Chapter 124: The First Appearance of Bandits

The depths of the Caludia Hills at midnight were calm yet damp. Looking up, one could not see the moonlight, and every breath felt like inhaling water. The intense humidity left clothes and armor soaked; whether standing guard or sleeping, everyone felt miserable, as even their blankets seemed saturated. They longed to light a fire to warm themselves, but unfortunately, doing so would turn them into living targets.

The camp was surrounded by braziers, but the sentries never lingered near them, only adding wood when the flames grew low. The guard posts coordinated with one another, meticulously planning for various infiltration tactics the enemy might employ, their nerves frayed. The elusive nature of the bandits during the day had left a deep impression on them, and no one dared to be careless now. Dummies dressed in soldier’s uniforms were placed near the braziers, providing at least some measure of deception.

Those sleeping, from staff officers down to common guards, slept fully clothed. Some even clutched their swords while they dozed, and a few went so far as to tie their hands to their hilts, fearing that in their sleep, they might cast their weapons aside. Sleeping in such discomfort was still better than losing one's life.

Kevin’s group was not quite so extreme, though they didn't go as far as tying their hands to their swords. During the first watch, Stadt spent two hours using a shovel to pack dirt under the wheels of the catapult, reinforcing them to prevent the machine from slipping. When his time was up, he woke Kevin. Kevin had spent the day fighting and pushing the cart, so he was exhausted; once his head hit the ground, he fell asleep instantly.

Kevin took the shovel and began burying sharp objects along the hillside. He scavenged broken swords, axes, and sharp stone shards from the nearby cave, creating a zone of jagged spikes about twenty meters out. When Kevin finished, he handed the next watch to Gray, giving him a simple task: gather vines and branches from the immediate vicinity, or anything else useful, but strictly warned him not to stray too far.

Defensive fortifications had to be built one piece at a time, moving from simple to complex. With only three of them and the surroundings fraught with danger, they could not work too recklessly and had to remain vigilant at all times.

Two hours later, it was Stadt’s turn to stand guard again. Gray had found a pile of thin vines and branches, so Stadt tried to use the vines as a frame, surrounding it with mud. However, it was clear that Stadt had never done such work; the idea was sound, but the mud was too loose, and the attempt failed. Conditions were crude, and there wasn't enough time for repeated trials.

When Kevin’s watch came around again, he connected all the thin vines into one long, slender rope, then woke Gray to continue the search. By the time Gray’s watch ended, the sky had begun to brighten slightly; the night had passed. The three of them had each stood two watches of two hours, slept for four hours, and then stood another two. During their watches, they had to remain highly alert while also laboring.

They were exhausted. When they woke in the morning, all three felt lightheaded, and the high humidity made them feel as if they were struggling to breathe.

Even so, the three were grateful—at least they were safe, and no one had attacked them.

"We will be staying here for quite a while," Kevin explained to the other two while eating dried meat. "We are relatively safe here for now. We are on high ground, and although the mist is thick year-round, our visibility is still better than below. The enemy can only attack from the front; our back is a cliff. We’ve built some simple fortifications overnight, but it’s far from enough."

"How long will we be here?" Gray asked impatiently.

"I don't know," Kevin shrugged. "It depends on the situation."

Stadt shook his head. "Look at this guy, how arrogant? When asked such a question, he doesn't talk about following orders, but 'depending on the situation'?"

"I gave the staff officer an excuse that we’re staying here to repair the catapult’s wheels. If he forgets about us, I don’t intend to remind him, lest he ask why it took several days to fix a wheel," Kevin replied. "Remember, you two, we must keep our stories consistent. I’m only telling you this because we’re friends—don’t let it slip."

Stadt and Gray exchanged a glance and had to admit, "You’re really something, fooling your superior officer like that?"

"The officer lacks basic professional competence; I can’t be blamed for that," Kevin replied. "In any case, we are safest here, and frankly, we can’t really help much anyway. If they attack us, we’ll fight while signaling for reinforcements."

"For now, we continue to reinforce the defenses," Kevin said, sealing the remaining dried meat. "We only have enough food here for two days. Originally, it was enough for me to survive a week during a military exercise, but now there are three of us, including a fat guy."

Stadt shrugged. "I may be fat, but I brought the best armor."

The two laughed, the tension easing as they picked up their tools and prepared to work.

Meanwhile, the staff officer and his men had also risen. The night had passed without incident, though it had been a false alarm. It made one wonder if they had been too cautious—perhaps the two groups being together had deterred the enemy? But no one dared voice this thought aloud; they kept it buried in their hearts.

"Officer!" a guard at the front suddenly reported urgently. "Someone is walking toward us! Their origin is unknown."

The officer’s spirits lifted instantly. He raised a hand and waved it. "Hold formation! Full attack!"

At his command, the entire unit drew their swords in unison. The squads took their positions, and the unknown figure was instantly surrounded. Yellow battle aura flared as six longswords were pressed directly against his neck.

"Who are you?" the officer asked coldly, standing in the second row.

