Yellow Fox chuckled and said, "I'll ask the brothers to help out, Old Bolton, take care!"

After saying this, Yellow Fox plunged the dagger into Peter Bolton's chest. As Peter Bolton exhaled his last breath, Benjamin Walker was the first to jump into the pit...

Three days later, Benjamin Walker was no longer worried about hunger, but his troubles only grew...

He had always thought his plan was solid, but he couldn't figure out where things had gone wrong, leading him to become the number one rebel in Fugu County!

Looking at the nearly one thousand people crowded in the valley, he sighed again. He remembered that all he wanted was to solve his family's difficulties and, by the way, let his old brothers have a full meal...

That goal had been achieved, but now, he had to worry about the livelihood of over a thousand people!

Yellow Fox climbed up from the foot of the mountain, knelt on one knee, and reported, "Reporting to the Commander, I have investigated and found that the people of the Liu family in Huangshi Town, Fugu County, are seething with resentment. We can launch a campaign!"

☆, Character Profile No. 5

The Eight Great Bandits 5—Richard Hill

Richard Hill stopped wielding his long saber and straightened his back, only then realizing his whole body was aching unbearably. His knees buckled, and he collapsed into the yellow earth.

Sweat fell like raindrops onto the sandy ground, quickly forming a series of neat little mud cups.

His vision was badly blurred, and the stinging sensation from sweat in his eyes made him want to give up all resistance.

At that moment, he just wanted to lie down and rest for a while. As for the bandits' blades, he couldn't care less.

A flail, whistling through the air, swung at the back of his head. Richard Hill dove to the ground, and the iron ball of the flail scraped across his back, the spikes gouging two deep bloody furrows.

Richard Hill howled in pain, rolled twice on the ground, and swung his long saber horizontally. With a crack, a shrill scream rang out beside him, and a bald brute crashed to the ground at his side.

Richard Hill gripped the bald man's neck with both hands, opened his mouth wide, and bit down hard on the man's smooth scalp...

He dared not let go, dared not loosen his bite. He only knew that if he didn't kill this damned bandit, the bandit would kill him.

He didn't know how much time had passed. A cool breeze blew by, and Richard Hill slowly opened his eyes. The bald brute beneath him was already lifeless.

Panting heavily, he tried to sit up, but his hands were still locked around the bandit's neck, his mouth still biting the bandit's bald head... the stench of blood filled his nose.

His body slumped to the side, which finally pulled his mouth away from the bandit's head and his hands from the bandit's neck.

He gasped violently, his chest heaving like waves, his throat burning as if he'd just swallowed a piece of hot coal—so parched it felt like it might catch fire.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the wheelbarrow lying on the ground. The sack of wool on it was intact, and Richard Hill finally breathed a sigh of relief.

Rolling over to the wheelbarrow, he shakily reached out to touch the sack of wool. It was bulging, which was reassuring.

He sat up with his back against the wheelbarrow, his arms limp at his sides, the taste of blood in his mouth growing stronger. Not far from him lay four corpses.

A tooth of his was still embedded in the bald man's shiny scalp.

A chunk of salt, about the size of a fingertip, fell from the wheelbarrow and landed on the yellow earth. Richard Hill bent down and picked up the salt with his mouth, not daring to lick it with his tongue—salt was precious and could not be wasted.

He sat numbly on the ground for half an hour before he finally had the strength to stand. Staggering over to the bald bandit's corpse, he first rummaged through the man's chest and found some loose silver coins. Finding nothing else of value, he stripped the bandit's fur coat.

The pants were useless—the bandit's legs had been chopped off, and blood had soaked the pants through.

He checked over the four bandits he had killed one by one. Looking at the small pile of silver he had collected, Richard Hill sighed, "These days, even bandits have no money."

He had hoped to find the bandits' horses, but unfortunately, these four were bandits without mounts. Judging by their worn-out shoes, their only means of travel was their own legs.

He dragged the four corpses to the roadside ditch, stomped hard on the edge, and the soft yellow earth buried the bodies.

But the collapsed edge of the ditch revealed another skeleton—who knew how long that person had been dead.

In chaotic times, people are worth less than dogs. Richard Hill had no mood to seek justice for the dead. He stomped down more yellow earth, covering the bones once again.

Once the yellow earth had just barely covered the bodies, he stomped on it a few more times, considering it his last bit of effort for the dead.

The large bloodstains in the middle of the road had turned pitch black. The sticky blood made the yellow earth curl up, forming little black mud rolls. Richard Hill crushed these mud rolls underfoot, and the last traces of those four bandits were scattered by the wind.

He pushed the wheelbarrow again, and Richard Hill's mood finally improved. Thinking that selling these one hundred catties of coarse salt would let his family live well for a year, his steps grew much lighter.