Chapter 131: The Sixth Day of the Bitter Struggle

The fourth day passed easily enough, with no sign of the bandits. They continued their rotation for watch duty, though with the addition of the parrot, it effectively meant four people were cycling through, making things slightly easier.

Kevin took a turn around the perimeter but dared not venture too far. Their so-called vegetable patch was still in its experimental phase; the idea of relying on home-grown food to fill their stomachs was, for now, impossible. Still, an all-meat diet wasn't ideal for human health, serving at best as a change of palate or a nutritional supplement.

Kevin had firmly resolved to hold the position for the long haul. Ten or eight years might be an exaggeration, but ten days or half a month was certainly an underestimate. A long-term defense required long-term planning, a necessity forced upon them by their circumstances.

On the fifth day, although the rain had stopped, the ground remained a pitted mess of mud and water. The bandits arrived in the morning to scout and attempted one charge, but it didn't last long. Clearly, the muddy terrain was a major hindrance, and they retreated shortly thereafter.

This fifth day allowed the three of them to get some proper rest. As they joked and chatted in the cave, even Gray began to feel that their goal of ten or fifteen days might pass quickly. Kevin, however, was not so optimistic. The bandits might be lazy and averse to trouble, but the mastermind behind them would certainly not wait around for that long. This was merely the calm before the storm. If the bandits failed to take the position after a prolonged assault, Kevin could not rule out the possibility that the mastermind might intervene personally.

Using this rare respite, Kevin delved into his books, searching for any viable strategy, his brows furrowed for the most part. Start and Gray tried to help, but their efforts yielded little. Moreover, Kevin dared not share all his analysis with them.

Start was fine, but Gray’s mental fortitude was a gamble he couldn't afford to take. If Gray felt there was no hope and suffered a breakdown, their tactical rotation would collapse, and the three of them might as well just wait for death.

After safely passing the fifth day, Kevin noticed something wriggling on the ground while on night watch. He recognized it as one of the local magical beasts: a giant earthworm. They generally emerged briefly after a rain before retreating back underground. These beasts possessed virtually no intelligence and were considered low-tier; any creature with a shred of sense would not easily approach humans at this time.

*Swish, swish, swish!* Kevin drew his bow. As one giant earthworm poked its head out, an arrow pierced straight through it. These slimy, soft creatures had almost no defensive capability. However, they weren't easily killed; like common earthworms, they could survive being cut in two. Furthermore, they had almost no pain receptors, so injury was of little consequence to them, which was why Kevin felt comfortable shooting it.

Pinned to the ground by the arrow, the worm squirmed instinctively. Finding it difficult to move, it began to release its earth-type spell, "Local Seismic Tremor." This spell caused intense vibrations within a radius of ten to twenty meters. The tremors, however, caused no harm to the giant worm itself; its soft exterior absorbed all the shock.

Yet, all magic leaves a trace, and the spells cast by magical beasts were even more predictable than those used by humans, even if they were more powerful at the same rank. Once one memorized the gathering points of the magic, as long as the opponent was foolish enough not to adapt, breaking the spell was inevitable.

*Swish, swish, swish!* The arrows flew, infused with battle qi, and struck deep into the ground. The worm writhed for a moment, but no spell was released.

Kevin stepped forward and drew his sword, lopping off the worm's head. Even then, the creature didn't die; the lower half, still buried, quickly scurried away, leaving only the head behind, twitching and oozing disgusting mucus.

Start was startled awake behind him and scrambled up, asking, "What happened?"

"Go back to sleep," Kevin waved him off. "I just took down a low-tier beast."

"Oh. You scared me half to death in the middle of the night; I thought the bandits had come," Start sighed in relief, then asked, "Why kill these? If I remember correctly, the meat of a giant earthworm is inedible."

"Correct," Kevin replied. "There’s too much earth-elemental energy in these worms; eating them is basically eating dirt. However, the mucus they secrete is excellent fertilizer. It'll help with the gardening."

