Chapter 213 Chapter 212 Specialization in Infighting
The entire army finally had a chance to regroup, but the first issue to address was basic necessities: food and shelter. Food? Who would organize it? Shelter, where would they pitch the tents? Moreover, everyone was a deserter, their ranks disrupted, and the soldiers didn’t know whom to approach.
The scene was a chaotic mess.
That’s why George just greeted the two women before going to “untangle the mess.”
Eve Frostleaf watched his back and scoffed, “Even a six-year-old elf has more discipline than these humans.”
With that, Eve Frostleaf left with her maid.
George spoke to one person after another, promoting peasant soldiers to sergeants, or stripping someone of their position, distributing tasks.
Even though he had extraordinary abilities to discern lies, maintain trust, and establish order, it was not that easy.
Jimara pulled up her hood, crossed her arms, and watched George struggling to understand dialects, repeatedly confirming task details with the stuttering peasant soldiers.
After nearly half an hour of this back and forth, the chaotic scene finally showed signs of order.
Some were assigned to butcher the beastmen, some to care for the wounded, and some to gather firewood. For minor accidents, such as not having enough knives or lacking pots, they all went to the persons George appointed.
It was quite bothersome.
Jimara found it frustrating to watch.
These menial tasks, looked down upon by the knights, were all handled by George.
Jimara thought that even if George couldn’t brush them off, he should cut through the confusion quickly, instead of spending so much energy on it.
No matter how diligent he was, what return would these peasant soldiers provide? There was no value in the investment.
It would be better to rest well and take down a few more beastmen.
But there was George, filthy and worn, gazing at the orderly army with a satisfied smile.
Perhaps it was just like playing a management game; seeing the neatly arranged buildings brought genuine joy.
Thinking of this, Jimara abandoned the idea of persuading George.
George approached her, looking somewhat tired, and said, “We need to discuss our next steps properly.”
Jimara took out a prepared wet towel and pinched her nose, “Before that, you should really clean your face.”
“Thanks.”
George took the white towel and rubbed his face vigorously as he walked. After finishing with his face, he rubbed his neck; while his face was considerably cleaner, the towel had turned into a grimy rag, which he sheepishly returned to Jimara.
“I don’t want it; I have plenty.”
Really, he didn’t pay any attention to personal hygiene at all. Just look at how clean the other knights were, and you’d realize this guy was foolish enough to work overtime instead of slacking off.
Though Jimara internally complained, she didn’t voice it.
After all, ultimately, it was none of her business. His foolishness and happiness were his own affairs.
George casually tossed the dirty towel away.
A few old peasant soldiers nearby rushed to snatch the filthy towel as if they were scavenging wild dogs.
George’s tent was already set up, positioned perfectly between the knights’ rest area and the old farmers’ rest area. Though called a rest area, it was merely an open space where one could lay down on a piece of cloth to rest, a privilege typically reserved for nobles.
In front of George’s canvas tent stood a tall, slender, silver figure—Eve Frostleaf. Upon seeing George and Jimara, she slightly nodded, bent down, and entered the tent, followed by George.
Jimara then lowered her hand from her nose and joined them inside.
Inside the tent, a horned child lay sleeping. When he sensed someone entering, he immediately jumped up. Upon seeing Jimara, he hastily looked down, staring at his own toes as if Jimara were an unapproachable sun.
It seems George had already talked with him.
Jimara said, “Go outside; we need to talk.”
The horned child, head bowed, crawled out.
As soon as they sat down, George began to report on the situation within the army.
“For the past few days, we have been gathering deserters,” George said. “We now have a total of 863 people, including 462 knights.”
“Those on horseback are quick,” Jimara remarked. “With so many knights, there aren’t enough infantry to serve them.”
George responded, “That’s indeed a problem. Knight Tondar selected 235 warriors from among the knights to act as temporary attendants for them.”
“If more are given to the knights, then those cooking and setting up camp will be fewer, right?”
“Luckily, under the power of order, there are just enough hands.”
Eve Frostleaf suddenly interjected, “Who is the leader of the army now?”
“Knight Tondar. He fought his way out from Duchy Casson.”
“And what is your responsibility?”
“Same as before, to fight alongside the army,” George said. “Cover the rear, slay commanders. Since everyone’s ranks are in disarray, I am also responsible for establishing order within the army. It’s not an easy task; we have been constantly harassed, and there were several instances when the army teetered on the brink of collapse.”
Eve Frostleaf nodded subtly, maintaining her expressionless demeanor, but Jimara noticed a slight frown of displeasure in her eyes.
Remembering that George had said he hadn’t slept in four days, Jimara quipped, “Even the army’s donkey isn’t as diligent as you.”
George replied, “We don’t have any donkeys.”
“Once Mother of Beasts gathers the army, and the other deserters are hunted down,” Jimara said, “it will be the army’s end.”
“But fortunately, you all are here,” George said, his bags under his eyes visible, his bright blue eyes smiling at Jimara. “Especially you, with your divination tracking, we’ve avoided many enemies.”
“Where are we heading?”
“To Quinas Castle.” George sounded optimistic. “We should arrive in about seven days.”
“I believe that when Quinas Castle sees us and the army of beastmen behind us, despair will surely follow,” Jimara said. “With so many cyclops, I finally understand why the northern castles fell so quickly.”
“The Lake Goddess performed a miracle,” George said. “As long as we can hold Quinas Castle, once the chivalrous army arrives, the day of the bloodthirsty beastmen’s doom will also have arrived.”
