Chapter 20
The young man stared at the spear, not expecting Jima to actually make a move. He angrily raised his hand in an attempt to push the spear away. Jima put more strength into her right hand and pushed forward, causing the young man to fall to the ground in pain as she pulled the spear out, its tip stained with a bit of blood.
“Are you convinced now?”
The young man got up, intending to charge at Jima, but she gripped the spear tightly with both hands, aiming it at his neck, ready to kill him.
At this moment, the villagers who had been watching realized the seriousness of the situation and rushed forward to stop the agitated young man. Though the pain of losing his father and the effects of alcohol had dulled his senses, blood began to seep from his wound, and the linen shirt on his shoulder became stained red, extinguishing his fury with pain.
“How can you kill someone?”
“Get out of our village.”
The villagers surrounded her, pointing and gesturing at Jima while staying outside the range of her spear.
“If you make any more noise, I’ll burn your village to the ground. I’ll take off all your heads, seven heads on the left, none on the right.”
“Why not on the right?”
“I know you don’t have a problem with beheading.”
The unarmed villagers were helpless against Jima, so they went to call for help.
Jima rode her horse, extending the spear toward the horned child. He was startled, staring blankly at her sitting on the horse.
“Hey, get up.” Jima said, “Isn’t it dirty lying on the ground?”
The horned child extended his thin hand and grabbed the blood-stained tip of the spear, wobbling as he stood up.
At this moment, a loud commotion was heard not far away.
A group of militiamen, armed with pitchforks, spears, and bows, were approaching, led by several veterans clad in chainmail, or donning helmets, looking fierce.
The horned child trembled in his legs and said, “Sorry… I shouldn’t have called for you.”
“What’s there to apologize for? If you get beaten, you should call for help.”
“But I have horns; I shouldn’t enter the village.”
“Even if you have a tail, you still have to call.” Jima tapped his shoulder with the spear tip and said, “Hide behind my horse.”
“Okay.” The horned child hid behind Jima, staring blankly at her back.
Jima glanced at the soldiers in the market; they hadn’t anticipated the situation escalating this far. One clever soldier hurried off to find George.
“It’s her! She wants to burn our village and behead everyone!” someone shouted, pointing at Jima.
A stone was thrown at Jima but was pushed away mid-air by an invisible force.
A veteran in a helmet pointed at Jima and asked, “You, little girl, want to burn our village?”
“Behind her is a beastman! She stabbed our people with the spear for it.”
The horned child shrank back in fear, afraid to speak.
“Do you see this spear?” Jima pointed at the spear, “It glows. Last time I was hungry, I rushed into the woods and killed a tiger, roasting it to eat. Then I killed over a hundred beastmen, and afterward, out of excitement, I ran around the mountain ten laps for my post-meal exercise. Even the knights have to treat us with respect. Do you want this village burned to the ground?”
The angry villagers calmed a bit. Although Jima, perched on horseback, was slender and apparently unarmored, she held a spear that glowed.
The veteran in the helmet took a step back, fear and disgust in his voice: “Witchcraft.”
“This spear demands blood; it needs to kill at least ten to be satisfied,” Jima continued to intimidate, “unless you offer a cow, two lambs, and a pig.”
“Do you take us for fools, men without balls?”
The veterans and villagers shouted, but their confidence seemed lacking. No one dared to step forward; instead, they retreated a step.
Jima felt her ability to bluff growing stronger and decided to take advantage, raising the spear to make it shine brighter as she threatened, “We still need a pure virgin—”
At that moment, a calm voice came from behind the horse:
“What’s going on?”
Jima paused, quickly swallowing her words, turning her head and found that it was indeed George who had arrived. Staying composed, she forcefully tapped his chest plate with the spear, making a dull sound, and said:
“Did you hear that? So thick with steel, he could crush all of you with one hand. If you want to harm an innocent, helpless little child, just wait for his wrath.”
George glanced at her, and Jima grinned.
“You want to steal our food, kill our people, and take our women?” the veteran accused immediately, “Just now she even stabbed an innocent villager with her spear.”
At that moment, supported by villagers, the young man’s shoulder wound had bled through most of his chest.
“You just said no stealing, no hurting, fair trade.”
“Quiet, quiet.” George waved his empty hands with the great sword, “Let me first understand what happened; I promise fairness.”
George looked at Jima, who said, “Just now, I saw your servant getting beaten. He was drunk because yesterday his father was taken out to feed the beastmen; it must be that body we’ve seen before, and those soldiers were present, you can ask them.”
Among the soldiers who came to shop, a few said:
“It seems like there was something like that.”
“I don’t know, nor do I care; I’m busy.”
Jima interjected, “Just now your servant was calling for help, no one came to his aid.”
George looked at the injured horned child and asked, “Did you ask for help?”
The soldiers behind George glared at the horned child.
The horned child shrank his neck in fear, looked at Jima, and nodded: “Only the black-haired sister helped me.”
George looked at him in surprise, saying, “You did well; you didn’t kill anyone.”
“I missed.” Jima said honestly, “Haven’t used a polearm in a long time.”
But how long has it been since Jima last used a polearm?
George’s eyes shifted as if he thought of something, opened his mouth, but ultimately did not ask.
In the end, George made a fair judgment. He treated the young man’s injury and required him to apologize to the horned child, persuading the villagers not to feed the beastmen; the beastmen would not show mercy just because the villagers offered fresh meat regularly.
This provoked unanimous opposition from the villagers, who were indignant. George had no choice but to wave his sword a few more times to calm the atmosphere.
In the end, the young man did apologize.
But the villagers refused to trade with the chapel’s army; all agreed supplies were held back, and the village chief personally returned all the coins to George without exception. He stated, “We do not welcome outsiders here.”
The gate at the village entrance was closed, barring George from entry.
Under the blazing sun, the soldiers building the camp walls were parched, waiting for the legendary sweet melons to arrive to quench their thirst.
George returned empty-handed, many showed their disappointment openly, so he could only arrange a few people to find water sources.
“What a pity,” Jima said, “If the chapel’s army were less disciplined, we could use some force to make Sweet Melon Village comply.”
“We’re not robbers,” George replied, “By the way, I almost forgot there are people who need to be punished, soldiers, soldiers.”
“Commander, what are your orders?”
“How should those who see comrades being bullied without helping be punished?”
“Depends on the severity; at least ten lashes publicly.”
“Good, several soldiers have violated the treaty, at dinner tonight, they will be punished publicly, they are—”
“Hey, hey, George, you’re not going to punish those soldiers who didn’t help your servant, right?”
“Right, is there anything wrong with that?”
