Chapter 132: The Brutal Seventh Day

After a brief rest, the three of them began to eat donkey meat, drink water, and recuperate. Gray pondered for a long time before asking, "Will it rain tomorrow?"

Kevin remained silent for a moment, ultimately shaking his head. In an instant, the atmosphere inside the cave grew heavily oppressive. Though unspoken, everyone understood in their hearts that going on like this meant they would break sooner or later, no matter how far they pushed their limits or how resilient their willpower—after all, humans were only human.

Never before had they felt death so intensely close. In the heat of frantic combat, there was no time for excessive thought; what they feared instead was the quiet reflection after the battle, and what was even more terrifying was knowing that this exact same fight would continue tomorrow.

Beyond that, the mastermind behind the scenes was clearly growing increasingly impatient. From enchanting weapons to enchanting both weapons and armor, the level of intervention was escalating step by step. Given that he could effortlessly polymorph a large group of bandits into sheep, he still had plenty of hidden cards up his sleeve. This could not continue! They had to break the deadlock! They had to shatter this predicament!

"You two sleep tonight," Kevin said. "The parrot and I will take watch."

"This..." Both Start and Gray were extremely surprised. "How can just two of you handle the watch?"

Kevin gave a dry chuckle. "Actually, the parrot will do most of the watching, and I'll just take care of a few minor things. Once I'm done, I'll sleep too."

"You aren't going to farm, are you?" Start joked.

Kevin merely shook his head. "Get some sleep first. I have work to do."

Start and Gray did not stand on ceremony; they lay down and fell asleep instantly. The fighting had been so exhausting that they could have fallen asleep standing up, let alone lying down. The parrot flew over to Kevin's side. "Sir, you should go get some sleep too. I had nothing to do during the day; I can take the watch alone."

Kevin turned his head and gently stroked her head. "I still have work to finish. Go rest first, and I'll call you when it's time."

"Yes, sir." The parrot was utterly obedient and immediately flew off to a corner to rest.

Left entirely alone and battling extreme exhaustion, Kevin worked for another two hours. After repeatedly checking to ensure everything was flawless, he finally woke the parrot.

"Sir." The parrot immediately flew onto Kevin's shoulder.

Kevin slumped onto the ground, speaking in a low voice. "Your mission tomorrow will be absolutely crucial. You could say that breaking this deadlock depends entirely on you."

The parrot stood at rigid attention, listening intently.

"The truly terrifying opponent in this battle is lurking behind the scenes. Yet even though he stays hidden, I am not without a way to find him," Kevin's voice was exceedingly weak. "There is another hill directly adjacent to ours, situated quite close by. It is the perfect vantage point to observe the battle. Although the mastermind seems to have familiars like owls, direct visual observation with one's own eyes is ultimately the most convenient and swift method."

"There is thick fog here year-round, obscuring everything, but there is a three-hour window at noon when the fog clears," Kevin massaged his temples. "The mastermind will inevitably be over there watching the battle. Aside from us, there are no other enemies in this area, and he probably has nothing else to do."

"My catapult possesses the capability to snipe commanders from a distance. Just now, I pulled out the anchor pins of the catapult and secured them with a slipknot tied to a rope. When the time comes, we only need to pull the slipknot, and the catapult will slide out of the cave. I will operate the catapult, and you must seize the stone projectile to fine-tune its trajectory in mid-air, ensuring a direct hit on the target! We must eliminate him!"

"The timing will be either shortly before noon or two hours before dusk. The three-hour fog dissipation at noon offers the best visibility, but we cannot launch the attack then—it would be far too obvious, and since the opponent is a master, he would easily dodge it. Yet during dense fog, we cannot be certain whether he is even there; if he is absent, our plan would be exposed for nothing. Therefore, only two timeframes are truly optimal: the very instant before the thick fog clears, and the very instant the thick fog begins to rise." Despite his overwhelming exhaustion, Kevin forced himself to explain thoroughly.

The parrot asked, "Should I go ambush him in a tree over there first? As a small bird, it's very easy for me to lie in wait."

Kevin shook his head. "He used an owl to track you before, so he is on guard against you. High-tier mages can use spiritual perception to scan their surroundings, and you won't be able to slip past undetected. We can only rely on my estimation of his timing."

