My Players Are So Fierce

Murphy easily found the underground black market in the city under rationing and made some purchases, spending all the money he had acquired. He bought a bunch of things and brought them back to the manor.

The reason he didn't leave money for Tris was simple.

That woman would definitely use it all to buy alcohol, then resist hunger by relying on a vampire's ultra-long battery life while being drunk and unconscious. She had proudly said that she had lived like that for sixty years.

Murphy strongly suspected that this was the main reason why Tris was so weak.

Such a beautiful girl, yet she ended up starving herself silly.

At this time, Tris was still resting upstairs, and Murphy didn't disturb the patient. He put the sliced bread and some canned food into the creaking mechanical refrigerator.

If Murphy remembered correctly, this stupid, bulky thing was nicknamed the "Steam 800". It was said to have been invented by a dwarven mechanic in the 800th year of the era, a unique creation of this world's "steam machinery".

To be honest, Murphy could understand the principle of using steam to heat food, but how exactly did it use steam for refrigeration?

Of course, now was not the time to ponder the fantastical physics of another world and turn his brain into a porridge pot.

The unfortunate vampire put enough food for three days' use and some miscellaneous items into his backpack, and also left a note with detailed instructions on how to prepare the dishes he had made, so detailed that as long as Tris didn't drink herself silly, she should be able to cook the dishes.

Finally, he took out his worn pocket watch to check the time.

It was almost dusk, time for him to set out.

With no need to turn on the gas lamp that was older than him, Murphy slowly walked out of the place he had lived for a month, in the dim light.

The vampires' sense of punctuality was fully evident at this moment.

As Murphy reached the door and the bell rang, a black carriage pulled out from a small alley across the street and stopped in front of the manor gate.

It was nothing luxurious, just an ordinary four-wheeled carriage used by merchants. Inside the wagon were eight vacant-looking, skeletal blood servants, making Murphy frown.

"Blood slave" would probably be a more appropriate term.

They clearly looked like the severely ill people who had been penned and bled so much that they became witless. Forget executing missions or going to war, it would be a great success if they didn't die in front of Murphy before dawn.

The driver was a burly but hooded man, the only one among those "kindly" provided by the patriarch's guards that Murphy could stand.

Healthy, tall and big, just looking at him made one feel safe.

Upon seeing Murphy, the man greeted him proactively:

"I pay my respects to you, Mr. Murphy. We are the servants Lord Jed has sent to assist you. The armor and weapons you need have been placed in the wagon. Shall we depart now?"

"So that guard is called Jed."

Murphy made a mental note of the name.

Although the man had probably taken pity on him to provide this "help", help was still help. Despite his unfortunate state, Murphy did not owe anyone a favor.

If he could make it back, he would definitely have to find a way to repay this kindness.

He nodded to the driver but did not get into the cramped wagon. Instead, he took the bags containing armor and weapons.

Lastly, he sat in the seat next to the driver.

The vantage point was good, and it was well-ventilated. If any danger arose, he could make a quick getaway.

"Let's go."

Murphy pulled up his hood to cover his face and said to the driver, but the latter did not crack the whip. Instead, he said in a low voice:

"Milord, your elders are there!"

"Huh?"

Murphy turned his head in surprise to see Tris, who had been resting earlier. Now she was standing by the flowerbed of the dilapidated courtyard, barefoot and wearing a red cloak, silently watching him as if bidding farewell to a departing traveler.

"Wait a moment."

Murphy said to the driver, then jumped off the carriage and walked briskly to Tris. Frowning, he said:

"Why didn't you put on shoes when coming out?"

"So, this is what you most want to say to me before leaving?"

Tris brushed her long hair aside and rolled her eyes.

She shook her head, reached out to adjust Murphy's hood and mask into place. In this close proximity, Tris looked at him with an unusually serious gaze, her crimson eyes flickering with an unfamiliar light.

She patted Murphy's chest and whispered:

"Don't come back once you leave! Take this opportunity to leave Kadman City and completely get away from the Blood Vultures' territory!

Whether you head north to take refuge with the Thorn Clan in the Kingdom of Nordtov, or go south across the Dark Mountains to join the Blood Dread Fleet on the Misty Coast, or even seek out the wandering Blood Pact Knights who skirt the Dark Mountains.

No matter where you go, it's better than staying here! Of course, remember to avoid those thugs and riffraff from the Wolfbane Clan.

