Chapter 139: Even a Fallen Tiger Is Bullied by Dogs

The battle situation unfolded almost exactly as Kevin had predicted. The only minor discrepancy was that Kevin had expected the staff officer to suffer a crushing defeat at worst, yet the man could not even manage to return, ending up with the entire force captured. Before departing, the staff officer had sworn a grandiose oath, boasting that should he fail this time, he would gladly present his own head. He certainly fulfilled that promise much sooner than anticipated.

Only, the head presented belonged to the commander of the First Vanguard, the General’s eldest son. Among all the General's offspring, he possessed the greatest strength and held the highest rank, entrusted with immense responsibility. What a pity.

In truth, the mechanics of this battle were unexpectedly simple. The mastermind, General Bradley, had procured a large quantity of Drunken Fragrance Wood. This type of tree was exceedingly rare across the entire continent, native only to a few isolated regions within the Elven domains. Its sap flowed as fine wine and served as a delicacy offered by the elves to esteemed foreign guests.

However, when burned, the smoke produced by Drunken Fragrance Wood possessed potent hallucinogenic properties. Once inhaled, individuals would experience weakness in their limbs and an overwhelming wave of drowsiness. Yet, its effects were not instantaneous; a normal person sensing the slightest abnormality could simply hold their breath or retreat outside the smoke's radius to remain completely unharmed.

Conversely, failing to react and wandering about within it, inhaling the fumes for a day or two, would precipitate rather severe consequences. The odor resembled ordinary firewood smoke. Initially, victims might feel a slight dizziness, but during the daytime when excitement ran high, or for those endowed with formidable physical strength, the sensation was virtually imperceptible.

Leading his men in circles through the hilly terrain of Caludia, the staff officer had learned from his previous lesson and refrained from dividing his forces to search, heading straight instead for the hill where Kevin had made his desperate last stand. His reasoning was sound: since bandits had frequented that area most heavily and most recently, it was the most likely spot to yield clues.

Upon arrival, however, all he found were scattered piles of "firewood." Lacking in erudition, the staff officer had no inkling of Drunken Fragrance Wood or anything of the sort. Moreover, having just been there recently, he failed to realize any hazard in the smoke. He simply wandered back and forth, inhaling toxins for an entire day.

Not a soul detected any abnormalities that day, as they were, after all, elite troops. They merely noticed that during the evening shift change, waking the incoming sentries proved exceptionally difficult, though they thought nothing of it. Assuming the men were simply fatigued from the daytime march and unaccustomed to prolonged campaigning, such heavy slumber seemed perfectly normal.

Consequently, upon waking the following day, the group immediately discovered another fresh patch of burn sites. The entire squad dashed off to investigate, wandering about and inhaling more toxins for yet another day.

By late afternoon, the physically weaker members were already yawning continuously, yet still no one attached any significance to it. Those yawning merely rubbed their faces and pressed on with the search. The horses showed signs of listlessness too, but a couple of lashes with a whip easily spurred them back to alertness.

On the second night, General Bradley positioned himself upwind and ramped up the burning volume. He smothered the fires with earth to generate dense plumes of smoke without visible flames or noise. Having continuously inhaled the poison for two days, the officers and soldiers finally reached their breaking point. Several sentries collapsed and fell asleep first, while those already asleep plunged into an even deeper slumber.

Regardless of being a so-called seventh-tier powerhouse, one was still human. No matter how rigorously trained one's constitution or how developed one's muscles, without active defense, skin remained soft and muscles relaxed. A person's true might could only manifest when shielded by battle aura. Even beastmen, despite their thick hides and tough flesh, possessed fatal weaknesses; they could not possibly forge their entire bodies into solid iron, or else every step they took would emit a metallic clanking sound.

Out of deference to seventh-tier experts, the bandits waited until the dead of night before taking action. During the assault, they deliberately burned even greater quantities of Drunken Fragrance Wood around the staff officer and his men, plunging them into a state of blissful oblivion. It was the classic metaphor of boiling a frog in tepid water—by the time they realized the danger, it was far too late. The staff officer remained entirely oblivious.

The bandits had initially been scared out of their wits, but precisely as Kevin had asserted, anyone gullible enough to be duped by Kevin could readily be duped once more. The mastermind's advantage lay in having ample time. They possessed the patience to converse at length, exposing Kevin's deceptions while reiterating that they were the protagonists.

While the bandits' conviction returned, a trace of lingering suspicion remained in the hearts of a few. Some began to grow fearful of death and skeptical of the otherworldly reincarnation theory. Fortunately, the vast majority remained sufficiently foolish, and the foolish still constituted the majority.

Originally reluctant to launch a nighttime raid, they yielded to General Bradley's persuasion. The subsequent resounding success vastly boosted their confidence and filled them with elation.

