Chapter 157 Chapter 155 Goodbye, Toolman
On a street just a river away from the aristocratic district, Princess George jumped from a rooftop onto the street, holding Ji Ma in her arms. The aristocratic district, which had always remained unscathed amid the numerous disasters in Shalin City, was now beginning to burn.
A large group of people was rushing toward a water-facing mansion. The mansion’s owner, a mage, erupted with bright blue lightning in his hands, striking at the crowd surging into the mansion. The lightning, however, was like arrows aimed at a tsunami, vanishing into the dark swirl of people without a trace.
The crowd trampled over the fallen iron gate, surging forward, and overwhelmed the mage. The torches in their hands illuminated a curvaceous brown-skinned woman on the balcony, who stood at the railing, gazing into the distance.
Ji Ma felt she recognized her, suddenly recalling that she was the brown-skinned beauty from the Mediterranean mage’s household, deceived by the slave contract, waiting on the balcony for a hero to come rescue her. Not only did she obey the Mediterranean mage, but she also regarded him as her savior, playing the game of hero rescuing beauty to satisfy his desires.
To the Mediterranean mage, it was merely a game to play when he wished. But for the brown-skinned beauty, it was a once-in-a-lifetime moment.
George also gazed at the mansion.
Ji Ma said, “Look, she has waited so long, and finally, the heroes have come.”
“But the ending is dark,” George replied, pulling a bottle of white holy oil from his spatial pocket with one hand. “A group of bloodthirsty rioters might do something to her. Even if she escapes this disaster, as a beautiful and weak woman in a chaotic city, her only path to survival is to fall.”
Ji Ma wrung a wet towel and quickly wiped the ashes off his armor, saying:
“What fairytale-like ending exists in reality? If you easily handled the fearsome war demon with a single sword, I’d have to doubt whether the memories from when you saved me have all been an illusion. After all, your appearance in saving me was too wonderful, and the process went surprisingly smoothly; if the ending were to be that beautiful, it would truly be ‘fairy tale’ to the point of being false.”
“…The armor is wiped clean.”
“Ji Ma, but reality is not as dark as you think.” George handed Ji Ma the oval bottle of holy oil. “We must become light to illuminate the darkness. In the end, it will be as written in the books: goodness will triumph over evil once again.”
Ji Ma inexplicably felt pain in her chest where George had punctured her, twisting open the holy oil bottle to pour the light golden oil onto the towel in her palm. The oil seeped through the towel, moistening her palm, a fiery sensation spreading within.
Holding the “fiery” towel, Ji Ma smeared it over George’s armor, applying it on his chest plate and the golden enamel sun.
A nearby mansion was ablaze, and the river’s surface had frozen—a non-natural phenomenon. A group of people cautiously slid across the frozen river surface, heading toward the aristocratic district, passing the bridge pillars.
Originally, the bridge had been heavily guarded, crammed with soldiers, but now it lay strewn with a mass of corpses. The benevolent lord had concentrated nearly all the city’s armed forces in the aristocratic district. There were so many soldiers that they were lined up on the bridge, which also made it easier to command and suppress the chaos.
But unexpectedly, the Shadow King Akris possessed a batch of extraordinarily powerful magical scrolls.
George said, “The Shadow King has captured the aristocratic district; this is the only thing in this disaster that can barely be called just.”
Ji Ma dropped the fiery towel and used a wet towel to wipe the holy oil off her hands, saying, “It’s not good for you; hand me the spoon.”
George handed her a spoonful of fiery pitch and knelt down. Ji Ma placed the spoon over a candle to melt the pitch, continuing,
“The benevolent lord could not possibly have all the soldiers crammed on the bridge. He still has a group of simple-minded soldiers loyal only to him, transformed into a reserve team. Now that the aristocratic district has been breached, he is badly injured. He can only make one last desperate gamble, clinging tightly to his benefactor.”
George’s tone became serious:
“He will openly support the fearsome war demon who slaughtered his city’s citizens.”