Once you get there, give my name to the patriarch or elders.

I'll only say this once!

My full name is Tracy Cavendina Chia Lorraine Lessenbra.

Although I'm just a forgotten waste in Kadman City that everyone thinks is dead, I still have some reputation among the other clans. If those old men and women from my era are still alive, they will accept you.

Little Murphy, listen carefully!

The Blood Vulture Clan is beyond saving.

We have violated the 'Code of Isolation' that all bloodlines have to follow since the Holy Blood Crusade. We stepped out of the shadows and into the sunlight, brazenly triggering a conflict with civilizations and kingdoms. Even the most tolerant Blood Pact Knights will no longer bother with us.

And that's just the most minor of all the sins we've committed.

Go, little Murphy.

Don't bother with that order which is just sending you to your death."

This speech was something the usually drunken queen of waste could never have said, and it indeed surprised Murphy. He looked at Tris in astonishment.

She shook her head to indicate he shouldn't say anything more, then turned and left without hesitation.

Not giving Murphy any chance to ask further questions.

Murphy pondered her warnings.

He watched Tris return to the manor, then got back into the carriage himself. Soon the ringing of the horse bells faded as they disappeared down the desolate street at dusk.

He could feel eyes watching him from behind.

He knew Tris must have been seeing him off from the balcony, and at that moment, Murphy felt a strange reluctance to leave.

Although he had only lived here for a month, this experience was indeed quite memorable. After all, when had he ever suffered so much in the thirty-odd years he had lived in another world?

But that reluctance was real.

Lady Tris was truly a unique person, and her final warning seemed to shroud her in even more mystery, making Murphy wonder. But leave?

Don't be ridiculous!

He wouldn't slink away like that!

Even if he had to escape, he would take Tris with him. Down on his luck in another world or not, Murphy was not ungrateful!

At this time, standing in the shadows on the balcony of the manor, in the glow of dusk, Tris narrowed her bewitching eyes. Her pale fingers, wrapped in a handkerchief and concealed by her cloak, were clenched into fists.

Alone in the dilapidated courtyard, she gritted her teeth and said softly:

"Was it really necessary to go this far? Salrokdar! It wasn't enough that you deliberately gave this child the wrong summoning ritual and nearly killed him? Now you want him to risk his life again after barely surviving.

You really don't allow me to get close to anyone, do you? That filthy old dog is just afraid I'll reveal your despicable secret.

But you have already violated the taboo!

I'm not going anywhere, Salrokdar. I'll stay right here! I'll remain in this kennel you have me locked in, and I'll watch as you and your clan fall apart.

Heh.

It won't be long now."

After Tris could no longer sense Murphy's carriage, she turned and dragged her increasingly severe coughing body back into the dim room. She immediately noticed the paper and detailed "cooking guide" Murphy had left on the table.

That strange handwriting made Tris shake her head. She remembered that when she had picked up this boy on a snowy night over a year ago, his writing hadn't been this illegible.

Alas, such a handsome boy, yet he ended up starving himself silly too.

Tris, oh Tris, you truly are a sinful woman.

She berated herself as she opened the creaking steam refrigerator and saw the bread and half-prepared dishes inside. That boy must have bought so much food out of fear that she would starve herself.

This mundane yet warm concern made Tris roll her eyes again, but in the next instant, an indescribably intense feeling of loneliness enveloped her.

She could have endured all this!

Just as she had for over a hundred solitary, maddened years prior.

She really could have!

She was resolute enough and not some five-hundred-year-old coward!

She could do all this, if there hadn't been that year-plus of codependency.

"Alas, in the end, I'm alone again."

A long sigh.

Extinguished in the shadows.

———

While Murphy rode off into the night to his supposed death, carrying eight undead husks in a rickety wagon, an equally "grand adventure" was unfolding in another world.

In a college dorm room, five roommates had gathered around "Leading Pigeon", who was holding a screwdriver and preparing to disassemble the black, somewhat high-tech looking spherical helmet in front of him.

"Leading Pigeon" was one of the two little gamers who had just completed the first round of testing for the game《Reality Realm》.

That's right!

The short, vulgar guy who had tried to take off his pants in front of Murphy but was stopped.

"Damn, how do I get into this thing?"

