Chapter 145: Negotiations (Part Three)

Bandits are foolish, but their folly mainly stems from ignorance—they are easily deceived, and once deceived, they become stubbornly fixated, yet they are not mentally deficient. Even animals deliberately avoid those that have previously defeated them; all the more so humans. If the first crushing defeat of the Third Battalion of the Lightning Knights instilled boundless confidence in the bandits, marking their moment of “protagonist’s aura,” then the prolonged struggle against Kevin was the slow erosion of that confidence, until it dawned on them sharply: the “protagonist’s aura” was on the other side.

Those who have once collapsed can perhaps rebuild their confidence, but when faced again with the very person who caused their breakdown, the psychological pressure is far greater than imagined.

The bandits began to reflect. Among them were a few with some intelligence, and although they held to their own logic, their reasoning now failed to explain anything. Because that logic was fundamentally flawed—any slight thought revealed glaring holes.

Exactly! Perhaps Kevin’s feats were just special effects. But does that mean he is not the “protagonist”? Or was it merely special effects when he performed as the protagonist? Could it be that he actually employed some secret “pot technique”? Had they not fled swiftly, they might all have perished.

Some things the bandits dared not voice aloud, for the “protagonist theory” was their very foundation. Yet suspicion inevitably lingered in their hearts. They resolved mentally not to make the first move, not to provoke the “protagonist.” Every story reflects a fundamental law: those who oppose the protagonist may revel briefly, but their endings are invariably tragic.

When Stuart arrived, no one was nervous; to them, he was just a minor character. But when the protagonist himself appeared, the bandits inexplicably shrank back in fear—even their leader visibly treated it as facing a formidable enemy. To be honest, as the leader, he was among the most intelligent and had long harbored doubts about the “protagonist theory,” though he kept silent.

“Want to know why you’re about to die?” Despite being bound to a cross, Kevin laughed lightly. “I can list three reasons. First, understand this: in the general’s eyes, none of our lives mean a thing. To the strong, the weak are mere ants. You’ve read enough to grasp this, haven’t you?”

The bandits fell silent, tacitly acknowledging the truth.

“So here’s the logic: you ants threaten one another with each other’s lives to intimidate a person. Don’t you find that absurd?” Kevin replied.

As the bandits hesitated, a voice suddenly sounded, trying to steer the conversation back: “What exactly are you here for? You said you brought the general’s document. Show it, and then be silent.”

Kevin looked around but found no source. The cave’s ceiling was dim, details obscured; the voice echoed from above, distorted by the cavern’s shape.

But Kevin was prepared. Calmly, he asked, “Who are you?”

The bandit leader answered for him: “That’s our Urn Mage.”

“Urn Mage?” Kevin sneered. “Why hide your face? Are you ugly? You can wear a mask.”

“Hmph!” The bandit leader scoffed. “You don’t deserve to meet the Urn Mage.”

“Hmph! So the Urn Mage is more honored than the bandit leader? The leader meets with us, but the Urn Mage won’t show? Which one is really in charge?” Kevin shot back.

The voice retorted sharply: “Stop stirring trouble. Show the general’s document and be silent!”

“Ridiculous!” Kevin raised his head. “Who’s the boss here? Why does someone who won’t even show his face give me orders?”

“Cough, cough,” the bandit leader coughed dryly. “First, you—”

“Wait!” Kevin cut him off harshly. “Urn Mage! You’re the one I nearly crushed last time with a catapult stone, right? Everyone knows you! Come out! Why hide?”

The voice rose in volume: “Shut up! What are you doing? Such an insolent person—why don’t you beat him up first?”

“Why don’t you come deal with me yourself?” Kevin shouted louder. “Come and handle me! Why don’t you take action?”

Stuart immediately chimed in: “Yeah! When I first came, you tried to drag me out to be slaughtered. If you’re so eager to kill us, why not do it yourself? Come kill me!”

“Come on! Come on!” “Do it! Do it!” The two shouted alternately at the cave’s ceiling, their echoes silencing it. The bandits glanced nervously around, helpless. Somehow, the captive’s spirit seemed stronger than the cave’s masters.

Ultimately, Kevin had calculated that the mastermind had long departed, leaving only a transmission device in the cave’s ceiling. Such direct provocation is mere clowning to the wise, but to bandits it exudes dominance. Success in debate often hinges on the audience, and when the audience is simple-minded, blunt force or volume suffices.

