Damn, Let's Blow Them to Hell! Bonus Chapter for "Zan Dai Lin Xian," 630

"Come on, brothers, put your backs into it! We're almost at the target coordinates!"

Deep beneath the soil under the gnoll camp, the strategist player Guochan 003 swung a shovel, widening the tunnel slanting up toward the surface. The swagger he'd had three days ago was nowhere to be seen. His gear was caked with dirt and sweat, and he was as filthy and unkempt as the defeated adventurers.

But his spirits were excellent.

Almost feverishly so.

He shouted like a foreman, but none of the players or NPCs around him matched his enthusiasm.

Hell, everyone had been digging here day and night for three whole days. They were utterly exhausted. Who had the energy to respond to this lousy pep talk? The Nords, especially, looked like they'd lost their mothers. They'd been half-forcibly dragged here to dig because their commander had gotten drunk, and they stared at 003 with resentment and anger.

After all, three days of nonstop construction work was far more exhausting than holding the line against the gnolls.

It couldn't just be called the opposite of the kind of hard-fought battle these Nords longed for; it had nothing to do with one at all. If their commander hadn't been breathing down their necks, and if the commanders in Shadowvale hadn't kept sending people to help—proof that this really was an official operation—they might well have grabbed this wimpy Transian strategist and beaten him up.

They'd signed up for the noble cause of fighting the gnolls and the Black Calamity. So how had they ended up being treated like unpaid mining slaves?

"Fuck, I must've been drunk that night to fall for your bullshit!"

Beside 003, who had fully joined the "shovel-wielding class," the burly Nord commander panted and complained:

"You must've used some wicked Transian spell