Chapter 742 - 44: Infighting (2)
Relaxing his body, sitting down, adopting a more comfortable posture, Anbedahl glanced at Pandit.
There is no real difference between this so-called Brahmin and him; he snores when he sleeps, grinds his teeth, farts. Though he is a Brahmin, he is no different from Kshatriya, Vaishya, or Shudra—just born with a luxurious hat.
Seeing Pandit sleeping comfortably while he himself struggled to keep his eyes open, Anbedahl felt absolutely infuriated.
The firelight grew dimmer; summoning his willpower, he added another stick to the campfire, thinking that eventually he would have to survive alone, not caring about Pandit’s mood anymore. Anbedahl simply closed his eyes.
He was sure that even if awakened the next morning, Pandit wouldn’t be hard on him just for sleeping. After all, both of them shared a common goal; if they fell out mid-way, the chance for supplies to fall into their hands would be lost completely.
As for the other challengers who posed a threat, Anbedahl remembered quite clearly—they were all far away.
Before the supplies dropped, everyone was focused on their own plans, minimizing the possibility of attacking others during this process. Anbedahl chose to trust himself—
Surely, when a person wants to do something, they always find various reasons to gain confidence and motivate themselves to go for it.
Anbedahl was exactly like that; he was extremely tired. If he didn’t sleep now, given his current mental state, it would be difficult to complete the battles tomorrow or the day after.
...
Not long after Anbedahl closed his eyes beneath the tree, a shadow began moving on the trunk of a nearby sturdy tree.
Rubbing his eyes, Chen Zhou involuntarily yawned.
He hadn’t closed his eyes in almost 36 hours. Even with abundant energy, after enduring prolonged and intense activities, as a human, he was inevitably fatigued.
He had chosen a spot in advance based on the challengers’ direction of progress and waited an entire night.
Originally, he planned to act in the latter half of the night, when people’s guards were at their lowest, but these Indian challengers were surprisingly careless, sleeping under such dire conditions and tense atmosphere. Truly, heaven was helping him, providing him great convenience.
...
Descending from the tree, tip-toeing to the campfire, Chen Zhou lowered his voice as much as possible and climbed onto another tree not far from the campfire.
This tree was carefully selected, facing another group of challengers directly. It had a huge branch to conceal his shape.
In this way, he could feign an attack to alarm the challengers, then deliberately create noise to guide the two towards another group of challengers.
Once the two went to investigate, he would descend the tree and move, repeating the trick at the other group’s camp, guiding both groups to move toward the same spot.
With tensions high, each group of challengers was eager to snatch supplies and ready to explode at any moment. If they suspected another group of attacking during the night, the likelihood of action was very high.
Even if both sides were rational, suppressing anger and maintaining restraint was fine, because soon he would bring in the third and fourth groups of challengers.
Once all competitors gathered in one place, the usual "each going their way" would disappear; sowing seeds of discord in their minds—even if they only confronted each other temporarily without engaging—was beneficial.
Those with grudges, even without supply meddling, would eventually fight, let alone amidst challenges where they inherently held relentless competitive relationships.
...
To mislead the challengers, Chen Zhou deliberately picked several long, diamond-shaped stones sharp enough to serve as hidden weapons.
These things had no significant features, stones like these were scattered all over the Black Forest, making them ideal for instigating conflict.
Adjusting his position to ensure swift concealment after throwing the "darts," Chen Zhou aimed at the nearest challenger to him, the one lying flat on the ground—an Indian—and deliberately avoided the human outline, flinging the stone.
The ground in the Black Forest mostly lacked soil; even if there was some, it was a shallow layer, less than half a finger deep.
The long stone struck the ground with a crisp sound, instantly breaking into several fragments and scattering all around.
After throwing one "dart," Chen Zhou was preparing to throw a second to awaken the guy leaning against the tree. But on seeing the Indian lying on the ground springing up like a loaded spring, he paused.
Worried about being discovered by this person, Chen Zhou quickly shrunk back against the tree trunk, planning to first listen to the sounds before deciding whether to throw another "dart."
Over here, unaware of the circumstances, he assumed all challenger groups were harmonious, completely overlooking the basic issues of human misunderstanding.
Though similarly from the modern world, he and Paul had vastly different strengths, their perceptions were roughly aligned, and Paul was willing to follow his directions, forming a harmonious relationship.
As for the American soldiers and Japanese ninja he killed, compared to him and Paul, the former had more superficial alliances. At the first sign of danger, the Japanese ninja thought not of saving the soldier but of fleeing alone.
As for the Black-robed Man, his actions were even more extreme, directly killing his partner.
Challengers like him and Paul, or the pair of adventurers, were actually rare.
Even if they came from the same region, same era, spoke the same language, misunderstandings due to differing beliefs were common, not to mention in India, a nation already marked by caste divisions.
...
The sharp fragments that burst out from the stone splintered in all directions; by chance, one hit Pandit’s face, slicing through his fair skin.
The pain awoke Pandit before any sound, startling him from sleep, instinctively leaping to his feet thinking they were under attack.
After noticing no enemies around, Pandit touched his face, now bleeding, and on seeing a deeply asleep Anbedahl, a surge of uncontrollable anger welled up within him.
In India, caste rank could be identified merely by appearance.
Higher castes had tall statures and fair skin, while lower castes were shorter and darker-skinned.
As a noble Brahmin, even his excrement was superior to a lowly Dalit.
All this time being partnered with this Dalit, tolerating his odorous presence, his imperfect speech, his disrespectful demeanor, his lowly appearance...
Until now, Pandit hadn’t whipped Anbedahl or shouted at him; he believed he had shown considerable tolerance.
However, now it seemed continuous forbearance only invited escalating disregard.
This Dalit dared to sit down and sleep during the night watch, causing him injury, harming his noble Brahmin face!
Such an occurrence demanded him to exhibit the appropriate Brahmin attitude towards a Dalit, ensuring this entity lower than a slave understood they were not equals, and who truly was closest to the gods versus mere dust at their feet.
"Dalit!"
Just one shout; Pandit didn’t even consider investigating where exactly the stone that injured him came from but vented his fury on Anbedahl.
Exhaustion had plunged Anbedahl into deep sleep shortly after closing his eyes.
In his dreams, his plans completed successfully, he had secured the supplies, and killed Pandit, speeding across the plains toward the warm South, laden with a convoy full of stews, thali, chapati breads, and various spices...
The reality, however, was entirely different.
After the yell, Anbedahl didn’t wake, further inflaming Pandit’s wrath.
He drew out his waist-long whip, putting all his strength into the crack.
The whip cracked in the air with a "snap," landing heavily on Anbedahl’s face.
This whip was far more lethal than the stone thrown by Chen Zhou; Anbedahl’s nose was shattered by the lash, while his face bore a vivid crimson mark, his skin splitting open.
Were it not for the imprecision of the whip’s tip, one of his eyes might have been blinded.
The reality, however, was entirely different.
After the yell, Anbedahl didn’t wake, further inflaming Pandit’s wrath.
He drew out his waist-long whip, putting all his strength into the crack.
The whip cracked in the air with a "snap," landing heavily on Anbedahl’s face.
This whip was far more lethal than the stone thrown by Chen Zhou; Anbedahl’s nose was shattered by the lash, while his face bore a vivid crimson mark, his skin splitting open.
Were it not for the imprecision of the whip’s tip, one of his eyes might have been blinded.