“Gathering the army will take a long time. From the knights receiving notification, to gathering, and then setting out, it might already be summer,” Jimara cautioned George. “The garrison at Quinas Castle is originally weak; its fate was already sealed after its defeat.”
Jimara paused before continuing, “Even if we go to seize the demon lord’s extraordinary resources, the success rate is higher than that of holding Quinas Castle.”
“Are you sure?”
“Very sure.”
“But Quinas Castle has soldiers who would fight to the death,” George argued. “In this critical moment, everyone will unite against the outside threat.”
“If unity could solve problems, the demon realm would have been trampled long ago.”
George was silent for a moment. “Then what should we do?”
“Act separately, transfer the surviving forces from Quinas Castle,” Jimara said. “Prioritize preserving our living forces.”
“No, I’m talking about something else.” George pointed outside the tent. “What about them?”
“Act separately.” It was just a euphemism for abandoning the burdens.
“I can’t just watch those people be thrown into the jaws of the beastmen,” George exclaimed, getting a bit agitated. “What can I do? I can only do my best to save them from the beastmen’s grip.”
He sighed, “Jimara, I hope you can fulfill your responsibilities.”
Jimara shrugged and spread her hands. “What can I do? I can only follow you and try to lead this group of peasants to Quinas Castle.”
“We don’t have much supply left, or rather, we have no supplies at all,” George said. “The knights only have one warhorse; all the pack horses have been lost, and the warhorses are exhausted. There are no craftsmen or tools in the army, the armor cannot be effectively repaired, but the most severe issue is the lack of food.”
“Without dry rations, the weather is turning warmer; even if we use parts of the beastmen as army provisions, they will rot and breed bugs in two or three days.”
“Moreover, extraordinary beings cannot consume beastmen parts, or they risk losing control. Some knights have already had to personally kill their own warhorses.”
“I could have sourced food from the beastmen, but they have become quite clever; the beastmen who came to harass and intercept only carry one day’s worth of food, most of which is human jerky.”
“So…”
George hopefully looked at Jimara, “I need your Dream Palace to meet the logistics of the army.”
What a bunch of burdensome wastes. I could embrace George’s thigh just fine; those parasites clinging to him could roll as far away as possible.
“No.” Jimara suppressed her anger and said, “Every time my Dream Palace swallows and expels goods, it drains my magic power. Let me calculate for you: first, I must pass through the gray mist of the dream realm, which consumes my energy and magic severely, like moving through a muddy swamp.”
“Once I finally manage to get through the gray mist to another location to procure supplies, stuff them into my Dream Palace, and then traverse back through the gray mist, I estimate I would drain my magic power several times.”
“Another reason, dear George.”
“Look at the horns and wings on your fiancée’s head,” Jimara pointed to her horns. “I am a succubus, a demon. I don’t have the noble morals you do—sacrificing myself, risking my life for the well-being of others, toiling day in and day out.”
This knight who had been fatigued for four days and four nights stared in astonishment at his fiancée.
Jimara didn’t know if this proud knight was beginning to regret marrying a wicked succubus in his heart, and whether he would be upset. Upset that his kindness and love ultimately didn’t change her a bit.
But Jimara was unwilling to compromise.
What a joke! Working tirelessly for a bunch of burdens, exhausting her magic.
She could originally wash and sleep comfortably in her Dream Palace every day. But after working, she would have to sleep on the ground to recover magic faster, with no water to bathe.
However, in the end, George didn’t get angry or blame her, saying, “I took it for granted.”
Eve Frostleaf suddenly stood up and, with a neutral expression, said to Jimara:
“We need to speak privately.”
The tone sounded as if we had a grudge.
Jimara pondered whether she had done something foolish to Eve Frostleaf, like stealing panties or peeping while bathing.
Not at all.
She wasn’t desperate to that extent, after all, she was an experienced woman with a sex life.
After saying that, Eve Frostleaf left the tent, and Jimara took a glance at her calves beneath the skirt armor before following her. They walked over a hundred meters to the edge of the woods before stopping.
Eve Frostleaf said, “Keep it secret.”
Jimara then activated the “Silent Tranquility Barrier,” making their figures vanish in the eyes of outsiders.
“How do you perceive George’s status?” Eve Frostleaf gestured toward the resting knights.
“Simply a slave; even a donkey would feel ashamed to lower its head before him,” Jimara replied. “Though right now, those deserters don’t even have a donkey.”
Eve Frostleaf gazed at Knight Tondar in the distance, who was drinking and celebrating with a few knights:
“This group of humans needs a better leader.”
Jimara instinctively asked, “Who?”
“George.” Eve Frostleaf looked at Jimara and said, “He is good at listening to military experts’ advice.”
Jimara initially thought Eve Frostleaf was going to persuade her to work hard for the army, but unexpectedly, this high elf was trying to engage her in political intrigue.
She tentatively asked, “What if Knight Tondar isn’t willing to step down?”
“You need to remind everyone that he is not qualified to be a knight at all.” Eve Frostleaf was unusually talkative today. “If he is self-aware, then he is still a good knight.”
Meaning she wanted her to use rumors to attack Knight Tondar.
Truly a specialized elf in infighting. Jimara looked up and down at Eve Frostleaf, who seemed untainted, as if she didn’t belong to the mundane world.
One should not judge by appearances; I almost forgot, elves are masters of infighting.
