39: Chapter 39 Water Shortage at the Sentry Post

On the afternoon of the day the Supply Team was completely wiped out, the first fight broke out in the Outpost's main tent!

"Abandon the Outpost."

The Night Sentinel slammed his helmet onto the table, the metal brim making a dull thud as it hit the wooden boards,

"The Supply Team of five people and three sheep were dragged inside right at the Outpost's entrance, and we couldn't even save a single hair.

If we don't leave, the next ones dragged in will be us."

"Abandon the Outpost? How are we going to explain this to the Settlement? Zhong Yue is still waiting for transfer orders on the western front; if we abandon the Outpost now, the entire transport line from Black Tree Mouth to the Settlement will be completely wide open."

The Old Administrator did not slam the table; his voice was slower than usual, the interval between each word sounding as if it had been weighed on a scale.

"Not abandoning the Outpost is fine too,"

Another daytime patrol sentinel leaned against the corner, the knuckles of his left hand constantly rubbing the wrist guard on his right wrist,

"Cancel the outer patrols and pull everyone back into the main tent. There are three and a half barrels of purified water left; ration it to last for two days. Wait for reinforcements."

The Old Administrator lowered his head to glance at the row of purified water barrels by his feet. Three were full, and one had only a small fraction left.

All six barrels of purified water brought by the Supply Team had overturned near the trailer, seeping into the mud where they were sucked dry by tree roots along with the mud and water.

He flipped the manifest over and drew a circle with a charcoal pencil in the "purified water" column.

"Seal the side door. Retract the outer patrols within the Bell Line.

Ah Qiu, you and Old Zhao go to the drainage ditch to fetch water. For emergency use, fill four barrels and come back."

Ah Qiu stood up from the edge of the bed board and nodded slightly.

Jiang Ming heard it all.

The forest will fed it back simultaneously through the old wooden stake anchor point and the mycelial network inside Ah Qiu's body.

The Old Administrator's voice, the sentinels' argument, the sloshing sound of water when the purified water barrels were moved, and the creaking sound of the side door's hinges being jammed tight by wooden stakes.

The two streams of information overlapped, with a time difference of less than zero point three seconds.

The drainage ditch line.

This drainage ditch extended downstream from behind the main tent, passed through the secondary forest land and the edge of the Old Logging Camp, and finally emptied into the water storage ditch.

Previously, when the Night Sentinel was chasing an empty barrel, he had stepped on this line, and a loose cover board had splattered mud all over his foot.

At that time, Jiang Ming had figured out the depth of the underground conduit; now, the forest will completed the terrain of the entire line along the damp soil by the ditch—the narrowest part of the ditch could only allow one person to pass sideways.

The ditch walls were slick, slippery clay, and the bottom of the ditch accumulated half a foot of rotting mud.

Walking on the path beside the ditch, the ditch was on the left, dense shrubs were on the right, and the front and rear views were tightly blocked by the old wooden stakes at the bend.

Single file passage, nowhere to hide, nowhere to run.

Ah Qiu and another sentinel, Old Zhao, squeezed out of the side door carrying four empty barrels.

The door hinges were jammed by wooden stakes, and they could only pass sideways. When Ah Qiu was the last to go out, his shoulder bumped against the door frame.

The half-jar of purified water hanging on the wooden rack by the door was knocked over, the pottery jar shattering into several pieces on the mud ground, and the water splashed all over the floor.

Ah Qiu lowered his head to look at the fragments, then looked at his own hands, his expression going blank for a fraction of a second.

Old Zhao urged him from ahead, and he gave a response and followed.

Jiang Ming was the one who made him bump into the jar. He didn't bump into the water barrel—the water barrel target was too big and would lead to accountability.

Bumping into a small pottery jar hanging by the door used for drinking water meant that if it spilled, it spilled, and it would only make people think he was clumsy again.

But after this half-jar of water was spilled, the Outpost's remaining water reserves went from "barely enough for two days" to "just enough to last until tomorrow morning."

The two of them had to bring one more barrel, changing the water collection volume from four barrels to five barrels.

One more barrel meant an extra burden, and an extra burden meant a slower pace.

Ah Qiu and Old Zhao walked outward along the drainage ditch. The path beside the ditch had been soaked soft by days of damp air, and the soles of their shoes sank half a finger deep when they stepped on it.

Ah Qiu walked in the back, the barrel in his right hand swaying much more violently than the one in his left. Old Zhao turned back to glance at him: "Is your hand still hurting?" Ah Qiu said it didn't hurt, just lacked strength.

Old Zhao didn't ask further.

An Infected Crow glided over from the direction of the gully, landed on a withered branch at the bend of the drainage ditch, and cawed twice.

It wasn't a sharp scream, but a hoarse caw—short, low, like half an echo blown away by the wind. Old Zhao looked up at the crow, his footsteps pausing for a moment.

Ah Qiu didn't look up; the wire handle of the barrel in his right hand was cutting into his fingers, so he lowered his head to switch hands carrying the barrel.

One behind the other, the two widened the distance by a few paces on the narrowest section of the path beside the ditch.

Old Zhao stepped over that piece of rotting wood first. The rotting wood had been lying horizontally across the path beside the ditch for who knows how many days, its bark soaked into a dark brown, sponge-like state.

The moment his right foot stepped across, a soft root sprang out from the silt beneath the rotting wood—not thick thorns, but soft roots as thick as a finger, winding up from under the mud against the bottom of the rotting wood, wrapping around the ankle of his supporting leg, and pulling him hard into the ditch.