"Gardening again?" Start glanced at Gray, who was still sound asleep. "Now that Gray is asleep, tell me the truth: how long are we actually staying here?"

"Don't be nervous," Kevin laughed, digging out a translucent crystal. "Look, there’s a dark-type magic core in this worm. It's a bit small, but it can still be sold."

"Do you think I'm short of that kind of money?" Start said with disdain.

"Don't be like that. This kind of core has special properties—it turns black when exposed to sunlight." Kevin carefully wrapped up the crystal. "Once ground into powder, it has its uses."

"What uses?" Start asked blankly.

Kevin smiled. "Go to sleep. Tomorrow will be a bitter fight. Don't ask any more questions."

Start felt helpless. He hated this half-truth attitude, but there was nothing he could do; he wasn't the commanding officer.

On the sixth day, at the crack of dawn, the bandits gathered again at the foot of the hill. The ground had dried; the giant worms had spent the night burrowing, absorbing most of the moisture from the soil. There were many of them, and Kevin hadn't actually killed the one he struck.

"Charge! Kill the boss!" a shout came from below. The bandits stepped through the mist, chanting "I am the protagonist" as they charged up with swords drawn.

Kevin had rested for two days, but so had the bandits. For Kevin and his companions, it was physical rest; for the bandits, it was mental. But one thing was the same: both sides were brimming with fighting spirit.

There were no tricks or feints this time. The bandits seemed to have realized that every time they tried something clever, Kevin would kick them down the hill. Since Kevin didn't want to destroy the catapult, he couldn't use certain tactics either. So, it became a brute-force assault. Though crude, it suited the bandits' nature and taste perfectly.

Swords clashed. The traps were useless, and their fire oil was completely spent, though the bandits didn't know that and kept their spacing to avoid being burned en masse. Their arrow supply was mostly depleted. Every night, the three of them habitually retrieved the arrows they had fired, but they still couldn't stop the total count from dwindling.

Even more troublesome was that the bandits in the front line now had enchanted weapons and armor, making them significantly harder and more difficult to deal with.

Worse still, only about two hundred bandits arrived this time. Compared to the sea of people before, this group looked sparse. Gray actually thought this would be easy, but Kevin and Start both looked ashen.

This was a true war of attrition. The bandits lacked patience; even if they waited in the back for a long time, their fighting spirit would fade. The terrain advantage meant there was no point in having too many bandits at once, so they simply sent two hundred, then swapped them out.

From 8:00 to 10:00, the second wave arrived, and the first group walked down the hill on their own. In those two hours, the three of them hadn't managed to kill a single person. The enchanted armor made Kevin’s sword work exhausting, and since someone would immediately fill the gap if they killed an opponent, they shifted to a defensive stance.

Start refused to believe it, but even with his "contraband" gear, he only managed to injure two. Bandits were human, too; they were stupid, but they could learn and improve. After long, continuous fighting, some had clashed with the trio more than once. They discussed strategies and changed their approach. Progress was bilateral, never one-sided.

10:00 to 12:00. The morning passed. The second wave retreated, and the third arrived. There was no break in between, and no time for Kevin to eat lunch. They fought continuously; they couldn't even sit down.

They were thankful they had been able to rest for a moment the previous two days, but that felt purely psychological now. They encouraged each other, knowing they couldn't utter a word of defeat. They had to keep going. If the goal of holding out for ten or fifteen days felt too ethereal—too exhausting to even voice—then they would set smaller goals.

For instance, hold out until sunset! Based on experience, the bandits didn't attack at night. If they made it to sunset, the day would be over. If that was too big, then just hold out for one wave. Based on the morning, the bandits rotated every two hours. Each rotation meant they were one step closer to sunset. If even that was too big, then just hold out until they repelled every single individual.

Every time they repelled someone, they told themselves they were one step closer to success. With no other options, mental triumph was their only source of motivation.

All three persisted, rotating on time, encouraging one another. Kevin kept telling them that human potential was terrifying, spinning tales of people who had hung from cliffs for days and nights to save their girlfriends, insisting these stories were true. He encouraged them by saying, "If they could do it, so can we."

