My Players Are So Fierce

1633: 548.

Ah, Murphy has encountered a group of rats!

1633: 548.

Ah, Murphy has encountered a group of rats!

“I really ought to take your head off and decorate my ship with it!

Damn it!

Since I’ve made my name, no idiot has dared crack such a goddamned vulgar joke in front of me!

Is this how you talk to a pirate wanted by every nation?”

“And let me tell you, my business is no small affair; there’s no one in the entire Blood Fear Fleet bigger than me!”

In the fortress room still suffused with a decadent air, the Pirate Captain, utterly thrown off by Murphy’s words, cursed vehemently while struggling to pull on his trousers:

“I’d heard that the Blood Vultures and the Thorns were all about decorum.

When I heard you were coming, I rushed over without even putting on my pants, only to find that you lot are just a gang of blind jackasses who can’t even recognize a man’s proudest weapon.”

“If the weapon you’re so proud of happens to be that overly dexterous tongue of yours, then I must admit that perhaps you truly do have a unique talent when it comes to…

serving others.”

Murphy retorted expressionlessly.

“And besides, it is indeed…

rather small.”

Count Andrei couldn’t tolerate this indecent language that flew in the face of vampire traditions.

With a sinister grin, he addressed the Pirate Captain:

“Would you like me to chop it off and take it back for comparison?

I imagine we Nords would marvel at how such a filthy little thing could look so…

hmm, refined?”

“Andrei, don’t be so sharp-tongued.”

Murphy smiled, shaking his head:

“Our upbringing teaches us not to rub salt into others’ wounds.

It’s far from decorous.

Yet, how unfortunate it is for that beautiful lady pirate—every time, she has to laboriously feign enthusiasm just to fulfill some pathetic creature’s pitiful fantasy.

In fact, if he keeps spewing vulgarities like this, we two gentlemen will have no choice but to escort the beautiful lady pirate away from this hazardous situation.

I’d be more than happy to do so.

What about you, dear Count?”

“Protecting women is a cherished tradition among us Nord men, Governor Murphy.”

Count Andrei remarked softly:

“Of course, I’d also be delighted to play the gallant protector, especially when the man who should bear this responsibility turns out to be a feeble coward who only acts tough among his own people.”

Their perfect back-and-forth made the pirate fume with indignation.

He desperately wanted to lash out with the most popular curses from the Misty Sea, hurling them at these pretentious pricks, but when his eyes landed on the clan insignias pinned to the chests of Murphy and Andrei, the pirate captain, in his black hat, fell silent in a bizarre way.

He knew he couldn’t afford to.

He also understood why Murphy and Andrei were so deliberately mocking him.

This wasn’t a lively discussion about the standard dimensions of, well, “that thing.” It was the first meeting between three clans in two hundred years.

And as the representative of the Blood Fear Clan, he was humiliatingly disgracing himself in front of his “brothers.”

But it wasn’t like he wanted to.

It was just that these “reinforcements” had arrived at the worst possible moment—right when the Blood Fear Clan was at its most wretched—and he had no choice but to rely on the help of old rivals, unable to drive them away with harsh words.

Oh, just recounting such a tale was humiliating enough.

If the decorous Archduke Charlemagne were still around, with behavior like today’s, he’d surely be tied to a crucifix and left to burn alive at dawn.

The pirate knew vampires’ traditions all too well.

After all, when Charlemagne the Clan Leader was killed by Lord Paryen, he was right there…

uh, wait, no, he hadn’t experienced that event firsthand.

He was merely a lucky human Pirate Captain who had descended like the Saint of Pirates during the Blood Fear Clan’s difficult years of exile in the Misty Sea, saving those pitiful wretches.

In other words, “Bloody Captain” Babro wasn’t truly one of the Blood Fear Clan.

He was only a “descendant.”

This fact had been confirmed by both Murphy and Andrei upon meeting the captain.

In the room, there was only one true member of the Blood Fear Clan—the red-haired pirate lady enjoying her pipe by the window, draped in a bedsheet and wearing a peculiar smile, as she reveled in the spectacle of three men “comparing lengths.”

She was truly brazen.

She absolutely did not care that the bedsheet barely covered her curves, slim waist, and long legs.

Nor did she mind the odd gazes Murphy and Andrei cast in her direction.

However, despite being a legitimate pureblood of the Blood Fear Clan, this lady was not the one steering this conversation.

On the contrary, she was meticulously keeping herself in the background, letting her captain take the lead, as though playing the role of a puppetmaster who prefers the shadows.

This strange dynamic between the two had left Murphy and Andrei slightly puzzled.

“Why is it you who came?”

Breaking the silence, the pipe-smoking pirate lady exhaled a peculiar ship-shaped smoke ring and asked casually, her tone tinged with an unmistakable satisfaction:

“Where is Lady Cui Si?

I heard she became the Blood Vulture Duke.

I had hoped to see her again.

You both may not understand, but back when I was as young as you ‘lads,’ Lady Triss was my greatest idol.

Back in our day, there wasn’t a single female vampire who didn’t admire her.

Ah, times have changed.”

“Perhaps you should first introduce yourself, Madam.”

Murphy adopted a formal tone, speaking gently:

“You seem to be quite familiar with my elder.

Were you one of her friends from the past?”

“Friends?

Friends with the Crimson Witch?

No, no, I wouldn’t dare call it that.”

The pirate lady blew another smoke ring and waved her hand dismissively: