Chapter 129: Surviving the Third Day

To kill a donkey or to eat the flesh of the dead—that is the question. There is no need for argument or elaboration; in the end, it is purely a psychological issue. But a psychological issue is still an issue. How many people could bring themselves to eat human flesh, knowing full well what it was? Kevin knew he could not, so he chose to try killing a donkey. Even though these three donkeys had been with him for a long time and he had grown quite fond of them.

"Can we hold off on that for a moment?" Start stopped him. "Let’s rest a bit, then look for some food nearby. This place is damp year-round; there should be plenty of fungi or mushrooms. If all else fails, eating insects is better than killing the donkeys, right?"

"Eating insects?" Gray’s face twisted, clearly repulsed by the idea.

Kevin replied calmly, "There might not be enough insects. There are three of us here, and one of us is quite plump. How many bugs would we need to find to actually get full?"

"Put the sword down first," Start said, taking the weapon from Kevin’s hand without further debate. "Why don't we go out and clear the bodies? Maybe they have some rations on them."

Kevin did not object. "Let's go take a look. Gray, you stay here and start a fire."

The two men walked out to clear the battlefield. Searching corpses, resetting traps, and cleaning the site was a massive undertaking. The ground was slick with blood and littered with bodies, but the three of them could no longer smell the stench of gore; the smell of their own bodies had long since overpowered it. Reaching into the clothes of the dead was naturally disgusting, but at this point, such sensibilities had vanished. You endure it, and eventually, you get used to it.

"Before you search a body, stab it once, understand?" Kevin shared another bit of professional knowledge. "To prevent anyone from playing dead."

Start paused, then nodded. "You’re the expert."

"Don't throw the bodies away either. If there’s decent armor, strip it off. Take their undergarments too; they might come in handy, or serve as kindling if nothing else. Don't discard the bodies even after you've stripped them," Kevin instructed as he searched.

"You aren't planning on eating them in a pinch, are you?" Start frowned.

"Of course not. I’m planning to kill the donkeys," Kevin replied. "Materials are scarce here. We should tie the hands and feet of the corpses and roll them into human balls. In a critical moment, they can serve as substitutes for our stone projectiles."

"Where did you learn these tactics?" Start asked in surprise. "Did you learn them from a Necromancer?" In the military tactics of the continent, using corpses to fight was rare and generally considered taboo.

"You guessed right," Kevin smiled faintly. "During the Second Holy War, the Necromancers created 'corpse-grinder' carts that launched the dead, who would then rise as zombies upon impact."

Start shook his head, sighed, and said no more.

After clearing the field, there were thirty-six bodies in total, perhaps more that had rolled down the mountain. Most had been killed by Start. They collected thirty-six sets of armor and some miscellaneous items. Kevin was particularly interested in the shields, inspecting each one carefully. As for food, unfortunately, they found none; it seemed these bandits didn't have the habit of carrying rations.

Back in the cave, Kevin and Start collapsed on the ground. The work of clearing the battlefield was exhausting, and with the physical fatigue and the midday heat, both men desperately wanted to just fall asleep.

"I boiled two pots of water and cooked some of the meat. It’s basically broth. Drink some before you sleep?" Gray brought over two bowls. "You guys need to save this piece of meat; I’ll keep boiling it into soup."

Kevin propped himself up, took a sip, and smiled. "Not bad. Gray has improved a lot."

Gray just offered a bitter smile, then asked, "By the way, when is our main force arriving?"

Kevin was silent for a moment, continuing to drink his soup until it was finished. "They should be here by tonight."

"Why are they so slow?" Gray complained. "The fighting has been this intense; we’re barely holding on. Shouldn't cavalry be faster than this?"

Kevin offered no further explanation and lay down to rest. Start glanced at him but said nothing, choosing to sleep as well. Gray sat by the fire, acting as a sentry. He had spent most of the time in the rear during the fighting and was the least exhausted; he hadn't helped clear the battlefield either, so it was understood that guard duty fell to him—a silent, mutual agreement.

The flames flickered, and snoring began to fill the air. The cave was cluttered but organized in its own way—a brief moment of peace in the midst of war, though it was, unfortunately, only a moment.

"They're coming!" Gray shouted. Kevin and Start jolted awake, springing to their feet instantly. Kevin grabbed his sword and yelled, "Prepare for battle!"

The other two took their positions without hesitation. Start glanced at Kevin, then looked down the hill.

Below, the bandit leader roared, "Charge! We’re fighting the boss!" Countless brave "protagonists" rushed forward, but by the time they reached the middle of the slope, they slowed down, using the same cautious, steady tactics as they had that morning.

Kevin checked the time; it was around 1:00 PM. The mist had cleared, and both sides were clearly visible. It was evident that the weapons of the leading bandits were shimmering with a faint glow.

"Watch out!" Kevin warned. "The front row’s weapons are enchanted. It looks like a simple hardening spell, but it could be something else. Just be careful!"

Start’s expression grew grave; for someone whose advantage relied on superior equipment, this was a true test.

The bandits advanced slowly, probing the locations of the traps. The front row carefully navigated around them, while the rear ranks covered the traps with boards. Their formation was more spread out, making the oil fire less effective. The bandits were clearly learning from their mistakes; as the battle continued, the options available to Kevin’s side would only diminish.

Closing in, getting closer, engaging. Swords clashed, sparks flew, and this time, the bandits were noticeably calmer. They did not bunch together; even when the front line engaged, the back remained at a distance. Although they fought one by one, it was a war of attrition against a thousand men. Kevin’s side had at most three people to rotate and rest. Fortunately, the terrain worked in their favor, as they were on higher ground, making it difficult for the enemy archers to target them. Gray could help from the back, but in the long run, they would inevitably fail.

But what other choice was there? They had to hold on. Kevin could only keep reminding them, "Hold out until nightfall, and the main force will come to save us."

The bandits heard this, and one mocked, "Your main force was wiped out by us! The last twenty of you ran away hours ago. Hahaha..."

"Don't believe them!" Kevin felt a hollow pang of guilt, not daring to look at his companions' faces. This was all he could say. If their will to fight was broken, they were truly finished.

Ten minutes later, Kevin felt his breath hitching. If they kept fighting, his limbs would surely give out. He shouted, "Gray, get ready to take my place!"

Gray immediately dropped his bow and picked up his sword and shield. Kevin seized an opening, stepped back, and Gray filled the gap. Kevin retreated two steps, leaned on his sword, and gasped for air, his head still lifted to watch the battlefield.

"Start, if you can't hold on, call me," Kevin said.

Start, his own advantage now largely negated, gave a bitter smile. "Can I call you now?"

Kevin flexed his arms without a word. "Then I’ll take over."

"Never mind," Start replied. "I can hold a bit longer."

Three minutes later, Start’s movements grew noticeably sluggish and weak. Kevin stepped forward immediately. "Get back, I’m taking over!"

Start didn't argue; he retreated, collapsed on the ground, and panted heavily. Instinctively, he asked, "Any water?"

The bandits laughed loudly. "Every breath here is water, you need more? Haha!"

*Whoosh!* Start pulled his bow and shot the laughing bandit down.

The bandits in the front fought, while those in the rear, having nothing to do, began destroying Kevin’s traps, shoveling dirt into the pits. The soil was loose, so it wasn't hard work. When they finished filling all the traps and looked up, they were surprised to see the battle was still raging.

The sounds of clashing steel and struggle were just like they had been at the start. Looking around, the mist began to thicken again, signaling that the three hours of midday had passed, and it was nearly time for dinner. This battle had lasted so long? Yet, looking at the bodies on the ground, there were very few—only a handful.

The three of them had pushed their delaying tactics to the limit. Moreover, the magic-hardened weapons of the front-line bandits made them fight even more cautiously. Sometimes, there was a clear opening, but they chose to pass it up out of caution. Even when they did attack, they aimed to wound rather than kill, making lethal blows very difficult.

The long fight made the bandits impatient. Having been cut a few times and unable to break through, they simply retreated to let others have a turn. This resulted in few corpses, but in battle, wounding was sometimes more effective than killing. Once injured, even with a high-level priest to heal them, they couldn't recover instantly, and they likely wouldn't participate in the next fight. Wounding was a way to thin the enemy ranks with relatively less effort.

As time wore on, the bandits' morale dipped. They went from shouting "Fighting the boss!" to acting sluggishly; they were, after all, not a properly trained army. If they were winning, the bandit group would be high-spirited, but once they faced setbacks, they were bound to lose heart faster than a regular unit.

Even so, it wasn't easy for the three of them. Their rotations became faster, and their rhythm grew increasingly chaotic. The bandits in the back might look lazy, but the front-line fighting was brutal. In close-quarters combat, there was no room for error. Especially during long fights, one had to remain fully focused; a single mistake, a slow hand, or a moment of distraction—not only for oneself, but for the group—would mean all three would die here.

Hold on! Keep holding on! Kevin was drenched in sweat, his breathing ragged, a sharp pain in his abdomen signaling that he had hit his limit, and then he pushed past it. His limbs felt like mechanical parts, no longer his own. Sweat dripped into his eyes, stinging and blurry, but he had no time to wipe it away, keeping his eyes fixed on his opponent.

Looking at Start and Gray, they were the same. Even with Start’s superior gear, he had resorted to basic recruit swordplay—the most unadorned yet durable and practical technique. They were grateful they had practiced these basics thousands of times as recruits, which was the only reason they had survived this long. Gray was still the weakest; as the rotation became more frequent, he was the first to falter. It was a vicious cycle: once one person’s weakness couldn't be covered, the others had to rotate faster and faster.

"Keep it up, everyone, the main force is coming!" Kevin shouted from time to time to boost their morale, eventually almost believing it himself. Sometimes, a mental anchor was truly vital.

"Fuck off! Come on! Where’s the main force?" the bandits spat. "I'm waiting for them."

Kevin ignored them. His energy was limited; he had no time for banter. One distraction would be his death.

*Clang! Clang!* The sky grew darker—it was dusk. The glow on the bandits' weapons began to fade. Someone shouted, "The enchantment time is up! What do we do? Keep fighting?"

"Ask the boss!" another cried. The bandits looked toward their leader on the slope. Kevin instinctively glanced his way as well, finally getting a look at him.

The bandit leader frowned. "Forget it, that’s enough for today. We’ll see tomorrow. They aren't going anywhere!"

"Oh! Let's go! Fight the boss again tomorrow!" The bandits relaxed. The one fighting Kevin took two final vicious swings, which Kevin blocked. He didn't retaliate—if he did, it might never end, and he desperately needed the rest.

"Come down, stop fighting!" the bandits below shouted. The last few stubborn ones finally began to retreat, slowly heading down the hill.

Start asked, "Should we fire a few arrows to pursue them?"

Gray quickly opposed. "Don't! Don't provoke them into charging back up!"

Both turned to Kevin. Kevin watched the bandits reaching the middle of the slope, leaving only a few behind to hold shields up at them. It was clear that shooting arrows would be pointless.

"We charge down!" Kevin gritted his teeth and proposed a plan.

"Are you insane?" both men asked in shock.

"They’ve been careful to keep their distance to avoid the oil fire, but they don't have that caution while retreating!" Kevin turned to bring over the three donkeys. "They must think we’re exhausted and won't move. If we strike now, with a little strategy, we can win!"

"What if they get angry and start fighting us again?" Gray asked.

"Stop wasting time, let's go!" Kevin didn't dither. He grabbed a corpse from the ground, strapped it onto a donkey's back, placed a piece of armor in front of it, and secured it with rope. Seeing that Kevin had made up his mind, the others helped without further argument.

The three "donkey knights" were ready in moments. A lash to the donkeys' rumps, and they charged down the hill. The bandits noticed immediately, and one mocked, "Haha! Coming down to die?"

The bandits turned to face the three donkeys. Arrows began to fly—a luxury they couldn't afford while Kevin was in the cave, but now that they were out, the bandits held nothing back. However, the thick mist had returned; the bandits saw only the silhouettes of riders and couldn't see clearly.

Arrows struck, but there was no reaction; they kept riding straight down. Only when they were close did the bandits realize something was wrong. "Damn it! Those are corpses on the donkeys! Not men!"

The three of them threw their oil bombs with all their might. *Whoosh!* The flames erupted across the slope. Countless bandits wailed in agony; no matter how fearless they were, they couldn't endure the torment of burning to death. The rear ranks shouted, "Quick! Mages, put out the fire!" "It’s oil! Earth mages! Where are the earth mages?"

Kevin heard them clearly from above. They actually had mages? Why hadn't they used them before?

Earth elements gathered below. Kevin didn't think twice. He dove and slid down a section of the slope, hidden by the mist and the chaos below. He flicked his hand, sending several magic missiles into the air, precisely hitting the gathering point of the magic. The spells fizzled out.

"The magic? Hurry!" someone shouted in panic. The mage was sweating profusely. "I don't know! I cast it! It won't come out!"

"Useless!" The bandits were in a total mess. "Quick, put out the fire!" "Take off your clothes if you’re burning!" "Shovel dirt! Only dirt works, it’s oil!" "Wait, can I just pee on it?"...

Kevin snuck back into the cave and shook his head at Start and Gray. "No good. We burned thirty or fifty of them at most. They might not all be dead, but they’re too badly burned to fight. At least we got something."

When the three looked back, the bandits below had restored order; clearly, they had learned from the previous fire. Unfortunately, there were only three of them, and they didn't dare charge down to capitalize on the victory.

The three donkeys had been caught in the fire, but no one cared for them; they spun in place, scorched by the flames. Kevin whistled, and the donkeys, seeing their master, instinctively turned and ran back up the hill.

"Still want to run?" The bandits on the periphery drew their bows and fired. The donkeys ran back, struck by arrows, screaming in pain, until they finally collapsed before Kevin. They struggled for a moment before going still. Kevin lowered his head and silently closed their eyes.

"That was your plan, wasn't it?" Start glanced sideways. "To let the donkeys make one last effort? Donkey meat for dinner?"

"Do you think I'm a hypocrite?" Kevin asked with a self-deprecating smile, his eyes shimmering with tears. The donkeys had tried to return to their master in their final moments, unaware that it was their master who had sent them to their deaths. As their owner, Kevin couldn't help but feel the grief.

"You didn't want to kill them yourself, so you sent them down to charge, letting them die at the hands of the enemy. It's the same thing," Start replied.

Kevin didn't answer, staring blankly at the donkey carcasses.

"I’m not saying it's bad," Start corrected. "Right now, only you can lead us to survive."

As they spoke, the bandits finally extinguished the fire, and plumes of blue smoke rose from the ground. Fortunately, the bandits only yelled, "Fine! Fine! We’ll finish you off tomorrow, just you wait!" Still cursing, they retreated with their wounded.

Only then did the three of them truly relax. For a moment, they longed to just lie there, doing nothing, thinking nothing. But that was the greatest luxury of all.

"Come on, get up and get to work. Let’s eat. Cut the meat. There’s not much water, so just wipe off what you can, roast it, and eat," Kevin said, propping himself up, though he felt a sudden wave of dizziness.

"When is our main force coming?" Gray asked, his face devoid of hope. "Didn't you say sunset? It’s already past."

Kevin didn't speak, just pulled the donkeys inside. Start gave a cold laugh. "Looking at him, you can tell. The main force probably isn't coming."

Kevin fell silent, pausing to look at Start. Start gave a dry laugh. "I wish they were coming, too, but the more I look, the less it seems likely. At noon, when Gray shouted 'They’re coming,' you didn't even look—you just prepared for battle. You didn't expect them to be our own men, did you? It shows that in your mind, the option of a rescue force doesn't exist. Anyone coming is an enemy."

Kevin opened his mouth to argue, but finally, he just sighed.

"I know morale is important," Start said, taking off his helmet, the stench of sweat still clinging to it. "But we’ve fought this hard; we deserve the truth! We could die at any moment. I don't want to die because I was lied to. I don't want that, and neither does Gray. Do you understand?"

Seeing Kevin hesitate, Gray grew nervous. "Is it true? Is no one coming to save us?"

Kevin sighed. "Actually, the bandits were right. The main force was ambushed and suffered heavy losses. Only a handful escaped."

Gray leaned against the wall as if stunned, crushed by a single sentence.

"But some people did manage to escape!" Kevin shifted the tone. "Think about it—our legion suffered such losses; they will definitely come back for revenge. When they do, we will be saved."

"Really?" Gray regained a glimmer of hope.

"Of course. They won't be here tonight," Kevin said helplessly. "We can calculate the time; it should be another three to five days."

"Another three to five days?" Gray was surprised. "It feels like you said 'three to five days' three to five days ago."

"Ahem, 'three to five days' is a vague expression," Kevin argued. "It doesn't literally mean between three and five days; it just refers to an uncertain period of time. Do you understand?"

The two of them: "..."

"Alright, alright, don't think too much. We just need to hold on," Kevin replied. "The three donkeys will last me a long time. Tomorrow the weather forecast says it will rain; we might even be able to take a bath and have a full meal. I think we can hold out for ten days or half a month easily."

"Ten days or half a month?" Gray was shocked.

"Ten days or half a month is also a vague expression," Kevin replied. "It just means a period slightly longer than three to five days. Since three to five days is uncertain, ten days or half a month is also, by definition, uncertain."

The two of them: "..."