame Claw waved his paw and limped, leading Hog deeper into the Construct Tower.

He brought him into his own “laboratory,” which, to put it plainly, was as cluttered as a junk pile, but each item was his own creation.

“Take whatever you like, this is my reward for competent friends.”

Lame Claw spread his arms, allowing drool to trickle from the corner of his mouth as he said loudly:

“I’m about to begin developing the Vampire Super Zombie; the corpse and head of Kenbort you brought last time have been stitched up.

Yes, my masterpiece is about to be born!

I need to clean up my lab thoroughly.”

“Eh?

So all of this stuff is mine?”

Hog was delighted, but he immediately scolded with a stern face:

“What do you take me for?

A dignity-less junk collector?

I won’t help you clear out this trash unconditionally…

Chao!

What the hell is this?”

He felt something crawl up his back, which startled Hog.

Turning around, he flung off a bizarre, pale severed hand that landed on the floor and, with agile fingers, propped up its “body” looking toward Hog.

Covered in decaying bandages and revealing strange blue skin with stitching marks, along with its odd finger arrangement, it was clear this wasn’t the hand of the Wolf People or Humans.

It was evidently some sort of Undead creation, very likely possessing its own will.

“Don’t mention this spooky thing; although it’s peculiar, it does have an exotic appearance…”

Hog circled around the severed hand.

He immediately recognized its “value”; warriors would certainly fancy such oddities.

As Sir Morphy would say, one should not only offer equipment and money, but pets and baubles were also necessary.

“Can you make this kind of thing?”

Hog caught the bizarre severed hand from the floor, letting it squirm wildly in his grasp like an agitated Little Devil, and turned to ask Lame Claw, who had started to sniff at the Vampire’s Heart with his nostrils:

“I need more things like this, as many as possible.”

“Oh, a Thief’s Hand, you mean?”

Lame Claw glanced back and said:

“This is a great companion for thieves, and you happen to be a Jackal and Wolf Thief.

Alright, alright, I understand your need.

I have many of these; I used to collect severed hands of corpses as a hobby when practicing Construct arts.

Ah, that was a long time ago.

However, each Thief’s Hand seals the restless soul of an unlucky thief summoned back from Hades to the Human World under the Moonlight’s Death God, supposedly the ultimate fate for all unclean thieves.

Taming it won’t be easy.

It will only serve skilled pickpockets and help them steal bags.”

“Snap”

The bag filled with Vampire’s Heart was tossed at Lame Claw’s feet.

The corpse construction master nodded in satisfaction, tossed the bony key of his lab to Hog, and no longer paid him heed.

Half an hour later, Hog, laden with large and small bags, left the Construct Tower with a full haul.

He looked back at the ever-gray, smoky Plaguetown.

Hog had a feeling, this could be one of his last visits here as ‘one of their own.’

Sir Morphy was already planning an attack on this place; perhaps next time, he would take over as a conqueror.

However, he held no nostalgia and was filled with a longing for the future.

The Smugglers’ Forest was only so big and insufficient to sustain the growth of his Clan.

If he could take over the entire Polluted Swamp…

Ha, who would have thought that one day his ambitions would grow to such a terrifying extent?

On the way back, Nash, gripping the restless Dead’s Hand in his hand and swatting it to try to tame the damn thing, said to Hog, the Chieftain deep in thought:

“Chieftain, most of those buggers in the Smugglers’ Forest who harassed our Clan have been cleared out by the warriors, and we don’t have any enemies left to hunt.

They’ve been discussing how to divide the ‘rewards’ we hand out; what do we do next?

Do we distribute the rewards and let them leave?”

“No!

We can’t!”

Hog was startled, instinctively refusing:

“They are the most valuable friends of the Bloodclaw Clan, we can’t just let them leave like that.

If there are no enemies in the Woodland, there are outside!

In the Kato area, in the Swamp!

Yes, lots of enemies in the Swamp…

If there are no enemies, we find them, we create them!

More enemies means more missions, more rewards will attract more warriors!

Until they wholeheartedly consider us ‘their own!’ Their recognition of us is much more important than their need for our treasures…

This can’t continue!

Nash, I need to go back to Plaguetown!”

The Blood Claw Chief squinted his eyes, a flash of fierceness in his green orbs as he murmured:

“Go and provoke those Bone Biter scumbags!

Steal their stuff!

Take their treasures!

By any means necessary, lure them into the Woodland.

The warriors will watch their friends get attacked by Mad Jackalmen from the Swamp, then they’ll realize we’re not with those scumbags.

I’ll issue missions just right, guiding them into the Swamp…

Yes!

That’s the plan!

Hmm, I think I’m starting to understand Sir Morphy’s way of thinking.”