"The latter timeframe is the absolute best. After watching the battle for three hours, he will likely be bored and relatively complacent. However, this also depends on whether we can hold out until then; we'll have to play it by ear," Kevin sighed. "Even in the thick of the fog, dragging out the entire catapult will create a huge commotion that he will inevitably notice. We'll need to create a diversion to draw his attention, and I will handle that. You can rest easy."

"One thing is certain: we only get one chance. If you miss, the mastermind will retaliate against us with even greater madness, and you might not make it back. Taking a step back, even if he doesn't retaliate, my catapult relies on a donkey turning the windlass to raise the counterweight—and we've already eaten the donkey. So there is only one shot." Having said all this, Kevin closed his eyes to rest for a moment.

"Yes, sir. Mission guaranteed," the parrot replied solemnly.

Kevin opened his eyes with a hint of surprise. Unable to read the parrot's expression, he could only sense her profound seriousness. "Are you afraid of death?" Kevin could not help asking.

"I am not afraid of death!" the parrot answered. "We are strictly trained military birds. Obedience to orders is our supreme command. We do not fear sacrifice, and perishing on the battlefield is our greatest glory. I—"

The parrot cut herself off, suddenly realizing that Kevin had already fallen asleep. Refusing to disturb her commanding officer, she quietly slipped to the mouth of the cave and resumed her earnest watch.

In the early morning hours, Kevin and the two men woke up with absolute punctuality; no matter how grueling or exhausting things were, it had become second nature. As they scrambled to their feet, waves of soreness wracked their entire bodies. Kevin felt a dull ache begin to blossom in his chest, inevitably bringing with it the sense that his days were numbered.

"I feel like my hands can't hold anything anymore," Gray muttered, attempting to grasp his sword. Yet after two tries, his hand trembled, and the weapon slipped from his grip onto the floor.

"Tie the sword to your hand," Kevin replied, "and pick a relatively new one." As he spoke, he fetched a strip of cloth. Lacking the strength in his limbs, he had to use his teeth to help tie the band, a simple task that proved agonizingly difficult.

"Do we... need to write farewell letters?" Gray hesitated for a long time before finally posing the question.

"No," Kevin smiled faintly. "Because even if we write them, they can't be delivered. Writing them would be a waste of effort."

"Sigh!" Gray sighed heavily.

"Today's tactics will differ from yesterday's," Kevin began, repeating the instructions he had given the parrot the previous day, though he added a few final details. "After the catapult fires, little sister, regardless of whether you succeed or fail, fly immediately out of the hilly region. Bringing back reinforcements depends entirely on you."

"Yes, sir!" The parrot brought her wing up in a crisp salute.

Below the hill, the clamor arose once more. The seventh day, and the twelfth assault, had begun! Sporting the exact same configuration and identical enchantment techniques as the day before, the bandits had also grown increasingly experienced through repeated combat, making them progressively more troublesome to deal with.

Meanwhile, Robs had traveled alone to the summit of the adjacent hill, which truly was the ideal observation post. Thick fog still blanketed the area, though vague silhouettes were faintly visible. The sounds of battle, shouted insults, and words of mutual encouragement among Kevin's group drifted over continuously. From time to time, snatches of inspirational chicken soup stories could be heard—such as the tale of a woman who, fighting for survival, clung desperately to her boyfriend's hand as they hung from a cliff for days and nights. The storyteller would draw parallels, arguing that if even that woman could endure, they were undoubtedly stronger.

Robs smiled. He naturally remembered that this exact same story seemed to have a completely different version yesterday. Was this battlefield humor? Or an attitude of treating life and death with utter nonchalance? Or perhaps simply a habitual wisecrack? Optimists of this sort were exceedingly rare, but unfortunately, they were doomed to die sooner or later.

In truth, if Robs had been allowed to direct things his own way, he could have crushed them yesterday. Why not simply rotate the troops? After the fourth batch finished their rotation, cycle back to the first batch and repeat the process endlessly. With just their red battle aura, those three men would have been finished by the previous night.

