My Players Are So Fierce

Ron answered casually:

“I’ve recruited some disabled brothers planning to retire at the field hospital, we’re preparing to head to the Dark Mountain Range…”

“Don’t go, wait for me at the defense line.”

Fraser whispered:

“I have a job for you, pays well, but only those who are trustworthy can participate.”

“Oh?”

Ron exclaimed in surprise:

“What mission?”

“The Transia People are hunting Dusk.”

Fraser squinted and said:

“We are already too behind in this, aren’t we?”

“Great! We’ll take this job without pay, I’ll kill every Dusk mutt I see, for free!”

—————–

“Kill!”

The somewhat awkward voice of the Werewolf Player shouted from Evil Old King’s mouth, and as he swung the Bone Staff, the brutal elite Skeleton Warriors raised their weapons to attack the Baphomet Goat Men in front of them.

But it’s not just these undead minions fighting, some Werewolf soldiers also rushed forward to battle the heretics.

The symbols on these soldiers’ armor were either Split Claw or Blood Scar, certainly not members of the Pestilence Clan. Why they mingled with the Soul-Stealer Jackal Men is a story tinged with dark humor.

Huggesen and Hass are conducting a “purge” in Shadow Valley, every Werewolf suspected of being associated with Dusk, regardless of rank or status, would be mercilessly sent to the front lines to fight. Those guilty at heart would flee on the way and be killed by the hunters Huggesen dispatched, while those aiming to clear suspicion had to complete the battle and return victorious.

Yet, the Transia People still hold out in the tunnels beneath the formation, they wouldn’t easily let the Werewolves achieve victory. After many battles, numerous deserters roamed the tunnels and then collided with the fast-advancing Soul-Stealer Werewolf Players.

Evil Old King and his brothers donned the Ritual Robes of the Blood Scar Clan supported by Lord Qin, looking very “high-class” while holding battle flags, exuding authority. Clearly an elite Werewolf unit, no need for Werewolf Player recruitment, the deserters eager to cleanse their shame were glad to join them.

Thus, when the Soul-Stealer Family arrived at the Baphomet Underground Palace, counting the Werewolf NPCs, they numbered over a thousand.

Prepared players performed a drama here, after the battle began, the Transia People started to retreat deeper into the Earth Palace. The Werewolves pursued them relentlessly, quickly entering the heretic area in the Earth Palace’s lower level.

Baphomet Heretics were utterly confused by this.

They had isolated their palace at the start of the Black Disaster, determined not to join the bloody battles of the civilized camp and the Werewolves, but fate is magical like this. Some things you can’t dodge even if you don’t intend to participate.

Like now.

The fierce Werewolves don’t care if you’re a heretic, if you block their pursuit of the Transia People, you become the enemy. So, led by the Soul-Stealer Werewolves, this clan army swept across everything in its path like a storm.

The exiled Werewolves were nominally expelled for insufficient devotion to The Master of Hunting. Thus, those hoping to clear their suspicions sacrificed the slain Baphomet Heretics to their deity.

So much bloodshed, so many deaths are surely pleasing to the Evil God.

In any case, The Master of Hunting doesn’t care whose blood is spilled, the death of Goat Men pleases Him equally.

“Enough!”

On the Werewolves’ advance path, a Baphomet Nightmare Priest trapped in a corner screamed in Werewolf language:

“We have no grievances with you! Those Transia People ran another way, damn it, chase them! Why attack us?”

Faced with this question, Evil Old King flashed a sinister smile on his spatulate face.

He swung his furry paw sharply, and two Skeleton Warriors stepped forward to brutally decapitate the Goat Man, letting blood flow, and prompting cheers from victorious Werewolves around.

“For The Master of Hunting!”

Evil Old King shouted in accented Werewolf language, eliciting wild howls from other Werewolves.

Actually, he only knew a few phrases in the Werewolf vernacular.

But no problem, those few phrases were sufficient.

In their authentic Werewolf form, to other Werewolves, they appeared as definite allies, no need for doubt, just charge with these brave comrades.

The more they kill, the happier The Master of Hunting becomes.

The happier the Divine Spirit, the more it proves their devotion.

This way, they can return to Grand Marshal Huggesen’s Army of Dark Disaster, and follow to invade Transylvania, gaining victory and glory, just like the King of Bone Biting a hundred years ago, making the whole world tremble!

Evil Old King understood people.

He stepped forward to grab the Magic Wand dropped by the Goat Man Priest and unconcernedly tossed it to a Blood Scar Priest nearby, then gave the very ornate combat short sword to the bravest Barbarian Soldier. Then he looked forward at the dark passage with many forks, rolled his eyes, sent a message in the players’ communication, and then waved his paw to indicate they continue forward.