My Players Are So Fierce

Err, except for Natalie’s squad who joined at the last minute.

These Witch Hunters no longer had any special feelings about war, viewing it as a daily routine, so they couldn’t be described as tense or anticipating it.

Around several bonfires, silent warriors were sharpening their weapons, mending their armor, and categorizing alchemical sword oils, potions, and bombs to be stored with members of different responsibilities.

Some chose to take a walk in the night.

Under the starlight, they prayed to Avalon, who no longer responded to them, or spent what could be their last night with their companions.

This was normal.

The Witch Hunters were human too.

They had their own emotions of joy, anger, sorrow and happiness. Naturally, they would develop feelings for the comrades they fought alongside. The luckier ones did not need to go through the ‘Verdant Trial’, so most of them still maintained normal fertility.

Unfortunately, due to the rebellion of the Avalon Church, they were stripped of their social status, making them no longer dare to pray to their god for a new life in this world that was no longer friendly to them.

By the deepest bonfire in the camp, old Finoch was carefully wiping the large Oak Blade laid across his knees with a cloth.

Excellent weapons always required special maintenance. Plus, this sword had a “temperamental” nature, so to ensure no issues during tomorrow’s battle, he had to appease the sacred blade’s restlessness in advance.

In the past, this was certainly a sacred process.

But in this chaotic year, there was no meditation room with laurel incense and purification pools for him to use with the Great Sacred Holy Blade.

“Battalion Commander, you were looking for me?”

Natalie’s voice came from the edge of the bonfire.

The gray-haired huntress had just come over while maintaining her weapon, still holding a combat longsword in her hand that gave off a slightly pungent smell of freshly applied sword oil. Her hip quiver was stuffed with alchemically-treated arrows that had become even more lethal.

The way Witch Hunters fought involved reasonably using all kinds of alchemical items and tools, a very important combat technique for them.

“Sit!”

Old Finoch said curtly, and Natalie sat across from him by the bonfire.

This action made the old knight glance at her, then shake his head and pick up a box beside him to hand it over. Natalie took it with some puzzlement.

Opening the box, she was astonished to find a pair of intersecting silver war daggers inside.

The blades were extremely long, a straight-edged style suited for chopping and slashing. They had finely polished black wooden handles and oval oak hand guards, one dagger was long while the other was short, clearly meant to be used as a paired set.

There were mysterious runes engraved on the dagger bodies, and the gleaming edges had beautiful cloudy patterns. The cold light they reflected under the moonlight showcased their formidable killing power.

But their beautiful yet chilling appearance wasn’t the focus.

The point was that Natalie could discern the weighty aura of these war daggers, they were undoubtedly among the 150 replicas of the Blessed Sacred Blades made by the Elder Council of the Avalon Church over a long period in the past.

In this current age, they were one of the few remaining “relics” of the old faith.

“The Blessed Hunting Sword your mother left you was confiscated. I know you would not let it end up in others’ hands, as to you it is more than just a simple sword. But tomorrow’s battle will undoubtedly face death head-on, so I am temporarily lending you the weapons I used before recovering the Oak Sacred Blade.”

The old knight continued wiping the sacred blade in his hands.

The fire blazed between them, illuminating his face that was no longer youthful. In the flickering firelight, he said:

“These paired daggers come from a realm beyond our understanding. During the Fourth Black Calamity that opened in Year 1000 of the Calendar, I was tasked by the Elder Council to lead the Gray Knights in ambushing the Gnoll tide in the Dark Mountain Range. There I happened to meet a Sword Saint from the Western Army of the Ancient Calum Kingdom and learned a special forging method from him.

These war daggers were forged through my collaboration with the Brass Dwarven blacksmiths of the Yellow Citadel.

Perhaps they are not perfect, but they were my final impression of that terrible ten-year Black Calamity.

They have their own names.

The shorter one is called ‘Guardian’, the longer ‘Punisher’, symbolizing my duties in the Church. Yet now, I no longer have a reason to wield them.

You use them instead.

Hopefully you’ll find something worth guarding in the future.”

Natalie listened silently to old Finoch’s descriptions, neither choosing to refuse nor accept as she closed the wooden box and slung it on her back. She bowed her head to thank the Battalion Commander before leaving.

After taking a few steps, she suddenly stopped and turned to look at the old knight still sharpening his sword by the bonfire behind her.