Unfortunately, the bandits were truly a hopeless lot when it came to discipline. The first batch flat out refused to go back in, offering various excuses alongside the argument that the targets couldn't escape anyway, while tossing out narrative tropes to refute him. Didn't protagonists always overcome any boss? Now they had a boss serving as a free sparring partner—how wonderful was that? Normally, you couldn't find bosses this strong, and so on.

When it all came down to it, the bandits were simply lazy. Lacking true discipline to begin with, the vast majority were drawn from the dregs of society. Once they accepted the protagonist setup, while they certainly became fearless in the face of death, they simultaneously grew arrogant and insufferably self-important. After all, virtually all protagonists were utterly arrogant and invincible under heaven. Consequently, they had no intention of readily listening to Robs's suggestions unless good rewards could be exchanged.

With a wave of his hand, Robs summoned a rocking chair from his spatial ring. Stretching lazily, he settled into the chair and rocked gently back and forth, pulling out a book titled *How to Get Along with Ace Pen*. Robs thoroughly enjoyed reading, believing books to be the fountainhead of wisdom, though he was not indiscriminate about what he read. It was simply that lately, having to deal with a bunch of idiots, he was forced to study some rather practical materials.

Rocking back and forth in the chair while listening to the distant cries of battle, casting an occasional casual glance at the scene, he looked remarkably leisurely. Time always flew exceptionally fast when reading; before he knew it, two hours had passed. Robs had no choice but to close his book, immediately use earth-burrowing magic to return, and apply enchantments to the second batch of bandits.

Once finished, he returned to the hill to resume his reading. Another two hours slipped by in the blink of an eye. The morning had passed, and the dense fog was gradually dissipating.

Robs moved his rocking chair behind a tree, stood up, and gazed into the distance from his concealed vantage point. The situation over there was still remarkably similar to yesterday's. Even Robs felt a flicker of surprise at this point, suddenly curious to know just how much longer those three could hold out. It might actually make for a decent experiment in studying human limits; recording the data might prove useful later.

He used earth-burrowing magic to return once more, enchanted the third batch of bandits, and upon finishing his chores, settled back into his rocking chair. Come to think of it, he was quite a busy man. After finishing one book, Robs pulled out a sequel, *How to Get Along with Ace Pen (Part 2)*. Kevin and his companions had no new tricks up their sleeves, so there wasn't much worth watching anyway. Noon had arrived, so he casually pulled out a piece of bread, munching on it while reading with great relish.

Gradually, the moisture in the air began to thicken, turning the fog heavy once more. The sound of mutual encouragement from Kevin's side had long since ceased; clearly, their condition had deteriorated to the point where they might collapse at any second. Once they fell, the five-wheel catapult would naturally fall into his hands. At that point, the bandits would inevitably demand exchanges—what sort of items should he give them? Robs had never given the bandits a definitive answer, and he found himself drifting into this thought, momentarily lost in distraction.

Suddenly, a miserable scream pierced the air from across the way. Everyone was instantly jolted awake; that voice sounded like Start's! Had they finally broken through?

Robs immediately took two steps forward, narrowing his eyes as he stared intently across the gap. To his astonishment, the entire catapult had been dragged out into the open, and the bandits nearby were cheering wildly in a chaotic uproar. The catapult seemed to quiver slightly—it was hard to make out clearly in the fog, but they must have won! Robs clenched his fist; after directing things from behind the scenes for so long, this chapter was finally coming to a close.

Suddenly! A black shadow flashed before his eyes. Without warning, a stone projectile had already arrived right in front of him. This kind of pure physical attack, devoid of battle aura or magical fluctuations, was precisely the hardest kind to perceive. Otherwise, during military exercises, numerous commanders wouldn't have been repeatedly bludgeoned by the crow's slippers.

The whistling wind of the hurtling stone was entirely masked by the cheering of the bandits across the way, and aided by the cover of the dense fog, by the time it was discovered, the projectile was already upon him. Robs was practically in a state of complete unpreparedness, yet as an eighth-tier mage, he remained unflustered in the face of crisis, shifting his stance to dodge to the side. At such close range, high-tier defensive spells were too slow to cast, and low-tier defensive spells would still leave him injured if they blocked it; dodging was the most appropriate and instinctual reaction.

