Chapter 101 Chapter 102 Banquet
Unlike the knights who were joyfully boasting around George, the survivors of the catastrophe, after the initial joy of being saved, were left with an endless sorrow.
The bodies needed to be handled, each corpse lying on the ground was turned over by the hands of mothers and sons to identify their features. They had to stifle their sadness and clean up the entire ruined city, moving the bodies away.
The knights were eager to feast on the corpse of the green dragon; although eating dragon meat served no purpose other than to fill their stomachs, to the knights, it was an act of supreme honor.
Saintess Jenna was found beneath the body of a hulking orc, the savage orc attempting to crush her with its weight. It succeeded, but at the same time, Saintess Jenna smashed its chest, and Jenna tried to pull open the orc’s chest to retrieve its heart.
Jenna had gotten halfway when she was discovered, her right hand already inside the orc’s chest, fingers clutching the heart.
If it weren’t for the badge of the God of Dawn pinned to her robe, no one would believe that this blood-covered woman was the gentle saint.
The sleepy Jima, who had just returned to the castle, hurriedly inquired about Jenna’s room upon waking up after hearing about the incident, rushing to Jenna’s room without even washing her face.
“Jenna sister, it’s me, Jima!” she said, forcefully pushing open the door, just as she saw the plain room.
Jenna was dressed in a simple, loose white nightgown, leaning against the head of her bed, her loose golden hair falling over her shoulders and arms, while the sunlight from the window illuminated half of her body. She had a small pair of glasses perched on her nose, looking at the book in her hands.
Noticing Jima entering, she marked her page with a bookmark, closed the book, placed it on the bedside, and smiled gently at Jima.
Wow, the aura of a married woman was nearly overflowing.
Jenna said, “I feel fine right now. What brings you to me, Jima?”
Seeing Jenna in such good condition, Jima felt quite regretful, regretting that when she returned to the castle, she only thought about sleeping, not realizing Jenna would need a woman to wash her body and change her clothes after she fell unconscious.
What a great opportunity; she was undoubtedly the best candidate.
In a room with the unconscious pure and noble saintess and the demon lord, she could do whatever she wanted, rub her or mess up her hair into a tangled mess.
The more Jima thought about it, the more regretful she became. She shook her head, pulled over a chair to sit down, and casually asked, “What book are you reading?”
“The Thought Behind Spirit, Energy, and Behavior.”
Hearing that title made Jima want to doze off and leave, but walking out like that would be rude.
“That sounds very theoretical.”
The implication being, theoretical but useless.
Jenna’s green eyes looked kindly at Jima and said, “I’ve been researching your soul injuries lately.”
“Don’t bother with that, what’s the point of studying it?”
“I’ve made a lot of notes.” Saintess Jenna opened her notebook, “I want to confirm with you whether my theories are correct.”
“That’s mostly useless.”
“You’re feeling a strong sexual desire right now, aren’t you?”
Jima quickly squeezed out any thoughts of playing with the unconscious saintess from her mind and said, “I fought all day yesterday, my magical energy is all depleted. I’m hungry; for a succubus, hunger equals thirst.”
“I thought so.” Jenna’s gaze made Jima feel a bit fidgety, “I’ve reached an interesting conclusion.”
“Less jargon, that stuff is useless.”
“You’re using superficial lust to cover a deeper need.”
“What need?”
“A need for love, for safety.”
“Oh, oh, oh.” Jima let out some strange sounds, “I’m such a pitiful child lacking love, sob, I’m really pathetic.”
“I stand by my theory, can you cooperate a little, Jima?”
Look at our big-busted saint… you have no idea about my true identity.
“You’re right halfway.” Jima said, “But what I lack is different from what you imagine.”
“Can you tell me?”
What I lack is sexual love; what I lack is a beautiful servant who will unconditionally satisfy all my needs.
“No.”
“That’s alright; it can still validate my theory.” Saintess Jenna cheerfully ticked something off in her notes and asked, “You’re very sad right now, aren’t you?”
“Sad? I’m always sad.” Jima increasingly missed the time when she was the demon lord, with a beautiful long-legged maid waking her up with kisses every morning, “But today I’m very happy. I survived, the green dragon was played around by me, and George agreed to give me half of the extraordinary substance.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“But I see that your spirit is not quite right.” Saintess Jenna blinked and looked carefully at Jima again. “You need to cry, to let out all that sadness.”
Jima’s face twitched, saying, “I’m once again seeing how big the gap between theory and reality is.”
At that moment, a lively sounds came from below. Bards played lutes and sang: “Yo, the dragon-slaying George…”
A chorus followed, along with a synchronized stomping sound: “Hey yo.”
The entire floor was shaking; it was surely those excited knights stomping their feet.
Jima said, “It seems the bards the knights brought back last night have finally arrived.”
Jenna asked, “Are you sad, Jima?”
“I’m fine, thank you.” Jima replied, “Everyone’s happy now, I’m happy too, so let’s not discuss these strange things when everyone is so cheerful.”
Jenna shook her head and drew a cross in her notes.
“I’ll continue to observe you.”
Jima felt inexplicably irritated and said, “I’m not your lab rat, stop that. Just take care of yourself, goodbye.”
Amid the tirelessly celebrating knights, the city that was once filled with corpses finally had a festive atmosphere.
