Chapter 87: Chapter Eighty-Six: Counting the Spoils of War
The Arctic Circle.
Here, the winds of magic rage, becoming stronger as one approaches the poles. Everything is filled with magical energy, exhibiting a strange and twisted vitality.
The Eternal Chosen, Marus, cleaves a living iceberg in two; it opens its wide mouth and swallows ships. Inside its belly, Marus finds a vessel and orders the dead sailors aboard to sail for him. The ship navigates across the ice, encountering all kinds of “magical beasts” along the way.
In just half a day, the ship is piled high with the corpses of magical beasts.
He even encounters an ancient woolly mammoth, which has tentacles that enjoy coiling around “mutated seals” to satisfy its needs. When the woolly mammoth meets Marus, it charges at him, becoming his draft animal.
Upon reaching the edge of the eternal battlefield, the demon lord Marus observes the endless armies of the Four Gods colliding from afar. Due to the presence of the vortex created by the high elves, the magical winds are calmed outside the poles; the armies cannot survive beyond this point and can only slaughter one another here.
At the same time, a thousand-strong army that worships the Blood God approaches, aiming to kill the Eternal Chosen Marus and take his place.
Half a day later, the Eternal Chosen Marus stands alone atop a heap of corpses, with only minor scratches on his tower shield.
The pile of bodies on the ship begins to sing; the dead play flutes made from leg bones, praising his great military exploits. Undoubtedly, the color fiend manifests itself. Unfazed, the Eternal Chosen Marus commands his followers to pile up an altar and make sacrifices to the Four Gods, assisting him in collecting all fragments of crowns.
The three-eyed penguin continues to chatter, advising him to “turn back,” saying:
“Great Lord of the End, you should return. Only the Lord of Change can ignore the eddies and accurately transport you to where you want to go through precise calculations. Making offerings here could lead to strange mistakes…”
The Eternal Chosen Marus says nothing; he looks up, three eyes gazing at the sky, reminiscing about his loyal black dragon mount. Its praises are sincere yet brief, its wings powerful and strong. Riding her, he could fly far, far away.
Thus, he wouldn’t have to endure the chatter of a three-eyed penguin.
“… The Four Gods are capricious; even if they agree to your request, should you happen to land amidst the enemy’s army when passing through the portal, the magical energy there might not be abundant enough, which would greatly diminish your power. If you were to encounter a party of heroes, you could be killed instantly, and the Four Gods would abandon their plan to destroy the world, and you…”
The Eternal Chosen Marus raises his right hand, clenching his iron fist.
The three-eyed penguin shuts its mouth but can’t help but speak again: “Great Chosen One, Chosen by the Four Gods, King of All Kings, you surely won’t be harmed by mundane weapons. Even if you take the sword of the hero George to your chest, it won’t be like the weak demon king…”
With a punch from the Eternal Chosen Marus, the three-eyed penguin flies backward like a cannonball, crashing into the snow.
At this moment, the altar is ready. Snow, bones, weapons, and blood rise into the air, forming the mark of the Four Gods, and simultaneously, four elliptical portals appear.
Initially, Marus assumes that the Four Gods are providing him with portals in their respective ways, but the next moment, he foresees the future, furrowing his brow behind his metal helmet.
From the red circle steps out a blood demon towering three stories high, with tattered wings, wielding a jagged axe in one hand and a long whip in the other. It storms forth, effortlessly severing a nearby minion who couldn’t escape in time. It roars at Marus. This is the Blood God’s Great Demon.
From the green circle emerges a foul creature surrounded by human-headed flies, as large as a hill, resembling an overgrown, puffy figure soaked in water, with layers of fat, antlers on its head, and a mouth filled with writhing white maggots. This is the Filth Demon.
From the purple circle arises a being draped in a veil, possessing four eyes and a goat-like mouth that extends long enough to reach its hips, boasting eighteen pairs of breasts. This is the Color Fiend Demon.
From the blue circle steps a birdman adorned with blue feathers, with a head like a bird and a beak like an eagle, undoubtedly the Lord of Change Great Demon.
Demon Lord Marus feels immense pressure from them.
The blue-feathered birdman proclaims: “You have defied the will of the Four Gods by privately entering the mortal realm, causing chaos within the demon realm, jeopardizing the great plan of destruction—”
“Kill, kill, kill!”
The blood demon can no longer hold back, charging at Demon Lord Marus like an enraged bull.
After fierce combat, Demon Lord Marus, lacking in strength, suffers a brutal beating from the four great demons. First, the Lord of Change Great Demon confuses him with illusions, trapping him in place, then a cloud of pink mist envelops him, and finally, the blood demon spews out a flame. To make matters worse, the filth demon vomits on him, a large amount of vomit mixed with maggots splattering across him.
As a result, Demon Lord Marus is injured, taking a full quarter of an hour to slay the four great demons. Afterward, the corpses of the four demons merge, transforming into a steed granted to Demon Lord Marus.
Looking at the magnificent black armored steed before him, it is handsome and powerful, but it cannot fly.
Demon Lord Marus silently gazes at his mount, quietly reattaching his severed hand. He decides that after the world’s destruction, his next step must be to slaughter the Four Gods.
…
…
The battlefield has been cleared.
During this time, some squabbles occurred; the ogres’ goblins clashed with refugees while looting the spoils.
