My Players Are So Fierce

1606: 539.

The first loyalty mission of the Weaver of Destiny was to play the role of the long-haired Princess_3

1606: 539.

The first loyalty mission of the Weaver of Destiny was to play the role of the long-haired Princess_3

The Vampire Governor spoke eloquently, but Veylanther’s expression grew increasingly peculiar.

She felt that the mindset of this fate-favored vampire before her was fundamentally different from the vampires she had previously encountered or “tasted,” and even different from most people she had ever met.

She was an exceptionally gifted Prophet, but she couldn’t comprehend the purpose of Murphy assigning these tasks.

Although she had fallen from grace.

Although her Gold-stage power had dropped to Silver due to severe injuries, requiring a long recovery period, it was only her strength that had diminished.

Her profession and her skills still belonged to genuine Gold-tier capability.

Forget a group of Baphomet Cultists—even if the “Nightmare Fallen” from the deepest layer of the Underground Palace surged out, they wouldn’t stop her from coming and going as she pleased.

Not only was she a Spellcaster-type Weaver Priestess, but also a formidable Sword Singer.

To put it bluntly, Veylanther wielding four blades could effortlessly slay her way through the entirety of Baphomet’s Palace without so much as blinking.

She fundamentally didn’t need the escort of a pitiful bunch of Black Iron Warriors.

However…

This was a mission from the Master!

The very first mission given to her by the Master!

She had just sworn with fervent devotion to dedicate everything to the Master; if she couldn’t even handle “playing the clown,” this oath of loyalty would be laughable.

Thus, Veylanther chose not to refuse, even though she was filled with silent complaints.

Tsk, isn’t this just “role-playing”?

Any adult Shadow Elf was well-versed in this kind of thing, especially when indulging in pleasure.

Disguising herself as a Moon Elf Priestess was only an appetizer.

Back when Mejewa City still stood, Veylanther and her male companions’ favorite role-playing game had her portraying a pitiful Moon Elf Queen captured by the Wolf People, facing a group of ravenous vandals wielding various strange objects, occasionally summoning two creatures from the Star Realm to spice things up.

Don’t doubt it!

A Shadow Elf’s XP was wild like that—delving into bizarre realms beyond the imagination of ordinary people.

“When they endure countless hardships to get you out, don’t forget to reward them.”

Murphy was preparing to leave.

While reverse-summoning George back to the Ancestral Woodland, he retreated into the shadows, emphasizing to Veylanther:

“I know you, as a Weaver of Destiny, have plenty of treasures at hand, but don’t give them anything too extravagant.

Base your rewards on the armor and weapons they currently use—just slightly better will do.

Of course, considering you’re a key figure in the upcoming storyline, you can set the rewards to be extremely ‘overpowered’ items.

However, you must control the pace and quantity of these rewards.

Do you know why?”

“Because things that are too easily obtained won’t be cherished, and repeatedly escalating rewards without restraint will soon render their desires insatiable, reducing me to a pitiful figure ignored by all.

Shadow Elves are masters at leveraging desire.”

Veylanther replied.

This answer left Murphy very satisfied.

Nodding, he said:

“I’ve confirmed it—you will undoubtedly become the finest NPC in Transylvania, aside from me and Lady Triss!

You have the potential to make them obsess over you.

I’ve personally experienced this just now.

You can toy with them, but don’t go overboard.”

“Understood, Master.

Any Shadow Elf knows how to handle this skillfully.”

Veylanther responded confidently.

Murphy intended to caution her against excessive self-assurance—after all, the foreigners weren’t the straightforward fools she remembered.

But upon further thought, allowing this cunning and wicked Weaver to “expand her horizons” might not be a bad idea, after all.

So, he nodded and pointed to the sky, saying:

“I will wait for you all at the entrance.

When the time comes, cooperate with me to stage a scene, officially kicking off the ‘Black Disaster DLC’ initial mission.

Veylanther, I’m not lying to you—I have a critical plan for this land.

If you want to gain power under my banner, to use your words—share my destiny—then do your best.

I am very generous to my subordinates.

You don’t need to respond; just watch with your eyes.

I won’t shortchange anyone willing to serve Transylvania’s great cause, whether they be players or NPCs.

Your nickname is ‘Weaver’?

No, that’s too mundane!

It fails to evoke curiosity or admiration.

From now on, I bestow you a new nickname.

Starting tonight, you shall call yourself ‘Blind Prophet.’

“Huh?

But I’m not actually blind…

Should I poke out my own eyes then?

As a Sword Singer and Weaver Priestess, I don’t exactly need them.”

“Uh, there’s no need for that.

Just wear an eye-patch.

Here, this ice-silk eye-patch—white to contrast beautifully with your dusky skin.

Tatter your robes a bit—not too much, but enough to emphasize your uniqueness.

This is your grand entrance!

You must approach it with care.”

—

“Damn, this hellhole is like a gigantic, unguided escape room!

I’m sure we’ve circled the same area three times already.”

In the dark tunnels of Baphomet’s Palace, the brothers of the Demon Eight Elites grumbled as they carried lanterns, walking through the twisted pathways under the guard of Undead Servants.

Having switched his race to Vampire and grown wings, becoming a proper “Demon of Heaven,” Ximu loudly complained:

“I contacted the other brothers and sisters—they’re stuck just like us!

Everyone’s trapped in the maze.

Worst of all, random spawns of Goat Man raiders appear from time to time.

Those guys are at Black Iron Tier, and elite mobs sometimes show up.

They specialize in disgusting curses and stealth, and these gross skills are practically tailor-made for this godforsaken environment.

I feel like the dev team really screwed us over.

Should we just get out of here first?

Prepare adequately and then come back?

Besides, we have no clue where the kidnapped Weaver is—how long are we supposed to keep running around like headless chickens?”

“Makes sense.”

Zou Lan, leader of the Demon Eight Elites, nodded.

Having switched to Nord for its ice manipulation abilities, he pushed his skull lantern forward through the frosty aura of his ice shield and said to his brothers:

“Once we finish this tunnel, we’ll turn back.

This place is dangerous, and we’re all inexperienced here.

Seems like we need…

Hmm?

Did you hear that?

Someone’s calling for help ahead?”

“Huh?

I only heard Elf-speak.”

Mountain Devil Bo Gang, who had switched to the Mountain Men race for its towering and muscular physique, grumbled:

“How’d you determine someone’s yelling for help?”

“Tch, isn’t it obvious?

A girl kidnapped here would only be screaming for help in this situation.

Let’s move, let’s move!

Might just be the Weaver.”

Zou Lan chuckled and strode forward toward the source of the voice.

They expected to find a despairing Shadow Elf.

And indeed, upon rounding the corner, they saw Lady Veylanther “weakly” curled up against the wall.

Her priestly robes were tattered, faint light illuminating her delicate, alluring face adorned with the icy silk eye-patch.

Her hands wrapped tightly around her body to conceal herself, the other four hands shielding her front, while underneath the torn robes, her long, enchanting legs were folded demurely, prompting Zou Lan to gulp.

“Damn!

This model reminds me of Lady Triss… definitely an important NPC!”

Flying in, Ximu was stunned as well, exclaiming:

“But why does she have six arms?”

“Isn’t that even better?

Heh heh heh.”