The man was dressed plainly and was empty-handed. His eyes darted around, and he was chewing on something, looking every bit the hoodlum. Even with swords at his throat, he showed no fear. He appeared otherwise unremarkable. He replied calmly, "You’re the commander here?"

"Yes," the officer replied. "Who are you?"

"Haha! Who else would come to see you here but a bandit? Who else could it be?" the man mocked. "Truly stupid!"

The officer’s face darkened as he continued, "What do you want?"

"Haha," the man sneered. "I’m here to negotiate, obviously. Why else? How did someone like you become a commander? Is your intelligence lower than mine? Hahahahaha!"

The atmosphere grew oppressive. The officer gritted his teeth. "Give him a slap!"

The soldier directly in front immediately swung his sword, using the flat of the blade to strike the man’s face hard. With just one blow, the corner of his mouth bled.

"Pah!" The bandit spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva. "Hitting me? Do you want to know where your men are?"

Upon hearing this, the officer calmed down for a moment. "Speak. Where are they?" Yesterday, six groups had lost contact and could not be reached. Had they been captured by the bandits? This was a humiliating disgrace.

"Tch!" The bandit sneered. "Beg me! Call me Daddy!"

The officer: "..."

"Is calling me Daddy too hard?" the bandit muttered to himself. "How about you let me slap you back? That would be fair, wouldn't it?"

The officer was enraged. "Who do you think you are?" With so many subordinates watching, how could he possibly let himself be slapped?

"Heh, I’ll tell you, I’m your Daddy!" the bandit said with extreme arrogance.

"Cut off one of his arms!" The officer couldn't be bothered to talk anymore. In his view, if he didn't give this man a taste of real pain, he wouldn't know his place.

A scream pierced the air. Two soldiers on either side struck simultaneously, instantly severing both of the man's arms. Blood splattered, and he collapsed to his knees, his face twisted in agony. The order had been to remove one arm, but both soldiers assumed it was their task, resulting in the loss of both.

Even with this error, the officer remained indifferent. "Someone, stop the bleeding! Tell me! Where are our people? Otherwise, your legs won't be spared either."

A water-attribute mage stepped forward, raising a hand to cast a freezing spell, temporarily congealing the wounds to slightly alleviate the pain.

The bandit looked up, his face drenched in sweat, his mouth twitching as he endured the immense agony. He spat out a few words through gritted teeth: "Fine, fine, fine! You’re tough! You’re cruel! Even if I die today, I have a whole group of captives to accompany me to the grave!"

Colonel House, standing nearby, hurriedly stepped forward. "Friend, you don't actually have to die. Surrender! You cannot defeat us!"

"Hahahaha!" The bandit wobbled to his feet. "You lost so many people on the first day, and you're still spouting nonsense? A bunch of trash, hahahahaha!"

The officer personally drew his sword and pressed it against the bandit's face. "Boy, are you really not afraid of death?"

"Wait," Colonel House suddenly remembered something and tried to intervene.

The bandit just laughed wildly. "Death? If I were afraid of death, I wouldn't have come! Let me tell you, I am the protagonist! How could I die? My death is just the beginning of my transmigration! Hahahahaha!" With that, the bandit lunged forward, impaling himself on the officer’s sword. He collapsed with a thud and fell silent.

The scene was deathly quiet. The soldiers stood with their swords still held in position, their astonishment clear. Colonel House sighed. "I remember Kevin telling me that one of the bandits died exactly like this. They truly aren't afraid of death."

At the mention of Kevin’s name, the officer grew furious and sheathed his sword. "It’s nothing. Do you think we can't handle these bandits? All troops, move out! I’m taking the lead!"

Meanwhile, Kevin received the live report from his parrot and was equally astonished. He had thought certain religions could brainwash people, but he hadn't expected "tropes" to have such an effect.

The officer led his men out personally, searching everywhere with great intensity. But what they didn't know was that the bandits here all hid underground; many of the hills had been hollowed out. The entrances were extremely well-hidden—some were just tree hollows, rocks, or even underwater.

The ability to achieve this scale was all thanks to the bandit leader accidentally finding a chamber pot.

These bandits were originally hoodlums, runaway slaves, the unemployed, or outcasts from society. They gathered together, fueled by resentment and injustice, and attempted to pull off something big. The leader was a down-and-out noble with some capital, which provided the early funding.

In the beginning, they needed to establish their reputation, so they chose to fight during every robbery. Over time, their fame spread; merchant caravans feared this route, and the locals looked at them with terror. They enjoyed this process, and they didn't care about the injuries or deaths that inevitably occurred during robberies—they were just lives of little value to begin with.

Until one day, they tried to rob General Oude. The leader recognized the danger and quickly bowed his head in submission. But he couldn't believe his bad luck and, thinking the general was an imposter, jumped out to spout nonsense.

The result was the leader being decapitated on the spot, and all the bandits who accompanied him were killed. However, the group survived for a while. With the leader dead, his second-in-command stepped up. The successor rushed over, only to find a dying bandit who, with his last breath, shouted: "Five... pairs... of... road... wheels."