To his utter shock, however, the stone projectile curved in mid-air, relentlessly pursuing him even at this microscopic distance. Terror gripped Robs. He hurriedly tried to raise an earth-elemental shield, but he was a split second too slow. Forced to rely solely on his bare hands for parrying while simultaneously hardening his arms with earth magic, he felt a searing pain rip through both arms the very next instant. Hearing two sharp cracks, he realized both his wrists were broken. The stone projectile, its momentum unabatated, slammed directly into his chest. Robs coughed up a mouthful of blood and tumbled head over heels down the slope of the hill.

In that fleeting fraction of a second, a torrent of emotions washed over Robs: shock, astonishment, remorse, and even a sliver of admiration. He had grown careless, yet his opponent had managed to calculate his exact position. Cornered in such a desperate plight, they had still managed to pull off this kind of counterattack and inflict severe injuries upon him. What manner of person could possibly achieve such a feat? The stone projectile's trajectory could be fine-fitted by the parrot—a piece of intelligence they had entirely lacked. The parrot had concealed herself directly behind the stone, preventing detection until the very last moment.

Yet! When Kevin received the parrot's report and learned that he had only gravely wounded the mastermind rather than killing him on the spot, his face turned ashen. The operation had failed!

Failing to crush this mastermind with a single blow, leaving him merely wounded, was far from enough! But at this point, recriminations were useless. Kevin urgently shouted his final command to the parrot: "Quick! Fly outward! Hurry!"

"Two owls are closing in from both flanks," the parrot's reply carried a shiver of terror.

Kevin's heart turned cold, yet he still clung to a shred of hope: "Fly low! Thread through the tree canopy—you might be able to shake them!"

"Sir... farewell..." The parrot transmitted her final message, and instantly, the contract snapped, severing the bond as though Kevin had never forged it at all.

The parrot was dead! There was no other possibility.

Kevin stood frozen, his eyes instantly stinging with moisture. Although his time with big sister parrot had been brief and she was merely a green recruit, she had been utterly dedicated to her duty and never once made a mistake. Yesterday's words echoed in his ears: "I am not afraid of death..." With Kevin's life experience, it was easy to see that she was a military bird indoctrinated and brainwashed from youth. She was still so young; unlike humans, parrots were practically forced into military service the moment they could speak, whereas humans at least reached adulthood first. It was a tragedy, yet worthy of the utmost respect—she had become a hero.

Yet on the battlefield, even the luxury of mourning was forbidden. The bandits' blades showed no mercy, forcing Kevin to pull himself together and re-engage the enemy, shouting aloud as he forced a smile, "The parrot got away! We'll be rescued soon!"

What immense pressure must a battlefield commander bear? Kevin felt it acutely now. Heavy as a mountain, suffocating him until he could barely breathe—big sister parrot had fought according to his plan, and regardless of the circumstances, as her commander, he bore full responsibility for her death; the blame was inescapable. Yet he had to force a smile, because two other lives remained in his hands. He had to lead them out alive.

For a split second, Kevin found himself missing that crow. If it were him, he probably could have handled this situation much better. At the very least, it felt like the crow could have soloed two owls. Unfortunately...

In that same instant, Kevin's thoughts drifted back to his father. In his final moments, his father had told a rather unfunny joke and advised Kevin that even on the brink of death, one must persist in telling jokes. Recalling it now, a tempest of emotions churned within him. Perhaps he, too, was nearing the time to tell a joke?

At two o'clock in the afternoon, the third batch of bandits retreated on schedule, but the fourth batch failed to appear. They waited for the mage to apply enchantments, but after waiting for a long time, no one came. This brought a sliver of comfort to Kevin's numbed, battle-fatigued soul: they had survived yet another day.

Guided by the owls, the bandits finally discovered the heavily wounded Robs at the edge of the hill.

Covered in a mixture of mud and blood, Robs had entirely lost the elegance befitting a mage. A crowd of bandits ran over in shock: "Big Brother Urinal? Big Brother Urinal, what happened to you?"

Robs managed to squeeze out a bitter smile. "I... got played." (To be continued.)