No one knew where the knights got truckloads of beer, but they generously shared sour beer and bread with everyone. Those who had survived the catastrophe and were beaten half to death with the work of moving bodies needed copious amounts of alcohol.
Now, there were no more gloomy-faced people in the city.
Five large piles of wood stacked up. The green dragon had been dismembered, and all the knights wanted to taste the flavor of slaying a dragon, lining up to strike at the corpse with their weapons.
Despite the knights’ remarkable strength, by the time they divided the green dragon into five pieces and laid it on the racks, the sun was already setting in the evening.
But that did not dampen the knights’ enthusiasm. They gathered around the woodpile, engaging in grand discussions or stomping their feet to the tunes of the bards. A pile of mead was stacked in the corner, and the knights poured dragon blood into a mead barrel, drinking the blood-colored mead, clinking their cups, toasting each other to longevity.
Jima also tried to drink a cup of dragon blood mead; a chlorine-like taste stung her tongue, almost making her vomit.
Although the corrosiveness of the blood had greatly decreased after the green dragon died, it still didn’t taste very good.
Nearby knights praised Jima for her bravery, showing no prejudice because of her horns.
This was due to George, who, seemingly guilty, mentioned Jima’s significant contributions to slaying the dragon in half of his sentences.
Surrounded by a group of knights, George said, “Without Jima risking her life to help, I wouldn’t even be able to touch the green dragon’s tail.”
“Sir George, if you keep this up, we men will be jealous and draw our swords at you.” Sam said, the stout knight always reminding people of a hulking orc, “By the way, where can one buy succubus eggs?”
Laughter erupted among the surrounding knights.
George, though expressionless, felt embarrassed internally.
“Come on, let’s raise a glass to the dragon-slaying George, wishing you longevity.”
Another cup of dragon blood mead went down; George grew accustomed to the strong taste and gradually began to enjoy it. His face flushed, and he started to talk more, finally fitting in with the knights.
Just as the knights were again praising George’s bravery, a small, thin figure squeezed through between the knights’ legs, tugging at George’s cloak with small hands.
George looked down and saw it was little John, his eyes red and a face full of sorrow. George suddenly remembered that little John had become an orphan.
“Brother George.” He said timidly, “Is my daddy a bad guy? They all say I’m a bad seed.”
The knights fell quiet; someone muttered, “Why bring up a traitor? What an ill omen.”
Little John tightened his grip on George’s cloak.
George’s lips trembled as he realized he had been pushed to the edge of a cliff. All day, he had been mingling with the knights, trying to forget about his mentor’s fall from grace.
He didn’t want to speak the truth; the child was innocent, he had already lost his parents, and his origin could have been better. He was supposed to be a sacrifice, offered up as a good and righteous offering.
How could George bear to let him be the son of a traitor? But he couldn’t lie.
He could only remain silent.
The light of hope in little John’s eyes gradually dimmed, and he let go of George’s cloak.
George suddenly understood Saint John; the church had sent people for aftermath work today, and they had decided to burn the mutated corpse of Saint John into ashes to neutralize the corruption caused by the vampires suppressed under Saint John’s village.
Could this be the cost of righteousness?
George squatted down, wanting to say he was sorry.
Little John said, “I’m sorry, I… I know my daddy is… is…”
As he spoke, tears were about to spill down his face.
George couldn’t find the words; just thinking about how little John would no longer have anyone to care for him, facing disdain from others, made his heart heavy. He could only give money, having no energy to care for little John.
“He’s a great hero.” Jima walked over with a pained expression, ruffling little John’s hair and saying, “I’m sorry; we only just learned that the green dragon had captured your father long ago, torturing him with all sorts of vile methods, forcing him to drink hallucinogens, cutting off his fingers, even… violating him to destroy his faith…”
Nearby, Dru looked on with envy.
“Even when his soul was controlled by the green dragon, he still struggled. In mysticism, this is almost impossible; that’s why the green dragon was caught off guard and led step by step into a deadly trap.”
The more Jima spoke, the more she felt she was speaking the truth. From a certain perspective, in terms of dragging down the team, Saint John’s performance was pretty much similar to a traitor.
Little John couldn’t believe it; he asked softly: “So… what I heard that day behind the door was?”
Jima’s face became serious:
“That was the green dragon twisting his soul, creating an evil spirit that controlled him. Later, to break free from the green dragon’s control, he chose to lose control himself, becoming a monster. George personally ended your father’s pain; before dying, he regained his senses, holding George’s hand…”
As Jima spoke, she held George’s hand tightly, using an aged voice to say: “Son, or no, disciple, after I die, please scatter my ashes on the earth to purify the vampire’s corruption; that is the last thing I can do.”
To enhance credibility, Jima turned her head to George and said: “I remember you were in tears at that time, right?”
George nodded and said: “Yes.”
For a strong man to shed tears, it must have been very moving.
The knights all stood up in solemn respect, little John’s eyes were red, saying: “Thank you.”
“Lord Dru.” Jima said, “Little John is already an orphan; his father has contributed so much to this land.”
Dru wiped away tears from the corners of his eyes and said, “I will take him as my adopted son; he will grow up to be a brave and kind knight, just like his father.”
Jima gently nudged George, her gaze flickering to the dragon blood mead in his hand.
George responded: “To Saint John.”
The cups clinked together: “To Saint John.”
George sighed to himself and downed the dragon blood mead.