The successor didn't believe in such bad luck and led his men to track the cart tracks, only to be wiped out by the opponent. Only a few remained who dared not leave the camp, knowing only that the deaths of so many were related to the "five pairs of road wheels." But they were too afraid to seek revenge.

With the first and second leaders dead, a group of ragtag survivors remained. The toughest among them stepped up to lead. He tried to manage the nearly collapsed group, but with so few people, no one cared about their robberies. Fighting only meant more injuries, and they couldn't sustain themselves.

Facing this predicament, the current leader was at a loss until the day he found the chamber pot.

At first, he didn't pay it any mind, just shoved it under his bed. But in the middle of the night, an old man suddenly appeared by his bed. He was a powerful elder who claimed to be a being from the chamber pot, capable of appearing for only short periods due to certain reasons.

The new leader believed the elder implicitly and followed his every word. The elder appeared and disappeared instantly, and his immense power was undeniable. He taught the bandits the basic strategy for development, offering to lend them money first. He told them to choose good positions, dig fortifications, win over the people, purchase weapons, train hard, and once they were strong enough, merge with other bandit groups.

Everything went smoothly. The soil in the Caludia Hills was soft, and the elder provided them with full blueprints, a complete set of weapons, and training plans. No money? No problem, they could pay him back later. He gave them countless "trope-heavy" books, and if they couldn't read, he would read them aloud.

The elder told them clearly: "Look at your current experience—finding a chamber pot, having an elder inside—how is this different from the protagonists in countless books? So don't doubt it; you are the protagonists. You will rise to power, become invincible, and eventually trample over gods upon gods..."

Some had wondered why so many of them were protagonists. The elder explained nonchalantly, "Look, there are so many books here, and each has a protagonist. So, weren't there always this many?"

The bandits believed it, and they believed it deeply. They began to habitually interpret every event in their lives through the lens of book plots. If someone had bad luck, they would shout, "Is the protagonist being mistreated?" If someone succeeded, they would applaud, "The satisfying part is here!" If someone was injured, they would say, "They're about to break through." If someone died, others would say, "He went to another world to be the protagonist."

This wasn't a joke; they truly believed it, immersed in it and unable to extract themselves. From the day they found the chamber pot until now, about three months, each of their strengths had increased significantly, which they all attributed to the "protagonist halo."

Because of the "protagonist halo," the bandits didn't respect the elder much. Although he was powerful and his advice was sound, since few protagonists in the books they read showed much respect to their "chamber pot elders," they didn't either, insisting that if they smashed the pot, the elder would die, so they weren't afraid of him.

The elder didn't mind their attitude. After some time, when the situation stabilized, the elder stopped appearing and was replaced by a relatively young, middle-aged mage.

The bandits were surprised that the "spirit of the chamber pot" could change, but the mage explained that he was just a younger version of the elder. "Because of your unremitting efforts, I have unlocked more things here, and you can exchange for more items." The bandits were overjoyed and quickly became close with the mage, finding him easier to talk to than the elder. The "point-sheep" spell was cast by him, which opened the bandits' eyes.

By today, the bandit group had grown to over a thousand people. Their underground network was vast and remained unknown to the world. People only knew there was something wrong with these hills, but they didn't know the extent of it. They had expected the Thunder Knights to handle it easily, but they never imagined that in just one day, over sixty people had been captured.

They had killed the communication mage and easily lured the rest into traps. Aside from a few bandits who died killing the mage, the others hadn't even been injured.

The captives were thrown into underground caves, blindfolded and bound. Many were warriors with yellow battle aura; a few had tried to flare their aura and were instantly killed, so the others dared not move.

"Chamber Pot Brother?" the bandit leader asked the middle-aged mage. "Look, we won a great battle. Can we take the weapons and equipment of these regular soldiers to pay off our debts?"

"The Thunder Knights' equipment is quite top-tier," the middle-aged mage nodded. "Also, the 'five pairs of road wheels' have the highest points. If you can capture that, the previous debts will be cleared."

"Great! That will also avenge our former leaders! What can we unlock after that?" The bandit leader rubbed his hands in excitement.

"Rest assured, it will be exactly what you need most," the middle-aged mage smiled brightly.

"Brothers, did you hear that?" the bandit leader asked his subordinates excitedly.

"Oh oh oh!" the underlings shouted frantically.

"Call out with me: We are all protagonists! The protagonist never dies, it never ends!" the bandit leader shouted, raising his arms.

"The protagonist never dies, it never ends! The protagonist never dies, it never ends!..." The underlings roared like a tidal wave, but deep underground, not a sound reached the surface.

"Boss! The guy we sent to negotiate has already transmigrated!" someone suddenly reported.

"Hmph!" The leader’s face darkened. The captives in the corner heard this and their hearts turned to ash. Then they heard the leader say, "They won't even negotiate? Captives, you can only die. It’s a pity you aren't protagonists; you will always be our background characters, hahahaha!"

"Boss..." a few bandits stood up, seemingly wanting to offer other opinions.

"No," the leader said, knowing them well. "We are still in a state of battle. We must preserve our strength."