The senior student who had achieved the lofty status of "Dorm Chief" at such a young age, with limitless potential ahead of him, looked at the screwdriver in one hand and the "game helmet" in the other, and said with a grimace:

"There's not even a single screw hole. Do I really have to smash this thing open with a stick?"

"Tsk, if you can't bear to take it apart, then don't pretend!"

Having lived together for four years, how could his roommates not see through Leading Pigeon's real thoughts? They teased him:

"We all understand the feeling of finally getting something that looks awesome. Good son, we don't mind you playing with a motorcycle helmet, just don't keep bragging about playing some insanely realistic game."

"Didn't we all fill out that weird game test application at the same time, right? How come only you got this thing?"

The bespectacled fat boy snorted, pushing up his glasses in a washing machine-like motion. With an all-knowing tone, he said:

"So this is your self-directed prank, right? I knew that application interface looked so crude. If they really had such mature virtual reality technology, they wouldn't have made even the website so poorly, right?"

"F*ck! Everything I said was true!"

Leading Pigeon couldn't hold back from the barrage of ridicule any longer. Hugging the black game helmet, he shouted:

"If this is fake, I'll let you guys spank me tonight without a word!"

"???"

The other five brothers stared at each other wide-eyed, then took a step back from the angry Leading Pigeon in unison. One of them said in a low, frightened voice:

"Don't be like that, Leading Pigeon. We're just joking when we talk about spanking and stuff. Don't take it seriously. Of course, of course, we don't discriminate against sexual minorities.

Don't take off your underwear. We're still brothers."

"You ungrateful brats!"

The esteemed Dorm Chief's face flushed with rage as he grabbed a nearby broomstick and swung it, shouting:

"I'll beat you brats to death!"

"Room 2149! You've got a delivery! Come get it!"

Before Leading Pigeon could finish his outburst, his phone rang. Opening it, he heard the voice of the delivery guy, who was also mocking:

"Do prestigious university students nowadays group-buy motorcycle helmets? Buying five at once, is there some kind of discount?"

"Heh! Jackpot!"

Leading Pigeon immediately grinned, hung up the phone flamboyantly, and instructed his obedient "sons" to go get the delivery.

A few minutes later, the six roommates each looked at the same black helmet in their hands, identical in design. The bespectacled fat boy gulped as he felt the strange, matte material of the helmet.

He said in a low voice:

"Damn, so this is for real, huh? I'm getting a bit scared. Leading Pigeon, tell me honestly, is that game really that awesome?"

"Of course, I tried it myself. I'll just say one thing, you can take your pants off in that game! How awesome is that?"

"666! Let's go try it out then, see if we can get some action going."

"F*ck, there's a pervert here! Someone quick, call the cops!"

"Oh wait, why does it say 'Testing time TBA' here? And there's no forum or anything either. This thing doesn't even have a label."

"There is! Inside the helmet, look closely, it's called the 'Alpha' company. Now that you mention it, the name and logo do seem pretty fancy."

As the roommates joked boisterously, in another city thousands of miles away in the same country, two middle-aged men squinted their eyes at the black helmets they had just unpacked from a delivery box in their spacious office, where they were drunkenly drinking.

The two men stared at each other wide-eyed.

"That weird domain name website? The game test that old Yang forwarded a few days ago? Didn't that website get 404'd?"

One man felt the helmet and asked. The other man drained his cup, looking gloomy as he waved his hand and said:

"Whatever, if we can play it then play it, if not then forget it. Damn it, it really pisses me off to have to hand over the factory I've worked half my life for.

I'm rich now, but I'm still pissed!

Cheers!

I guess I'll just laze around and live off my savings for the rest of my life now.

I just heard old Yang call and say he went in to try it out, and this game is damn awesome. He told us to add him as a friend, something like 'Meowmeow' or whatever. He also said this game is just like real life.

If it really is real, that would actually be better.

What are you raising fish for?

Come on.

We'll punish ourselves with a drink first, then go for another round."

On the other side of the Pacific Ocean, in a student apartment, a long-haired girl who had just finished her thesis rubbed her head wearily, staring blankly at the black helmet unpacked from a box in front of her.

Rubbing her eyes, she lamented:

"What weird thing have I bought again this month? My allowance is almost spent. If this keeps up, how will I get by? Oh, does this thing light up?

It feels quite comfortable to wear though, must be custom-made.

But could someone please tell me, what the heck is this thing?"