She said:

“What about Murphy? How do you plan to deal with him?”

“Isn’t he our ‘partner’? What do you mean by saying that?”

The old knight asked back without lifting his head.

“He’s a threat! If we let him be, even if we destroy the current Blood Vultures, a second Blood Vulture Clan will still be born from his hands!”

Natalie said decisively:

“I’ve never met Salrokdar or other Vampire Patriarch, but I’ve confronted vampires before, and none of those other Midnight Fiends have given me a feeling like Murphy did.

He.

He doesn’t seem like a typical arrogant vampire of the night clan. Beneath that humble appearance hides a soul that is difficult for me to describe.”

“He has the appearance of a vampire, yet also possesses the thirst for knowledge, ability to learn, and understanding of unity like humans. He knows how to unite his subordinates.

He even allows someone like Femis to join his little organization.

Though his way of ruling is still immature and has many hidden dangers, he does not exclude those survivors nor treat them merely as livestock to be penned for food.”

The old knight took over from Natalie’s words.

As he wiped the Great Oak Blade, he said in a deep voice:

“The humans in the Survivor Camp!

In these two hundred years, I’ve never seen a group of humans ruled by vampires as lively as them. Not only did Murphy give them safety, but he gave them something else too.

It’s that ‘something else’ driving the currently still-weak camp to unite and even actively resist their former masters, and will eventually lead them to build a new city atop the ruins of Kadman with their own hands.

I have no doubt about this.

And I can confirm that city will be more united, formidable and dangerous than the city-state the Blood Vulture Clan took 400 years to establish!

For Murphy, this may just be the beginning.

After all, in my memory, Tris was a rather picky, arrogant and dangerous vampire elder. But you also saw Tris’ attitude towards Murphy, she is not the leader, he is!

Natalie, your hunter’s intuition warning is correct.

Murphy is dangerous.

He is not evil at all, but more dangerous than any arrogant, vicious vampire born on this dark land. He is just a spark now, but if left unchecked, he will quickly become a wildfire that burns away everything in Transia.

Either illuminating the fallen history of these lands, or burning to ashes what little remains of this closed-off place.

Your growth pleases me. Though personal grudges are certainly involved, you have indeed realized the true source of danger and learned to reasonably employ your innately keen talents.”

“So you see his threat too!”

Natalie seemed emboldened as she said in a deep voice:

“Then I believe you must have a plan! Salrokdar is indeed our target, but I feel we should not stop after hunting him down, but eliminate the threat while it’s still just a risk.”

“Then the question comes, Natalie.”

The old knight smiled.

He stopped wiping the blade in his hands and looked towards the flickering flames before him. After a few seconds of silence, he said:

“If Murphy is truly as dangerous as we described, what makes you think he would be unprepared for any actions we might take afterwards? You keep stressing that you’re vigilant of him, but to me, you still seem to underestimate him.

Moreover, do you really think he would be merciful enough to let us walk out of the Blood Vulture Halls alive?

That’s the sacred ground those vampires have cultivated for 400 years!

Even if Murphy’s plan has flaws, I believe that lurking Crimson Witch would not let us leave alive either.

You’re still young, you haven’t heard of the Crimson Witch’s infamous reputation.

But I have personally experienced those horrors.”

“!”

Natalie’s expression changed abruptly as she realized her naivety.

“So, I will give you and your squad a special mission.”

The old knight picked up a twig from beside him and prodded the bonfire flames in front of him. Amidst the crackling sounds, he said deeply:

“Tomorrow, I will personally watch Murphy. You and your squad keep an eye on his subordinates, especially that silent big guy, the one called Maxim. When I look at him, I’m reminded of the bloodthirsty hyenas that Gnoll hunters would tame!

The same loyalty, bloodlust and madness.

Murphy has put a dog’s leash on him.

But he will be most dangerous when ordered, given a clear target, and freed from that leash’s constraint.”

“Understood, Battalion Commander.”

Natalie bowed her head to accept the mission.

Compared to other elites, her squad was indeed weaker in combat, very suitable for carrying out the Battalion Commander’s mission.

But the two then fell into another silence.

Just as in their usual interactions, old Finoch undoubtedly valued Natalie greatly, but Natalie always seemed to avoid the Battalion Commander’s concern.

As if it were a flame that would scorch her.

“Don’t you have anything to say to me?”

