Chapter 139 – Reinforcing The Walls.

The sun dipped low in the sky as nightfall approached, and the atmosphere in Ferndale grew tenser. Rusty made his way through the barricaded streets, his metallic limbs clinking with each step. The air was filled with fear, a mix of hastily gathered supplies, and the unmistakable scent of sweat. The quiet was only broken by the occasional shout of soldiers giving commands or the distant rumble of hammering as civilians fortified their homes.

He found himself near the slums, at one of the least fortified locations. Other adventurers were stationed with him here, seemingly abandoned by the city lord and his soldiers, who had fortified more advantageous positions. He did not know anyone here, but the men made their annoyance clear as they started complaining about their treatment.

“Who do they think we are? Their personal meat shields?”

“They could at least pay us well!”

A few of the adventurers were being loud. Rusty didn’t say anything; he simply took a spot close to the wall and leaned against it. Soon, however, he heard the cackle of his guide Aburdon, who couldn’t stop himself from commenting.

“That’s exactly what they are. Fodder, disposable, utterly replaceable. That’s all adventurers are, and that’s why we should get out of here.”

At first, Aburdon’s voice echoed with grim amusement, but it soon turned more serious. He clearly understood they were in a disadvantageous position and would likely be used as shields for the main army. Still, these were the rules of the settlement. If Rusty ran away or refused any orders, he would be marked as a deserter.

At that point, he would be forced to flee the city. While he could always try to find a new head and identity, it would set him back many days or even months. He would need to purchase a new lair and gather enough money to do so.

“Hey, you there! Are you just going to stand around like a pole? Grab one of the sacks and get to work!”

“…”

As Rusty leaned against the wall, waiting for the Orcs to arrive, one of the few stationed soldiers approached him. Most of the people here were adventurers, but they weren’t the ones giving orders. It was clear the nobles didn’t trust this group. What Aburdon said next made a lot of sense.

“They stationed soldiers behind us. If we try to retreat… they’ll attack us. Reminds me of my old tactics. Are these humans my fans?”

“What are you waiting for? Move!”

The soldier shouted again, and Rusty finally turned his head slowly in the man’s direction. The soldier flinched slightly at the sight of his eyes through the visor. Rusty had chosen the head of a dead adventurer, and the eyes had a certain intensity to them. The soldier hesitated but didn’t back down.

“I said grab a sack”

The soldier repeated, gesturing to the pile of crude sandbags stacked near the alley’s edge. The man flinched slightly as Rusty finally moved without saying a word. He bent down, grabbed one of the coarse sacks filled with sand, and hoisted it over his shoulder as if it weighed nothing. His body was stronger than most here and his weight had also slightly increased ever since he achieved his latest form.

As he worked, stacking the bags with mechanical efficiency, he glanced at the others. Most of the adventurers around him were well past their prime. A few younger ones looked lean and anxious, clearly fresh from some low-level dungeon, still clinging to the fantasy of glory and coin. But the rest? Rusty’s eyes lingered on the hunched backs and weathered faces. Balding men with potbellies. Women with old scars and dulled weapons. Their armor was mismatched and battered. One even wore pieces of two different sets, chainmail over a leather vest like some poor knight.

Ferndale had multiple lines of defense. The first was a ring of wooden palisades on the city’s outer edge. These rudimentary barriers offered minimal protection and appeared to serve more as a deterrent than a true fortification. They had been assembled quickly, likely to buy time for constructing the more sturdy defenses deeper within. Further inside stood walls of stone. This was where the defenders had taken their positions, and where the real battle would be fought.

‘Are these people I’m supposed to fight with?’

The bags they were using served more than one purpose. Some were being piled up to form a makeshift wall behind the main gate. It was a straight path leading out, designed to funnel any incoming enemies into a narrow line. At the end of that corridor, adventurers would probably be stationed to eliminate any invaders.

The other use was to fill the gaps in the damaged outer walls. Rusty wondered why this had not been done sooner, but he did not complain. He was curious about the method used to repair them, and Gleam, who was hiding beneath his cloak, was also interested, especially because of the magic involved.

It was a rather simple-looking process. The sack filled with dirt was opened, and the earth was either dumped into a hole or placed on the damaged area and punctured in several spots, allowing the dirt to spill out. Then, someone wearing a robe and holding a staff with a magical orb at the end would move closer. They would use something that could only be described as earth magic to mend the damage.

“Hah, what a low-level mage, no skill at all.”

Aburdon made fun of this process but Rusty was entranced by it. The earth from the sacks would ripple and shift as the mage chanted under their breath, the glowing orb amplifying their power. Slowly, the dirt would fuse with the surrounding stone, forming a crude but functional seal. It wasn’t elegant, but it was efficient.

Rusty tried to recognize the structure of the spell, but even with his skills in perceiving and manipulating mana, it was still too difficult for him to fully mimic it. Gleam, who was much more skilled in spellcasting, fared better. From the way she was chirping, it seemed she was managing to learn the new spell of earth manipulation. It was a lesser form of magic and not meant for attacking, but perhaps, just like the walls here, they could use it to mend their lair, which still had not been fully restored.

Soon he was looking around at the people there. After placing one of the sacks down, he returned to the cart that held most of them. There, he grabbed two sacks in one hand and slung them over his shoulders to be more efficient. But as he turned around, someone bumped into him and fell to the ground.

“Ack…”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

The one who had bumped into Rusty hit the ground with a clatter. She was small, barely past her teenage years, and clearly new to the life of adventuring. Her armor consisted of dented leather plates held together with frayed straps, and her dagger was little more than a glorified kitchen knife. Wide green eyes blinked up at him from under a crooked helmet, and her cheeks flushed red with embarrassment.

“S-sorry! I wasn’t looking…”

Rusty tilted his head down, his fake eyes studying her silently. Gleam peeked out from beneath his cloak and chirped inquisitively. The girl blinked at the little creature, then laughed nervously.

“Huh, is that a… an ant? You don’t look like a tamer… I mean, s-sir… I didn’t mean to…”

The girl was stuttering nonstop. His armored appearance and lifeless eyes were clearly intimidating to someone like her who was seemingly an F-rank adventurer. Gleam, still in hiding, decided to use this moment to reveal herself. It was better for the adventurers to notice her now; if she suddenly appeared during the siege, they might mistake her for a wild monster and try to kill her.

“ ( •̀ ⩊ •́ ) “

Gleam wriggled out from under Rusty’s cloak, stretching her body in an exaggerated move that made her carapace gleam in the dimming light. Her antennae twitched as she did a little side-to-side wiggle, chirping excitedly. The effect was immediate. Two more figures came rushing up from behind the girl, both looking equally panicked.

“Tally! Are you okay?! We saw you fall and thought…whoa!”

The taller of the two, a lanky boy with oversized boots and a rusty spear, skidded to a stop as soon as he caught sight of Rusty. The third member of their group, a girl with a low-quality bow and cat ears, froze the moment she saw the dancing silver ant on Rusty’s shoulder. None of them were looking at Rusty’s intimidating armored form. Instead, they were completely mesmerized by the dance, to the point that Rusty began to wonder if Gleam had somehow learned a mind-controlling skill to go along with it.