My Players Are So Fierce

While Murphy and his little players were ambushing the transport team and battling to the death with the elites of the Wolfsbane Clan, the rest of the battlefield was also making similar progress.

The moment the camp caught fire, Lady Femis dispatched Lady Adele with a few elite Blood Servants to return, mainly to deliver a message to Murphy and also to see what the hell was happening in the camp.

Lady Adele, already aware that the situation was bad, went alone to Murphy’s defensive area, while the few Blood Servants under her command returned to the burning camp, where they collided head-on with four Witch Hunters who were planning to leave.

“Kill!”

The five elite Blood Servants made no extra moves, charging at the enemy with their spears as soon as they saw them. Although they served vampires like Maxim, being brought along by the Midnight Hunters was proof that they were carefully trained “reserve forces” of the Blood Clan, with combat power comparable to the elites of a human army.

They had even been empowered by their vampire masters’ dark spirit abilities, and were not afraid of the Witch Hunters.

At the same time, a rather dark humor was that due to the terrible weakening vampires suffered in sunlight, these armed Blood Servant armies were actually the true main force in Kadman City and the entire Transia region.

“Bloodsuckers’ dogs! Die!”

The four Witch Hunters had been tortured badly, but they were now dead set, so they battled the Blood Servants amidst the raging flames of the camp.

The one-armed veteran Porter put combat claws on his hand, charging to knock down a Blood Servant.

The two fought like starving beasts in the firelight, determined to sink their fangs into each other’s throats, while beside them the other veteran Norman did the same, his skin torn open but seemingly numb, silently battling with his shattered body.

But they were not just fighting for the sake of fighting.

The veteran’s raspy shouts made the female hunter Natalie’s heart tremble. She knew everyone was protecting her, shielding her escape even in this dire situation.

However, such protection was a burden.

From the start of the Ten Year War until now, she had lost too many friends and comrades, surviving death countless times.

She was well aware that the current battle was hopeless, but she no longer wanted to flee. Perhaps dying here would be a decent end.

Curse this damned world!

Here, peace was just a boring illusion that would never be realized!

She tilted her head back, her half-open left eye catching the flickering of Solar Spirit energy from the edge of the swamp.

That blazing light was like the scorching sun in the night, representing that the Midnight Hunters had encountered a formidable foe, the enemy had high-ranking spirit mages from the Circle Tower on guard!

The flickering of that sun barrier alone was enough to torture those denizens of darkness.

If it could wipe out nearly 60 elite vampires at once, that would undoubtedly be an outstanding achievement.

If the Avalon Church still existed, Natalie and her teammates would likely be canonized as revered Warrior Protectors after this battle.

Unfortunately, the Avalon Church had already become a forgotten relic in the people’s minds.

That organization which had nurtured her and which she saw as her soul’s haven had vanished into smoke ten years ago, taking with it those warriors who fought to hunt fiends and protect humanity, leaving them as stray dogs.

“Bang”

The violent clash of weapons snapped Natalie out of her daze, reminding her that she was still engaged in a brutal battle.

Such absent-mindedness should not happen to an elite.

For it to occur meant her spirit-enhanced body had reached its limit.

She thought she could still fight, but her body was already collapsing.

The grotesque Blood Servant in front of her kicked her injured abdomen, making her spit blood before falling to the ash-strewn ground. It raised its blade to take her head, but in the struggle on the ground, through her blurred vision she could see the veteran Porter sinking his claws into an enemy’s throat, a broken spear piercing his own abdomen.

“Don’t touch her!”

The raspy shout came from the other side, making Natalie turn with difficulty to see the frail Amber leaning against the wagon, both hands gripping a hand crossbow.

This slender, sensitive but determined scout girl must have found the weapon in the vampires’ wagon.

She was trying hard to aim.

But her right eye, blinded by poison, made it difficult for her to shoot as accurately as before.

“Putt”

The flying bolt shot out, downing the Blood Servant raising its blade. Two others turned to kill Amber.

She had no chance to reload her crossbow.

Natalie and the old Norman mustered their last strength to tackle the two wounded Blood Servants, grappling on the ground with fists and teeth until the bloodied Amber crawled over and stabbed the last two in the eyes with a dagger.

Four doomed Witch Hunters lay amidst the ravaged, burning campsite.

They were dying.

Even after securing another precious victory, the advancing fire left them without the strength to crawl out of this vortex of death.

Amber wanted to drag Natalie away, but collapsed beside her captain after just standing up, only able to fix her remaining left eye on her, cracked lips moving faintly to convey a message.

She meant to say sorry.

But there was no need to apologize.

Dying in such a battle was the best fate for these now-homeless Witch Hunters.

Better than living to face the looks of loathing and fear from those they once protected, being cursed as traitors and callously sent to another battlefield of death by the cold, unfeeling mages of the Circle Tower.

Their lives had become mere fuel for war, or perhaps that had been their purpose from the start.

Natalie closed her eyes.

She felt so tired.

She just wanted to sleep well now.

Perhaps in slumber she could meet death and reunite with her mother in another world, for her memories of that loved one seemed polluted and blurred by the black nightmares of war, which should not be.

The distant sound of hoofbeats approached through the night, accompanied by labored horse snorts and uneasy whinnies, until the tall knight who had come from afar jumped down and quickly walked into the silent campsite.

The gruesome scene before him moved the hooded knight, who carried a large oak sword on his back.

Realizing what had happened here, he bent down and carried the nearest Natalie and Amber out of the camp, then turned back for the veterans Porter and Norman.

These two were already dead.

But they had expired only minutes ago, their souls not yet departed for the underworld, so there was still a chance to save them!

