My Players Are So Fierce

In Shadow Valley, the Chosen Marshal Huggesen, who is still conducting the “Gnoll Purification Campaign,” welcomes a special “visitor.”

The visitor appears on the Wolf People’s grounds with an extremely candid demeanor and demands to meet their current leader. Logically, such an impolite request would never be accepted, especially considering the visitor seems to be human.

Yet he smoothly and safely arrives at Huggesen’s grand tent amidst tens of thousands of Wolf People.

When he appears, the Grand Marshal is personally forging something in the valley’s remnants of the furnace, the scorching flames burning the metal ores excavated by the Gnolls. Several elderly Wolf People craftsmen are busy preparing molds for weapon forging for the Marshal, while Huggesen himself stands aside, playing with a blood-red horn.

The object is enormous!

Like the head of a natural armor-breaking war hammer, though blood-colored, it exudes a unique luster akin to jade. Each time Huggesen’s claws caress it, it emits a faint fluorescence, as if it possesses its own life.

Evidently, the Great Marshal of the Jackal Wolves intends to use this object to forge a new weapon for himself, which is also his second reason for staying in Shadow Valley.

“You’ve trespassed into my valley, bewitched my soldiers, and now brazenly stand before me, stranger. Should I consider this provocation?”

The Grand Marshal, not turning his head, speaks in a threatening tone to the mysterious hooded figure behind him:

“State your name, so I can write something on your tombstone.”

“I am a collaborator of the Black Disaster, a guest of honor at Chief Amot’s table, a close friend of Old Manse, and even had a few encounters with your mother Botana. Huggesen, I dared to come here to bring you a warning!”

The mysterious man remains indifferent to Huggesen’s icy murderous intent, saying calmly:

“You are undertaking something dangerous. If you wish to achieve victory in the war against the Transia People, you should not reject our assistance, nor send our companions into meaningless battles.”

“Oh?”

Huggesen turns around, looking at the figure behind him.

He says subtly:

“Are you referring to me sending those who are unfaithful to The Master of Hunting into the Baphomet Grand Earth Palace? This Black Disaster itself is a bloody conquest prepared for my god’s birth. Every Wolf Person involved should place my god’s desires foremost.

Those fools have strayed from The Master of Hunting’s principles. Is there anything wrong with sending them to die?

Even if there were an issue, it’s not up to a sneaky human to tell me!

Lapdog of the Dusk!

Aren’t you being too impudent? What good fate has come to those who cooperated with you? Dare you mention my mother before me? Didn’t you have a hand in her accidental death?

Now, get off my territory!

This is your last chance.”

“You are merely doing something foolish.”

The hooded man has already heard the Chosen one’s stubbornness and determination from Huggesen’s words and threatens:

“Without our help, your Wolf People will suffer greatly in the face of the increasingly united Transia People! Murphy is not an opponent that a rough Wolf Person like you can handle, nor can your god!”

“Ha, you call sacrificing others ‘help’? Don’t assume I can’t guess how Old Manse died; you never needed a partner.

What you need are just servants!

When servants are disobedient or lose value, it’s their time to be sacrificed for your ‘great cause.’ You are the most vile and dirty scum birthed from this world’s foulest sewer; even the dumbest Gnoll is more valuable than you!”

Huggesen’s tone becomes colder.

The divine power belonging to The Master of Hunting begins to wrap around him, transforming into blood-red, fierce claws surrounding the hooded man. He admonishes:

“Next time you want to ‘help,’ do us a favor, don’t! I’m busy now, no time to waste on you fools yearning for the destruction of all things. Will you leave on your own, or should I send you off?”

“You will pay for your arrogance today, Wolf Person.”

The Dusk’s follower realizes Huggesen genuinely intends to kill him here, and decisively backs down, tossing out a harsh word before turning to leave.

Huggesen glances at those Jackal Barbarians, waking from their daydream-like state, and waves his claw, leading these guards, who utterly failed to perform their duties, to be beaten down by the hunting electors, each earning a “Baphomet Grand Earth Palace Nightmare Arena Admission Ticket.”

Huggesen scoffs at the Dusk’s threat.

That organization lurking in the shadows is indeed frightening, but the fact they dare only work through sneaky conspiracies rather than proudly step forth to conquer the world proves their lack of power.

If the Dusk truly had the power, it would be an executioner here to chop off his head, not a scornful messenger.

These dogs, only capable of skulking about, lack the resolve to die alongside him. The Chosen one can already deduce that the next stop for this fool might be Moss Valley, running off to complain to their “partner” Chief Amot about his non-compliance.