His center of gravity was instantly sucked away, the water barrel slipped from his hand and smashed against the edge of the ditch, and he slid down into the bottom of the ditch along with the barrel.

The rotting mud at the bottom of the ditch was thick and sticky; he fell backward into it, mud pouring into his ears and collar, struggling and wanting to turn over,

when his other leg was entangled by a second root extending horizontally from the side of the ditch wall, dragging him downward.

Ah Qiu saw it from behind.

He wanted to pull him, but stretched out his hand and pulled it back—it wasn't fear, but the mycelial network that instantly issued an instruction faster than his own judgment:

Don't pull yet, the barrel will drop. The water barrel handle in his right hand happened to slip from between his fingers, the barrel hitting the edge of the ditch and bouncing up, half a bucket of water splashing into the mud.

Old Zhao struggled out half his body at the bottom of the ditch, drew the hand axe from his waist, and hacked at the root entangling his leg.

The axe blade bit half a finger-deep into the soft root, but it didn't break. Dark green sap oozed from the hacked wound of the soft root, and spores mixed with Paralysis Toxin splashed onto his trouser legs within the sap.

He raised the axe to hack a second time, but his arm stiffened halfway up.

The toxin traveled upward from the venous plexus on the inner thigh, the inguinal lymph nodes swelling within seconds, and his entire right leg lost its kicking strength.

The hand axe slipped from his palm, the blade plunging downward into the silt at the bottom of the ditch.

Another thick root broke out from the soil layer of the ditch wall, not to entangle a person, but to coil around the water barrel.

The empty barrel Old Zhao brought was coiled by the root and dragged deep into the silt.

Immediately after, a third root bent down from above the ditch edge, wrapped around Old Zhao's waist, flipped his entire body over from the bottom of the ditch, and pressed him face down into the rotting mud.

Muddy water poured into his mouth and nose, the strength of his struggle growing smaller and smaller.

Ah Qiu stood by the edge of the ditch, watching Old Zhao being entangled layer by layer by the roots at the bottom of the ditch, and then slowly dragged deep into the rotting mud. His pupils neither dilated nor contracted, and his breathing was steady.

The mycelial network didn't make him do anything, just let him stand there.

This instruction convinced him more than making him take action himself—he felt like he had been scared dumb.

Devouring initiated after the battle ended.

Old Zhao's corpse was dragged into the deep mud cave at the bottom of the ditch, and all five water barrels were recovered—four empty ones were dragged into the gully for standby, and one half-full one was hung on a withered branch at the ditch bend,

the barrel body tilting, water leaking down drop by drop from the notch on the barrel rim.

Another empty barrel was overturned at the drainage ditch mouth, bottom facing the sky, with trampled withered branches and several deep tracks dragged into the ditch scattered nearby.

[Killed one Outpost water-fetching sentinel, obtained 100 evolution points.]

In the Outpost tent, they waited for a long time without seeing anyone return.

The third sentinel came out along the drainage ditch to look, walking to the ditch bend to first see that half-full water barrel hanging on the withered branch, and then seeing the inverted empty barrel at the ditch mouth and the drag marks on the ground.

He didn't continue walking forward, turning around and running back to the main tent.

"The water line is cut."

He took off his helmet and held it in his arms, his voice dry,

"Old Zhao is gone. Ah Qiu is standing by the ditch, and the barrels are all overturned."

The Old Administrator stood up and sat down again, his hand pressing on the channel stone and pausing for a long time.

No one in the main tent argued anymore about abandoning or defending the Outpost—the water line was cut, and this question no longer had any meaning. Without water, they couldn't hold out until tomorrow.

Abandoning the Outpost and walking back meant crossing the entire outer perimeter of Black Tree Mouth; without the Supply Team escorting them, it was tantamount to courting death.

"Send a telegram to the Settlement," he finally spoke, "Write: The calamity in the Black Tree Mouth area has blocked the Outpost's transport line, supply line, and emergency water line.

The Outpost's remaining water is less than a day and night. We request that a large detachment of reinforcements be sent immediately, or authorized to abandon the Outpost and withdraw. If no reinforcements arrive by dusk tomorrow, the Outpost will break out on its own."

The channel stone lit up.

The Settlement's reply was nearly half a quarter-hour slower than usual, with very few words, its tone as hard as if carved on a stone slab:

Reinforcements at the earliest tomorrow night. Hold to the death.

The Old Administrator read the reply twice, flipped the stone slab over, and did not convey the original text to the others in the tent. What he said was:

"The Settlement wants us to hold out until tomorrow night; reinforcements will come."

The sentinels fell silent for a while, and someone began re-distributing the remaining purified water.

Ah Qiu sat by the edge of the bed board, his hands very steady when taking his cup of water, not spilling a single drop.

Jiang Ming updated the Outpost's remaining water reserves on the mental manifest: three full barrels, one with a small fraction. Seven people—now six.

Reinforcements wouldn't arrive until tomorrow night.

And tonight they didn't even have enough to drink.

He pushed the gully side roots a few meters further forward, touching the last water-fetching bend downstream of the water storage ditch.

That bend was not far from the Outpost, but the road required passing three old wooden stakes and a blind spot of the Bell Line.

If they took the risk to come out and fetch water tomorrow, that would be the last one-way trip.

If they didn't dare to come out, then they could just stay thirsty!