Amidst the flickering fire, old Finoch broke the silence, saying:

“After your mother died, it seems we haven’t talked about anything other than war for a long time, almost like strangers or a perfect superior-subordinate relationship, not at all like the bond we’re supposed to have.”

Natalie continued her silence.

As if using this attitude to resist something intangible, her stubbornness made the old knight sigh deeply in his heart.

He changed the subject, saying:

“When you were born, the Elder Council determined you were a child blessed by Avalon. Their prophecy proclaimed you would become a leader. At that time, I thought a solemn but glorious life awaited you.

No one could have foreseen the situation rapidly deteriorating afterwards. The collapse of the Avalon Church left your fate unclear and made me unable to see the future’s direction.

But if the Elder Council’s prophecy still holds true, then Natalie, that means you must fulfill your duty amid increasingly difficult circumstances!

The Church is gone, but the warriors remain.

I have strained every effort to keep them from sliding into darkness, yet many have still embraced dangerous temptations after losing their faith’s protection.

Now including myself, only 1419 people remain in the White Oak Battalion, the last three hunter Battalions. We are the final organized remnant of the old faith’s military, and you must prepare yourself! If anything happens to me, you will have to lead them and continue protecting them from the darkness’ encroachment.”

Old Finoch finally voiced the concerns in his heart.

In this piercing night, he looked towards the Goldflower Kingdom and said to Natalie:

“General Loren is trustworthy, he is my friend and I trust him. King Louis is a talented sovereign, his pardon may spare us demise, but the king’s orders cannot help us find a new life.

I’ve been searching for our final destination as the last Witch Hunters, but see nothing beyond the fog of war.

Natalie.

I could not find a way out for us, I’m sorry.

Perhaps this duty should fall to you.”

“Don’t talk like you’re about to die!”

Natalie finally spoke up.

She interrupted the old knight, saying:

“You drank water from the Holy Grail in the Avalon stone circle on Glamo Island. You can live as long as an elf! You still have enough time to find what you seek!

Be it hope or a destination.

Time has been so generous to you yet so harsh to others, and you seem immersed in that generosity, viewing life’s passing as mere tragedy, your only desire eternal service to your god.

Just as when my mother passed away, you were still fighting for the so-called faith’s duties!

In your eyes, she and I were never important!”

The gray-haired huntress finally erupted, displaying an anger she hadn’t even shown when captured, interrogated or tortured. She raged at the old knight by the bonfire:

“The day the Avalon Church was disgraced by the king for rebelling.

I thought you would come back, but you didn’t!

I was dragged off Glamo Island like a prisoner, forced as a fresh recruit into a war I didn’t belong in. My comrades and I fought aimlessly like beasts for six years before you reappeared,

Carrying that damned sacred sword you somehow recovered, appearing suddenly like a savior trying to pull us out of the wartime mire!

But you had aged!

As if time was no longer generous to you either.

You seemed to shift from that cold-hearted zealot back into a troubled human, but what use was that? My entire childhood memories have no place for you, while my mother was begging me to forgive you on her deathbed.

She said you had your difficulties!

But what difficulties could you have?

That your god abandoned you so you suffered more than others? Could that suffering compare to my mother waiting thirty years without even a letter?

I know what you want me to do!

But forget it!

I have no father!

He died when I was three years old.”

Intense panting represented the agitated emotions of the usually calm and reserved Natalie Finochia Lawson.

As a Witch Hunter required to remain composed at all times, such an outburst was clearly harmful to her mind and judgment. Years of training allowed her to quickly regain control, reverting to her curt, silent demeanor.

She turned away to wipe her eyes, standing up straight like an elite soldier to loudly tell the old knight:

“Then, Battalion Commander, I’ll go prepare for tomorrow’s battle. My squad and I will surely complete the mission you’ve instructed!”

With that, she turned and disappeared into the night.

The bonfire still burned.

The Great Oak Blade in the old knight’s hands also fell unusually silent, as if sympathizing with its wielder’s current dire situation. But old Finoch did not seem too saddened.

He appeared to have known it would turn out this way.

“God, if this is all Your trial.”

He closed his eyes and said softly:

“I shall continue upholding that Holy Grail vow, devoting everything to You. I only ask that You protect my poor daughter as You’ve protected me, allowing her to safely weather the storm that is about to arise.

Ah, I have truly aged. No longer the courage of my prime, merely facing the light winds before this storm’s arrival already burdens me unbearably.”