Following the capture of all enemy forces, General Bradley deemed the prisoners valuable leverage, suggesting they be used to negotiate with the regular army. Since bandits lacked aptitude for negotiation, Bradley proposed they simply play games with the captives for three days first. Thus, a three-day deadline was established.

To heighten the psychological impact, they severed the head of the First Vanguard commander, placed it inside a box, discarded it outside with an attached letter, and kept the staff officer. Unaware of the commander's exact background, they only knew he appeared to be the second-in-command. Figuring it unwise to go too far by killing the ultimate leader, they spared the staff officer and executed the second-in-command, only to discover he was the General's eldest son.

Inside the cave, the staff officer's eyes were bloodshot, his body completely stripped and bound to a sturdy wooden frame. Initially, he channeled his protective battle aura, causing the swarming horde of gay bandits to be repeatedly pushed back. A seventh-tier expert, after all, possessed genuine competence.

Yet for the staff officer, now reduced to a captive, these measures merely bought a little time. The bandits simply procured another pile of Drunken Fragrance Wood and burned it right beneath his nose. Catching sight of the wood, the staff officer finally understood the reason for his defeat, but realization came too late.

He attempted to hold his breath and use his battle aura to dispel the smoke, but these efforts proved entirely futile. Dragging on until late into the night, the staff officer finally could endure no longer, his head dropping as he lost consciousness.

To the staff officer, closing and opening his eyes felt like a mere blink before he woke once more. He vividly perceived an indescribable sensation in his nether regions. He had no idea how long he had slept, but he had clearly undergone an unspeakable ordeal.

A supreme humiliation! An absolute humiliation! Blood rushing to his head, a surge of overwhelming emotions prompted him to unleash a piercing roar: "Aaaaaahhhhh..."

Echoes reverberated throughout the cave, causing the bandits to cover their ears in discomfort.

The bandits marveled, "He truly is an expert, keeping such high spirits after being smoked with Drunken Fragrance Wood for so long." "As expected, only a robust man can arouse us." "Hey, are you willing to cooperate with us?"...

Gritting his teeth, the staff officer cycled through a myriad of profanities, only to find none sufficiently fitting due to their sheer abundance.

"Staff Officer," sighed another Thunder Knight captive from a corner, "let it go. Let's conserve our energy. Sigh!"

Straining his neck desperately, the staff officer failed to spot where they were located and could only ask, "Are you all holding up?"

"Staff Officer," the Thunder Knight prisoners chimed in, their morale utterly shattered, "we... we..." Some found themselves unable to go on.

Others fretted over survival: "Staff Officer, will we still be rescued?"

One fortunate soul chimed in, "I'm doing a bit better. They thought I wasn't sturdy enough, so nobody bothered with me."

Another wept tears of despair: "My life is ruined... I'm... I'm... I'm no longer a virgin..."

The staff officer: "..."

The prisoners continued, "Actually, the one who suffered most among us is you, Staff Officer." "Indeed, how are you holding up, Staff Officer?" "Stay strong, Staff Officer, you must endure!" "Right, you are our pillar! Our commander is dead, and now we must rely solely on you!"

"Do not panic, everyone!" the staff officer declared. "We must hold out! One day, we will slaughter every last one of these perverted scum!"

At these words, the bandits instantly took offense: "Who are you calling perverted scum? What gives you the right to discriminate against us? What is wrong with loving men?"

"You are vile scum! You don't deserve to walk this earth!" the staff officer roared in fury. "A cesspit is your rightful home!"

"Fack!" the bandit leader slammed the table and rose. "Give it to him again!"

The assembly of men once more rolled up their sleeves and shed their trousers. The staff officer angrily ignited his battle aura, shoving his assailants away. However, protective battle aura served merely as a defense; injuring anyone remained beyond his capability. Moreover, after repeated torment, he distinctly felt his battle aura weakening noticeably.

Witnessing this, the bandit leader beamed with delight. "Wear him down! Let's see how long he can hold out! When we do it, we want him conscious, not asleep!" "His battle aura is unevenly distributed, everyone search for the weak spots." "Oh, he's gathered a massive amount of aura near his backside and very little around his head—quick, kiss him hard!"...

The remaining prisoners grew exceptionally agitated as well: "Hang in there, Staff Officer!" "Do not yield, Staff Officer!" "You are our pillar, Staff Officer!"...

The staff officer: "Aaaaaahhhhh..."

Meanwhile, back in the main military tent, the oppressive atmosphere persisted. General Ould seemed yet unable to emerge from the shadow of his son's death, and no one dared speak. After a long silence, Count Gulaide finally broke the tension: "My condolences, General. Perhaps we should inspect the head first?"

Seeming to snap back to reality, General Ould rose stiffly and announced, "Assemble the troops! I shall lead the expedition in person!"

Inwardly, Kevin felt a wave of contempt, though his expression remained neutral and he uttered not a word. After all, the General was currently consumed by rage.

"Wait!" interrupted General Blight, voicing what everyone present secretly dared to think. "General, how do you propose to rescue the two hundred elite soldiers of the First Vanguard?"