After several roars, Kevin shifted tone, returning to the earlier topic: “I mentioned the first point. Now, the second: you want to integrate into society? How likely do you think that is?”

The bandit leader replied confidently, “That’s easy.”

“Easy?” Kevin was surprised. “Weren’t you bandits because society rejected you? How can it suddenly be easy now?”

The leader paused, then said, “It’s different now. We have the Urn Mage, so it’s easier.”

“Urn Mage?” Kevin laughed, seeing through the ruse. “The Urn Mage ran off long ago—what’s left here is just a transmitter!”

“You lie!” The bandit leader stood angrily.

“Don’t believe me?” Kevin chuckled. “Call him out! Urn Mage! Come out!”

Stuart joined in: “Come out! Shake your urn to show you’re here! Come out!”

“Shut up!” The bandit leader snapped. “The Urn Mage has always been with us. If he doesn’t come out, there’s a reason. Maybe… he’s taking a dump.”

Kevin laughed heartily. “That’s a long one.”

The voice sounded again: “Don’t get cocky. I’m not coming out because… I’m breaking through a level. Yes, weaklings like you can’t understand the difficulty of high-level breakthroughs. If disturbed, I might suffer magical backlash. So just wait—you’ll soon pay for your arrogance!”

Kevin and Stuart fell silent, glancing at the bandits’ faces—all showed conviction. They knew the nonsense on this front no longer had much effect. Secretly, they cursed, “Damn, he actually spun that well.”

“Since that’s the case, Stuart, help me take out the stuff from my backpack,” Kevin changed tack. “Bandits, you only know cliché stories, right? You believe all official publications? Today, I’ll show you something different.”

Stuart approached, picked up Kevin’s bag, and pulled out several books. His eyebrows twitched; as an editor, he recognized them all—works full of protagonist abuse, tragic tales, unfinished stories, bizarre plots, even comic strips. All were short stories; Kevin’s own lengthy “Assassins’ Chronicles” wouldn’t suit this moment, or he’d have pitched it.

“You think protagonists are always invincible?” Kevin smiled. “Now see some alternative protagonists.”

Curious, the bandits gathered. Most were illiterate, but the leader and a few others could read, and the comics helped the rest understand.

Grouped around piles, the literate read aloud. Moments passed, and all listened intently. Stuart quietly whispered to Kevin, “You really found these?”

Kevin nodded softly, “We’ll coordinate, each taking a different viewpoint. Make it look like a three-way debate.”

“No problem,” Stuart said, stepping away to avoid suspicion.

The bandits remained engrossed. Yet soon, they were astonished—the protagonist was abused, suffering repeatedly. Still, they listened, expecting a heroic turnaround. But no—he was abused again and again. His father died, his mother died, brother, younger brother, the whole family. Friends died. The woman he loved was taken by another and ran off. Just as he found an urn, the bandits thought the protagonist would finally defy fate.

But an old man emerged from the urn, seized the protagonist’s body, tossed the protagonist’s soul inside the urn, and, bearing the protagonist’s form, strode away. The protagonist wept bitterly inside the urn. The story ended.

The bandits were speechless.

Another tale: The protagonist finds the urn and starts to transcend, but a god descends and obliterates him. Finished.

The bandits were silent again.

Another: The urn tells the protagonist he must drink urine to gain power; reluctantly, the protagonist drinks others’ urine in various ways, training diligently. One day, the Urn Mage admits it was a joke and flies away. The protagonist is left speechless. End.

The bandits were dumbfounded.

Another: The protagonist transcends, becomes invincible. The bandits’ eyes gleamed with excitement—the long-awaited true protagonist had arrived. Suddenly, the ending revealed it was all a dream. Finished.

The bandits were stunned.

Kevin chose mostly short stories. After reading five, half a day had passed. The bandits felt disoriented—not only were the plots bewildering, but their long-held belief in “protagonist invincibility” was shattered. Fortunately, having collapsed once before, they were somewhat prepared, avoiding despair.

“What is a protagonist?” Kevin asked. The bandits instinctively looked at him. “I am not the protagonist. Nor are you. No one is the protagonist. Or rather, I am the protagonist, and you are too—everyone is a protagonist.”

The bandits were confused but sensed wisdom.

“Don’t trust him!” the voice from above barked. “He’s a liar! These things are his own fabrications—evil heresies!” The mastermind’s heart was anxious. Even the ancient Church of Light, when preaching, instinctively concealed many truths and branded dissenters as heretics to be burned.