Three swords broke; over a dozen shields were shattered. They were lucky to have scavenged equipment from the corpses earlier to use as replacements. Even Start’s "contraband" armor began to give way, pieces breaking off one by one. No matter how high-end the gear, it couldn't withstand this kind of relentless hacking and smashing.

Kevin coughed twice, his hand coming away with blood. It was a lingering injury from a high-level Smitha warrior—it had healed, but under such extreme exhaustion, the old wound began to flare up.

Kevin said nothing, wiping the blood on his clothes and continuing the fight. He didn't think about the old wound; he just told himself his potential was limitless.

12:00 to 2:00. The fourth wave arrived as the third began to retreat. During the swap, they had a few minutes to catch their breath, chew on some meat, and drink a sip of water.

"This is the fourth wave, the last one! Keep going, everyone!" Kevin said. No one could be sure it was the last, but they chose to believe it.

"Here's a little trick," Kevin advised. "When you can't take it anymore, switch hands for your sword and shield. Left hand for the sword, right for the shield. Change your posture, change your mood. The more stances you have... the prouder you can be."

Start and Gray twitched their lips, taking a few extra breaths—that was their version of a smile. In reality, switching to a non-dominant hand in combat was fatal, but what else could they do?

Start added his own encouragement: "Think about it, if we can last three waves with one stance, we can last at least three more by switching." Even though he didn't believe it himself, the effect was palpable.

"Right!" Gray chimed in. "Look, three waves passed in a blink. This last one will be over just as quickly."

"Charge! Kill the boss!" the bandits roared as they arrived.

Collisions, swings, blocks—that was all there was. Blood, sweat, and mud were indistinguishable. Their arms were almost limp; they had to use both hands to lift a shield, even using their waist to prop it up. It took their entire body to block a single strike.

Since the day they were born, they had never faced anything this grueling, regardless of the training or harsh environments they had endured. They didn't know how they had lasted this long, nor how much longer they could hold on; they only knew they had to. Gray, who should have been the weakest, was now on equal footing with the rest.

Kevin sometimes had to wonder: if Gray was fighting, how could he be any weaker? He didn't know what Gray was thinking, but Kevin had to admit that Gray had matured. He was no longer the cowardly youth who had intentionally broken his own foot to avoid conscription.

Though his strength was lower, he had fought from start to finish, killing enemies without retreating a single step. Perhaps combat had transformed him, or perhaps Kevin and Start’s influence had taken root. Regardless, Kevin was gratified; Gray was now tough enough to be a critical link in their defense.

4:00 PM. The fifth wave arrived. The fourth hadn't been the last! A moment of despair washed over the three of them; their minds went blank, struggling to accept the fact. Though, in reality, it was perfectly normal.

"What are you afraid of?" Kevin reacted first, shouting with a dry throat. "We'll switch hands again and last another three waves!"

"Heh," a bandit sneered. "They're calling us back for dinner. Who wants to keep fighting you lot?"

The three of them: "..."

"Listen here, kid, we'll come back to play with you tomorrow. We'll play you to death! Hahaha!" The bandit waved his hand, laughing as he walked away.

Kevin instantly burst into tears. It wasn't sadness—it was joy! The first time in his life he had been cursed at and felt so happy that he cried.

Several bandits saw this and jeered loudly: "Idiots." "Brain-dead," and so on.

As they watched the bandits leave, the three of them felt a wave of dizziness, their vision blurred, and they collapsed to the ground simultaneously, unable to recover for a long time. Looking back, they couldn't even remember how they had endured those four waves. It was as if, during the battle, they had lost the ability to think and even their memories.

Whether their survival was due to a burst of potential, the triumph of willpower over the limits of the body, or a miracle, they didn't know. They only knew...

"We got 'run' over," Kevin joked.

Start and Gray just wobbled on the ground, seemingly lacking even the strength to laugh.