With a frigid expression, General Ould replied, "Our army has never yielded to any threats. They are soldiers by trade; dying on the battlefield is nothing out of the ordinary! I shall honor their spirits and posthumously bestow upon them the title of heroes!"

A sudden chill swept through Kevin. He realized then that in General Ould's eyes, common soldiers were truly akin to ants. The General cared nothing for the lives of those two hundred elite troops; his sole motivation was avenging his son. Of course, blinding fury often drove people to reckless actions, not to mention whether those soldiers were even still alive remained questionable.

Yet Kevin, powerless as he was, still yearned for powerful figures to make a genuine effort to save lives—regardless of success or failure, even if merely for show, it provided a greater sense of reassurance to the vulnerable.

"How about this," General Blight changed his tone, pulling Kevin forward, "this young man has clashed with the bandits multiple times and possesses rich experience. Why not consult his opinion first?"

Instantly, all eyes converged upon Kevin. His face darkened; he had intended to remain invisible, yet they refused to leave him be.

After a brief, brooding silence, General Ould seated himself, resting a hand on his sword hilt as he stared at Kevin: "Speak then. What brilliant ideas do you have?"

Judging by the General's menacing aura, uttering a single wrong word would likely invite a sword slash on the spot. A bereaved Sword Saint in the throes of rage was exceptionally dangerous. To be frank, if General Ould decided to execute a lowly junior officer, the two neighboring Sword Saints might not even bother to intervene.

How should he respond? Propose an immediate troop deployment to avenge the First Vanguard commander? From Kevin's personal perspective, that genuinely seemed like the optimal answer. Yet for reasons unknown, though Kevin parted his lips twice, he found himself unable to voice the words.

"Speak!" General Ould snapped, his patience wearing thin.

"Sigh!" Kevin let out a long sigh. Pretending to be someone else was far too exhausting; he might as well just be himself. "General, as I've stated before, the terrain of the Caludia Hills is intricate, requiring veteran earth-mage support."

"With my strength, a single sword stroke can cleave a mountain—what use do I have for an earth mage?" General Ould sneered.

"In that case, I have nothing more to say," Kevin retreated a step.

"Wait!" General Blight refused to let him step down, dragging him forward once more. "You have something to say, you certainly do. Go on, continue. There's no harm in speaking."

Bolstered by that assurance of safety, Kevin steadied his nerves slightly before casting an inquiring glance at General Ould. The General remained silent, a gesture taken as tacit approval.

"General," Kevin said in an even tone, "I am deeply grieved by the commander's death, and I too wish to see him avenged."

At these words, Start gave Kevin a sidelong glance, his expression broadcasting a clear message: *Hypocrite!*

Ignoring him, Kevin pressed on. "However, we must ascertain who actually killed the commander. Was it the bandits? No! The bandits are merely a blade; we ought to target the hand wielding the knife—the mastermind! If we fail to unearth the mastermind, what good is it even if we level the bandits?"

Silence descended upon the tent as everyone began listening intently.

"This upcoming meeting in three days is actually pivotal. Given the bandits' low intelligence, negotiation is beyond them; thus, this talk will likely serve as a direct confrontation with the mastermind. To let slip such a crucial opportunity would be an absolute tragedy." Having delivered his speech, Kevin retreated to the sidelines.

After another prolonged silence, General Ould finally released his grip on his sword. "Well spoken, that makes sense. Whom shall we dispatch to negotiate?"

"We should send someone wise yet lacking in martial prowess." Everyone looked at Kevin once more, but to their surprise, he shifted his stance. "However, that person absolutely cannot be me."

"Why not?" General Ould demanded.

"Because the note explicitly stipulates that powerhouses like Sword Saints must not attend. Although I am weak, the purple battle aura I displayed before the bandits makes them view me as a 'Sword Saint'—even a terrifying 'Ultraviolet Sword Saint,'" Kevin explained with a helpless shrug. "Therefore, I cannot go."

The assembly: "..."

Kevin had his limits as well. *What a joke,* he thought. *I told you all to deploy troops for a rescue, but nobody listened. Now that disaster has struck, you expect me to clean up the mess? I just barely crawled out of hell; why would I willingly leap back in two days later? Who can guarantee victory with mere rhetoric? Can an entire military camp seriously fail to produce a single silver-tongued orator? Whoever wants to go can go.*

"Start!" General Ould logically shifted his gaze to the other target.

"Me?" Start trembled violently, utterly astounded that the lot had fallen upon him.

"Do you have any excuses?" the General asked.

Head lowered, hands fumbling helplessly, Start's brain raced to conjure a reasonable excuse, but none surfaced. He could only reply, "I am ready to fulfill the mission," casting a resentful glare at Kevin in the process.

A pang of guilt struck Kevin; he had never imagined that a simple push on his part would result in Start bearing the burden. *(To be continued.)*