However, it was quickly mediated. Jima didn’t care about the ordinary spoils; those items required substantial quantities for profits, but carrying them would consume her precious magical energy.
The ogres respectfully offered up all spoils involving the extraordinary.
The most numerous were the heart and flesh of trolls, perfect for creating alchemical items. There were a total of ninety-eight portions, packed in wooden barrels like pig entrails, lined up neatly.
These items are precious because a single troll only provides one portion; even if you capture a troll and raise it to utilize its regeneration ability for heart extraction multiple times, only the first portion is useful.
Unfortunately, the shelf life is only fourteen days; if troll flesh is stored too long, it will grow into new small trolls. For the safety of the Dream Palace, Jima reluctantly took sixty-eight portions and handed them over to the ogres for hot pot.
Jima personally brought glass bottles, filled with alcohol, wearing leather gloves, and one by one, placed pieces of heart and flesh into the glass bottles. The still-wriggling hearts and flesh, once thrown into the glass bottles, ceased to move.
A cold wind blew by, carrying the scent of alcohol.
The dwarves sniffed and approached, asking for victory wine, but after being rejected by Jima, they grumbled and walked away, calling her stingy.
As she corked the thirtieth glass bottle.
Jima turned to George, who stood quietly beside her, and smiled: “What’s the matter?”
George looked at her face and said, “Some extraordinary spoils need to be distributed.”
“Okay.”
Jima held the glass bottle containing the troll’s heart and flesh as they walked together. Walking next to George, even though she knew that if he discovered her countless flawed lies, he would see through the skin she wore.
Jima still felt very safe.
Where does this feeling originate?
Is it the influence of the paladin’s courage and spirit? Or the cliché of the hero saving the beauty back in Sarrin City? Or perhaps it’s his subtle actions in daily life, nurturing her in silence?
“Can these make good potions?”
“Regeneration potions,” Jima said. “They can provide a long-lasting regeneration ability.”
“Like your blood horn cup?”
“The effect won’t be as strong as that.”
“True, that is a powerful extraordinary item; strong effects come with strong side effects,” George said. “If that ice troll could be made into the blood horn cup, it would be great.”
“Yes.”
The pale-faced Lianxi approached. Usually, Jima would give her the blood horn cup when she needed blood replenishment.
Jima’s leather gloves were already stained with blood as she held the red glass bottle and handed it to Lianxi, losing a drop of blood along the way.
Lianxi accepted the glass bottle and placed it on a small cart. Jima then took off her leather apron and gloves, handing them to her, and the wind blew again, dispersing the scent of blood on Jima.
She became a beautiful little succubus again, her face radiating a happy smile as she looked at George.
“What’s making you so happy?”
“What do you think our child should be named?”
George looked up at the sunset on the horizon and said, “I have many ideas, but let’s wait until the winds of magic calm down and the world steps into the peaceful era beyond the shadow of destruction.”
“By that time, our descendants and everyone else’s will be able to grow up in a peaceful and benevolent era.”
Just another cliché thought of “I for everyone.”
Jima said:
“If it’s a girl, how about calling her Peggy? Then if you die, I can tell our daughter that her father is strong and powerful, that he died for world peace, and that she must not be as foolish as he was; life is precious, and she should run if needed.”
“I hope she’ll be proud of me.”
“Of course she will.”
“To be precise, she’ll be proud of my contributions.”
“That certainly won’t be,” Jima said. “If you don’t like it, grow a uterus.”
George glanced at her, finding it amusing, and said nothing.
Not far away.
Eve Frostleaf and Saintess Jenna stood facing each other, seemingly deep in conversation. As Jima and George approached, the two instinctively fell silent.
Jima sensed something off between the two women but remained quiet; George didn’t perceive anything unusual.
On the table lay several extraordinary items, each less appealing than the last: a head with a spinning bobbin inserted, the head of a troll chieftain still attached to the neck, eyes wide open in death, and a shield adorned with the demon clan’s symbol.
George took out a small notebook, and the atmosphere shifted back to official business.
Jenna said: “All items have been identified.”
“Can the troll chieftain’s head be made into a blood horn cup?” George asked; “The kind that Jima has.”
After several treatments, Jenna appeared somewhat fatigued as she shook her head: “No.”
“What a pity.”
“The skull can cast a curse on enemies, reducing their strength and slowing their bodies…”
Jima looked around the table at the spoils; nothing caught her interest: “They’re all unsightly; I’d rather exchange my dragon-slaying points for gold coins.”
Jenna pointed at the troll chieftain’s head and said: “Jima, do you remember the life-saving skill of the troll chieftain?”
“Freezer?”
“What’s a freezer?”
“I made it up,” Jima countered. “Can it really extract that extraordinary ability?”
Jenna replied: “The extraction is very ideal; it’s likely because it desperately wanted to use its life-saving ability before dying. I processed it a bit, and it’s done.”
Jima wanted this ability badly, but looking at the troll chieftain’s ugly head, she hesitated.
The troll chieftain’s large head was unattractive, covered in a layer of ice, with a green glow emanating from the crown, likely due to resentment before its death. Carrying such an ugly, green thing would truly not match her appearance.
So ugly.
At that moment, Jenna picked up the troll chieftain’s head, and a blue ice crystal, oval-shaped, fell from it, producing a clear sound.
Jenna said: “It has fully extracted.”
Jima immediately said: “George, I have clearly made a great contribution this time; I’m buying this crystal.”
