Chapter 113: Desert Bandits

“What are they up to?” asked a tall jackalman, observing from less than three miles away from Wu Qingsong’s group.

“Master, they are trying to dig a well,” a diminutive meerkatman responded.

Laughter erupted from the hyenamen and jackalmen surrounding the tall jackalman, their howls and cackles filling the air.

These bandits had dominated this region for years, every water source and hidden well were under their control. The idea of digging a well in this wind-sculpted forest was, to them, utterly ludicrous. The most amusing joke they’d heard in a long time.

The possibility of actually uncovering water was doubtful. In such an environment, well-digging was a task of immense exertion. And even if successful, the diggers would likely be too exhausted to reap the benefits.

Choosing to die of exhaustion rather than thirst, they thought. But to these bandits, their fate would inevitably be a combination of both, culminating in their death at the edge of their scimitars.

The tall jackalman joined in the laughter, “Perfect, once they’re done, we can just toss them in it.”

Adorned in an opulent robe over a black insectoid-shell armor, he cut an imposing figure. If Wu Qingsong were here, he would immediately recognize the armor as the design he initially marketed to mercenary groups.

This armor was a gift from an acquaintance of Sa Badel, exchanged for ten jackalman warriors. Rumors had it that the Esola Hills were overrun by an insectoid surge, annihilating all stationed mercenary troops. Now, the authorities were desperately recruiting new mercenary groups for the region.

His acquaintance had suffered heavy losses, forfeiting half of his men in a bold venture gone wrong. Consequently, he had sought out Sa Badel to negotiate this particular deal.

Sa Badel’s associate was, of course, a half-elf. The two had long ago formed a partnership in the eastern region of Tannar, where they preyed upon defenseless merchant caravans, capturing and selling the captives into slavery in the mines. The half-elf would often exploit his identity to gain the trust of these merchants, infiltrating their ranks to gather detailed information before luring them into Badel’s well-laid traps.

In some respects, Badel’s current activities were merely an extension of those past undertakings. Such tactics were not uncommon, often mirrored by local defense forces as a means of revenue collection.

However, Badel’s present approach was decidedly more refined. If he encountered someone beyond his ability to confront, he would pursue legitimate profits through conventional methods. Conversely, if he dealt with individuals of lesser influence or significance, he would opt for more opportunistic strategies to maximize his profits.

The desert itself was a land rife with danger and death. 

To all observers, Badel appeared as a hospitable host, generously offering travelers every conceivable assistance and comfort a landlord could provide. Should these travelers meet an unfortunate end in the desert sands, it would surely have nothing to do with him, a hardworking and upright merchant, but rather as an unfortunate twist of fate.

This time, fortune seemed to smile generously upon him. The eight high-value insectoid-shell armors were incentive enough to act, and there was the tantalizing prospect of even more jewels.

Aberni, the cunning old foxman, had assured him that these people’s target was undoubtedly the relics of the Batiz Kingdom. Their preference for auction participation over direct adventuring suggested they were likely carrying additional jewels. Clearly, they weren’t destitute souls from whom not even a single copper could be extracted.

His undisciplined subordinates and self-righteous followers, who lacked the finesse of bargaining, made it easy to deduce that these strangers were not from a lineage of deep heritage. Furthermore, despite strategically placing incense burners and fragrances in the tent–a common luxury among elven nobility–these individuals had barely acknowledged them. This clearly indicated they were newly rich upstarts, blissfully unaware of their sudden wealth’s origins.

Passing up such an opportunity would be an affront to the gods, surely drawing divine retribution.

“Let’s take a short break and see what they manage to dig up,” Badel said with relish.

***

“Excellent! We’ve hit damp sand now,” Wu Qingsong declared, brimming with excitement.

Though they couldn’t yet extract visible water, the moistness of the sand, easily clumping together, was a promising sign that the underground water table was close at hand.

“You’re doing great,” he praised Ling. “Keep it up.”

In such a situation, Wu Qingsong couldn’t resort to the traditional well-digging methods used by the beastfolk in the sand, as it would play straight into the hands of the bandits.

Instead, he instructed Beck and the others to dig a shallow pit merely as a diversion. He then gathered some branches, shaping them into makeshift drill bits with his knife, demonstrating to Ling the task he wanted her to do.

Ling’s capability to create objects had evolved to the point where she could create a hollow cylinder, four meters in length and as wide as a standard water pipe. In reality, due to the durability of the material she conjured, the pipe could be elongated further if made with thinner walls and a narrower diameter.

Wu Qingsong’s role was simply to convey the concept of a drill bit to her. After awakening her ability, he set her to work on the drilling.

For Ling, who had diligently honed her ability, the task was no more challenging than simultaneously controlling two rapidly moving discs in mid-air. She was adept at maneuvering hundreds of flying needles along relatively straightforward paths. Applying steady downward pressure and swift rotation in the loose sand was almost effortless.

As Ling attempted to break through to the underground water layer, Wu Qingsong pondered how to extract the water. 

Ultimately, leveraging Ling’s powers, he opted for the most straightforward solution–inserting the hollow tube into the subterranean water source and creating a base at the tube’s end to directly draw up the water.

This makeshift setup was far less efficient than a mechanical pump, yet in the face of blistering heat and the agony of thirst, Wu Qingsong found himself too drained to dredge up the principles of siphoning or other water extraction techniques.

“Wu?” Ling voiced suddenly, a note of surprise in her tone. 

While wielding her power, she could feel a kind of feedback, and now she distinctly sensed water gradually seeping out.

Wu Qingsong instructed her to drill another twenty centimeters down and then they waited for the water to rise. When the refreshing spring water, tinged with a bit of sand, surfaced in front of the houndmen, they nearly burst into cheers, restrained only by Wu Qingsong’s prior caution.

They discreetly drank their fill, even cautiously hydrating the camels, and topped off their water bags. The houndmen kept up the charade of digging, piling the sand dug up by Ling high. Meanwhile, Ling took the chance to rest and regain her strength.

Eventually, the houndmen climbed out from the pit, collapsing on the ground in an act of despair and exhaustion.

Beck even resorted to wildly stabbing the ground with his sword, yelling in feigned desperation.

“Ease up on the drama,” Wu Qingsong advised him. “We’re not aiming for over-the-top theatrics. After a whole afternoon of thirst, where would the energy for such antics come from?”

At last, the distant sound of horse hooves began to draw near.