Ji Ma took a note inscribed with sacred sayings and stuck it onto George’s greasy silver armor. The note contained an oath made by George, to which she responded:
“Yes, for him, if the ritual of the fearsome war demon fails, then he will have nothing left. Ha, no, he still has family; he can’t really be considered to have nothing at all.”
The fiery pitch flowed slowly over George’s shoulder plate, red as blood. Ji Ma poured the molten pitch over the oath of honesty, grabbed a seal, and pressed it down hard, leaving the mark of the Temple’s rising sun on the pitch. She lawfully stamped four sacred sayings, originally intending to include a fifth saying titled Freedom.
Unfortunately, as she was “enslaved” by Ji Ma, it was instantly turned to ashes.
Four deaths… truly inauspicious.
Ji Ma thought, feeling as if she was preparing for a funeral. George’s armor resembled a coffin, and she was nailing the coffin shut, sending him to his death.
At that moment, a fierce black wind arose, causing the four sacred sayings on George’s armor to whir incessantly. Both of them were inspired and looked towards a residence near the center of the aristocratic district, where there were no flames, yet there was a sky-high glow.
Ji Ma whispered:
“The ritual of ascension has begun.”
George began to pray, his right hand gripping the sword’s hilt, raised above his head, the blade pointing upwards. Ji Ma, seeing him from behind, perfectly formed a cross.
A cross stood before the iron coffin; it was done, dead as it can be.
With a brief prayer from George, a soft white light surrounded him, shining over his armor. This indicated that he had been blessed; the armor contained magical power to prevent it from being destroyed by the fearsome war demon’s destructive spell.
Preparations for battle were completed, but George did not stand up immediately; instead, he quickly said:
“Ji Ma, bless me.”
Ji Ma realized that this was a custom from George’s homeland—the Knight Kingdom of Bartow. Before a knight’s expedition, a lady would provide the blessing. It was said that the more beautiful the woman giving the blessing, the worse the knight would fare.
She stepped in front of George, lightly tapped the hilt of his sword and the cross guard, saying:
“I wish you victory in every battle, to strike down your enemies in one blow, to be courageous above all, and to return safely… I can’t think of anything else, so let’s get to the practical part.”
Saying this, Ji Ma reached under her skirt in front of George, rummaging around, her face showing a joyful expression. George’s serious expression couldn’t help betraying a hint of peculiarity.
Her tail coiled tightly, sore and numb, but now felt so comfortable.
Ji Ma stretched her tail, pulling out a “Blood Horned Cup” from under her skirt, unsealing it, saying:
“Have a drink; it can heal wounds.”
George looked at the horned cup, clever as he was, seemed to have guessed something, but didn’t ask; instead, he took the cup and drank the blood inside in one go.
“Much better.” He returned the cup to Ji Ma, “You should leave quickly.”
I’ve already been loyal enough; after all, he can’t spank me now, nor will he be able to in the future.
Ji Ma took the horned cup, about to turn and leave when…
“Wait.”
George held out a letter with his right hand, handing it to Ji Ma, saying, “My last words, please deliver them to the Temple.”
“Mm.”
Ji Ma accepted the last words, turned, and walked away, planning to find a safe place to use the teleportation scroll. She wouldn’t die with George; after running about ten meters, a sound of a horse neighing came from behind.
Unable to resist, Ji Ma turned to look back at George. He had mounted a pure white heavenly warhorse; his left hand could already move, gripping a spear adorned with the Temple’s flag, charging toward the mansion in the aristocratic district that was engulfed in flames.
Ji Ma watched the figure of her enemy fade away with mixed feelings. She turned her head and tossed George’s last words into a nearby burning cart. The pristine white envelope blackened in the flames, and Ji Ma muttered:
“Delivering a will to the Temple, I’ll get caught by them. George, anyway, you’ve already written your last words before your mission; you don’t need a will… Goodbye, Toolman.”