The more one reads, the more one thinks, the harder it is to deceive. Questions arise: Where did the creator god come from? What was the world before the creator god? If the creator god is omnipotent, can he create a stick he cannot bend? A stone he cannot lift? Can he kill himself?

Thus, the ancient Church of Light even resorted to burning prophets. Its doctrine, though relatively complete, faced constant doubt. The mastermind’s “protagonist theories” were riddled with holes. Kevin now openly used orthodox methods to “enlighten” the bandits, who would naturally begin to doubt. The outcome was uncertain, but at least they would no longer blindly obey the mastermind.

“If I’m a liar, how can you prove you’re not?” Stuart jumped in. “You bring a bunch of books; so can we. Who’s the true protagonist? Which protagonist qualifies? You just call us liars?”

Kevin replied, “Actually, I’m a bard. What you worship and believe is just what we’ve casually written. This isn’t the Bible—just entertainment.”

The voice roared, “Think! I’ve given you tangible power increases! Have you forgotten?”

Stuart cursed, “You throw scraps, and everyone’s fooled. To the strong, that’s nothing!”

Kevin said, “If you trust me, put me down. I’ll write a chapter for you on the spot. You’re too superstitious about public writings. If you can read, you can arrange plots yourself, write your own stories—it’s no big deal.”

The voice yelled, “Don’t release him! What I gave you embodies universal values. What he brings is niche stuff—all short! Understand?”

Stuart retorted, “You think there are no long ones? We just didn’t bring them.”

“No bring? Who are you fooling?” “If you didn’t bring them, say so!” “I’m breaking through!” “You break through, but I can’t bring books?” …

Amid their quarrel, Kevin interjected, “Fine, don’t release me. Just untie my right hand and give me pen and paper.”

“Don’t!” the voice shouted.

“Give it to him!” Stuart shouted.

Kevin smiled, “What are you afraid of?”

The bandit leader finally snapped, “Enough! Everyone shut up!”

Silence fell in the cavern. The bandits glanced about helplessly. Kevin and Stuart quietly watched the leader. After a pause, he slumped back into his chair and slowly returned to the topic: “You said you brought the general’s documents? Where are they?”

“In my bag,” Kevin answered. “Also a conch shell—you can hear the general’s own promise.”

Stuart helped retrieve the items, handing them up to the bandits. High-end gear like a conch shell was unfamiliar to bandits, but by chance, they had one and after fiddling managed to hear the voice inside.

From the conch came the general’s clear, deep voice: “I am General Od, commander of the Lightning Knights. As military spokesperson, sheriff’s representative, and mercenary alliance envoy, I hereby swear not to attack any bandits led by Rex in any form or under any pretext. On behalf of all three parties, I promise full amnesty for all bandit crimes. We hope the bandits will fully transform into lawful mercenaries and soon walk the proper path. Should I break this oath, I am willing to offer my head on the city walls and endure the scorn of the people.”

Kevin had carefully amended this oath multiple times, ensuring even the mastermind would find it difficult to fault.

The bandit leader glanced around, seemingly seeking support. The voice from above had gone silent again, likely pondering.

Kevin seized the moment: “This is our only chance. The general has given us about two days. Today’s almost over; tomorrow remains. I hope the leader will consider carefully.”

The leader instinctively asked, “Can we trust the general’s words?”

“Of course,” Kevin said. “The documents and voice are proof. If a leader lacks credibility, how can they command an army?”

The voice spoke again: “Even if the general’s words are true, we still require one month. That’s our condition.”

“Why do you need a month?” Kevin asked.

“One month is the touchstone to judge your sincerity,” the voice answered.

“Ridiculous. If we were faking it, what difference does one month make?” Kevin replied.

“Then one month it is,” the voice said.

Stuart suddenly interjected: “Waiting a month while you’re not here is just to buy yourself time to escape, right?”

“Exactly!” Kevin agreed. “Otherwise, why don’t you come out? Come on!”

“Come out!” Stuart taunted.

The mastermind gritted his teeth in fury, too vexed to reply. Yet silence would appear weak to the bandits. In truth, Robes was using a magical array to transmit, draining significant magic every second. His injuries were still healing. Kevin and Stuart’s loud shouting was wearing on him, and he was close to exhaustion.

“I’m breaking through. Don’t disturb me,” Robes said casually, then took a breath.

For Kevin and Stuart, this was undoubtedly another opportunity to seize.

(To be continued.)