“May Avalon bless them, the mission of these loyal warriors is not yet over.”

The knight murmured the divine name, taking emerald seeds from his pouch and stuffing them into the mouths of the two veterans.

As his fingers glowing with emerald specks struck their hearts firmly, the life-representing seeds fused with their hearts, which started faintly beating again in this odd state.

Whether they could be revived was 50-50 at this point, but tonight’s night truly favored warriors.

Natalie was soon awakened by the surrounding commotion.

She could feel warm liquid flowing into her mouth, tasting strangely herbal, instantly relieving her utterly exhausted spirit. With difficulty she opened her eyes to a familiar face.

Wrinkled, seeming saddened, gray hair extending from under the hood, with a scar remaining above the left eye and nose bridge, while those aged eyes showed a glimmer of worry.

“Father…War Chief.”

The female hunter gripped the old knight’s hand with a start, coughing as she said with difficulty:

“We…failed to complete…”

“Rest, child, you all did well.”

The old knight called the “War Chief” consoled her:

“Your Hunting Falcon Swift Shadow delivered the message to headquarters, and led me here too. You lured nearly a sixth of the Blood Vulture Clan’s hunters into a trap, that’s already an outstanding achievement.

I’m here now.

I’ll take care of the rest.”

“For…for our fallen comrades! Please…”

Natalie finally let go.

Her weary spirit could no longer support her, and she drifted off to sleep.

Then a small but ferocious and intelligent gray hunting falcon flew down anxiously, landing beside Natalie and hopping about, keening mournfully towards the old knight.

“She’s alright, Swift Shadow,”

The old knight stood, pulling his hood down to obscure his face as he told the falcon:

“Look after them, I’ll go deal with the remaining trouble.”

He whistled, calling his towering red warhorse to charge into the camp, then grabbed the reins and swung up in one fluid motion without slowing, trampling through the burning campsite towards the winding path into the Foul Swamp.

The fire behind elongated his silhouette.

As he drew nearer to the vampires’ battlefield, the oak greatsword on his back with its sacred white oak hilt and decorations began an eerie humming.

“Mm, you sense the fiends ahead too, good.”

The White Oak War Chief felt the rising fervor in his weapon, murmuring:

“After the old faith’s downfall, it’s been a while since you were this active. Still remembering the humiliation the Blood Vultures dealt you back then? Perfect!

My anger also burns high now!

With the vampires’ oblivion and a forest vengeance as offerings, holy blade, lend me your strength.”

The humming of the oak greatsword wrapped in tattered sword cloth transformed into an eerie howling of a forest gale, making the surrounding trees shiver and part a path for the charging knight.

Vines receded, branches raised, boughs tilted, as if responding to the old knight’s nearing assault, while the piercing sword hum seemed both answer and urging cry.

Finally, he saw the Midnight Hunters retreating through the night ahead.

Those vile crimson specters were withdrawing under the blinding nighttime sunlight, thinking the night’s protection would let them escape.

How naive!

“Retreat!”

Lady Femis struck the few remaining gunners ahead with a vicious dark spirit lightning bolt.

Her hunters had suffered heavy losses impeding those damned mages, though they had also killed four times their number in human soldiers and Witch Hunters combined. But realizing the transport wagons had gotten away, the Lady knew continuing the slaughter here was meaningless.

Defeating that high-ranking Circle Tower mage wasn’t impossible.

But pointless!

Kill one here, and the Circle Tower would send three more, as humanity’s central spirit user headquarters, none knew how many deployable mages they truly had.

Humans’ learning ability was too horrifying.

These short-lived beings’ lifespans were like pitiful fireworks, yet their growth rate stirred envy in every vampire, no, every supernatural being.

The Lady had ordered retreat.

Having lost over ten hunters, the Midnight Hunters withdrew decisively, their absolute speed advantage ensuring the enemy’s depleted pursuit force couldn’t stop them.

No one could block their exit.

But as the vampires turned back, they saw the previously placid Smuggler’s Woods had instantly transformed into a malevolent “maze”.

Writhing vines like snakes lashed up into the canopy, dragging airborne hunters into the woods, while the shadowed ground showed disturbing, looming outlines.

They were trapped.

Then bluish-green flames suddenly erupted, forming a descending longsword in the darkness that cleaved the Midnight Hunters unable to evade, splitting them in two.

As the red warhorse and its knight thundered past, the bisected Midnight Hunters screamed, blazing into kindling that flared crimson embers swirling and dissipating among the howling woods.

The sight made Lady Femis’ blood-red pupils instantly constrict.

That was an elite Midnight Hunter advancing to the Silver Rank, killed so easily in one strike? Without even a chance to recover or flee?

Who was the attacker?

And that strange sword!

What was that thing?

As if sensing the hovering Lady’s shock, the incoming old knight raised his head amidst the dissipating embers after felling another Midnight Hunter.

His aged eyes held no more worry or softness, replaced by a piercing, bone-chilling gaze of death.

“Old Faith Paladin, Lord of Oak, White Knight Captain Finoch Lawson salutes the Blood Vultures! The knell of eternal silence has tolled! Fiends, repent!”

He shouted thus.

With a casual swing of the purifying oak sacred blade wreathed in cleansing flame, an ambushing vampire behind was bisected in a brighter crimson burst, prompting the Lady to turn and flee without hesitation or response.

She had heard that name, long ago when she was just a child.

The Oak Knight Finoch, one of the Old Faith’s three Paladin Saints at the Golden Rank!

Damn it!

This 200-year-old human monster should not be here at all!

Night Mother, have you forsaken us?