Chapter Twenty-Five: The Storm
Jima looked at George. His face still maintained that calm demeanor, his eyes like deep wells with no ripples. But Jima knew he was struggling internally. Just like before, he kept this calm facade, yet to Jima, he emanated a desire to relieve the fatigue of five days of travel.
George said, “Do you want to lead the demon army?” As the Demon King.
Jima replied, “If I kill the leader of the besieging demon army, I am qualified to command them.”
“Will the cult agree?”
“I don’t know,” Jima said. “But it’s better than being compelled to stay. I will create division; there will be those who fight for me, who obey my commands, raising their claws against their companions and against enemies. I believe many of the cult’s followers will enjoy the taste of betrayal and being betrayed.”
“Will the cult corrupt you?”
“For me, you can call corruption a blessing.” Jima said, “If there’s a good plan, as long as everyone helps me kill the leader of this cult’s demon army, whether it’s a great demon or something else.”
“And then?”
“Under my command, all Imperials can orderly withdraw from Vanguard City.” Jima painted a beautiful picture of the future: I continue to lead the demon army, watching those demons clash against the Great Army of the Fire World.
“Will they follow you?” George asked. “You have no reputation; what can you offer the rest of the demon race? Killing the Order camp?”
“Killing the falsely reputed Eternal Chosen One.” Jima said, “He hasn’t gathered all the crown shards; he thinks he has defeated all the demon races, but in fact, he has done too much. Furthermore, if I fail, can’t I just flap my wings and fly back? I imagine my dear husband will protect me from the demon race’s claws.”
“What if you succeed in leading a demon army? Will you need our help?”
“Of course.” Jima said, “Especially you—at night, I am your wife; during the day, I am the Demon King leading the demon army. If you are willing to fight for me, it would greatly benefit the cause of justice.”
Jima hoped this would awaken George’s desire for conquest. But his slightly parted lips uttered two words: “No.”
“Do you not trust me?” Jima asked. “It makes sense; who knows if the followers will betray you again?”
“No,” George asked, “If the gods corrupt you, choosing you as their Chosen One and making you lead their demons, would you agree?”
“The cost of power often influences a person’s values.” Jima said, “Maybe I would, maybe I wouldn’t.”
“I don’t want a day to come when you and I stand on opposite sides of the battlefield, my sword pointed at you.”
Jima felt a pang of guilt: “Then you’d better pray this world can hold up a little longer, that the Order camp can resist the apocalyptic army.”
“Your main reason is not to save the world.”
“Of course.” Jima said, “Without the ambition to replace the Eternal Chosen One, do you think I would run over here just for you and your little—whether it’s something that was going to happen sooner or later, I can do this without asking for your permission.”
George said, “I understand.”
“What do you plan to do?” Jima asked. “If you decide that we, the strong ones, should forge a path to gamble on a slim chance of survival, I will follow you. I have no choice; after all, who told me to be virtuous and kind? I can only go where the chicken goes and follow the dog.”
“No.” George said, “I plan to assist you in seizing power.”
“Did you agree to support me in becoming the Demon King?”
“Only this once.”
George said, “If after succeeding, you choose to continue leading the demon army, I won’t oppose it. But I will not accept your descent, fighting for a group of demons.”
“Alright.” Jima said, “That was expected. After all, having a hero assist the demon army is itself a great taboo and a dangerous act.”
The danger referred to George’s years of interaction with a large group of demons, drawing the attention of the Four Dark Gods, leading to corruption.
Of course, for Jima, this was no bad thing; it was one of her little hopes. Jima looked at the system time; it had only been just over an hour since she returned, and so much had happened.
I wonder if Yvulu is still taking a bath? I hope the beautiful woman’s bath time and her personal matters bring the fragrance of peach blossoms into the air.
“Hmm? A little absence strengthens the marriage, right?” Jima reacted, recalling Yvulu’s skin like jade bone. Same place, same time, the long-separated fiancée, yet tender with me…
Thinking of this, the butterflies in Jima’s lower abdomen fluttered even more joyously.
Jima, soft and full of insinuation, said, “I’m very tired today; forget it; tomorrow, I’ll have time, anytime, anywhere.”
“Right now.” He meticulously read from the open notebook in his hands: Though it may be inappropriate to say, I sincerely feel that when I meet Yvulu, your actions just make me…
“Are you still not a man?” Jima immediately retorted: As a half-possessed fiancée’s man, seeing wives stick together, shouldn’t you be very happy? Instead, why not?
George stepped forward; his movements were quick. When his hand firmly squeezed Jima’s waist, it reminded Jima once more of her vulnerability in close proximity.
His words were punctuated by the sound of pages turning behind her.
“What is it?” Jima turned her head to look at him, “Personal matters.”
The air was filled with the fragrance of peach blossoms.
“Hmm? A little absence strengthens the marriage, right?” Jima reacted again to Yvulu’s skin like jade bone. Same place, same time, the long-separated fiancée, yet tender with me…
Thinking of this, the butterflies in Jima’s lower abdomen fluttered even more joyously.
Jima, soft and full of insinuation, said, “I’m very tired today; forget it; tomorrow, I’ll have time, anytime, anywhere.”
“Right now.” He meticulously read from the open notebook in his hands: Though it may be inappropriate to say, I sincerely feel that when I meet Yvulu, your actions just make me…
“Are you still not a man?” Jima immediately retorted: As a half-possessed fiancée’s man, seeing wives stick together, shouldn’t you be very happy? Instead, why not?
George stepped forward; his movements were quick. When his hand firmly squeezed Jima’s waist…
In her ear, “But I know what you’re thinking; what if—”
Don’t speak that name!
Jima bit her teeth: “Are you the same?”
“Of course not.” George said, “It’s just a jealousy that’s hard for men to articulate.”
His hand increased pressure on Jima’s backside, explaining the level of his anger.
“Do you want to do that here?”
If he had previously asked me for something that married couples do, I would certainly have half-heartedly complied, but now to punish me for this and utter my true name? Absolutely not.
Jima tightened her legs together, raised her now rosy face, and allowed her black hair to brush her cheek, saying, “Definitely not.”
Just as those words left her mouth, a familiar and undeniable force came again, leaving Jima no choice but to turn around, grabbing his hand with both of hers, saying, “Don’t do this! I—”
A whip-lash on her backside made her whole rear twitch.
Jima’s eyes heated up, and despite her fierce tone, she couldn’t help but soften, “Be gentle.”
“Is this wrong?”
It’s not wrong.
Jima’s head was spinning; she tightened her legs even more.
Not only did the fragrance of peach blossoms intensify in the air, but Jima also heard his increasingly heavy breathing.
His desire was strong.
Damn, is this kid’s fate or my role in his sexual awakening?
Thinking about what might happen next, Jima couldn’t help but shiver, feeling her whole body grow soft.
As a result, this kid’s masculine aura became stronger, like countless hands holding a sheep down.
“Stop.” Jima’s voice lowered, “I know I was wrong; George, don’t do this here. There are still others outside, Frostleaf might come back.”
But his actions told her the answer.
If his ability to command an army was as powerful as his movements, he needed me as a military advisor.
Jima thought, trying to mobilize her “soldier” thighs to block George’s “cavalry” with force, but it was useless. He bulldozed through, easily breaking the blockade.
“You’re not wearing anything.” George stated the fact, which was much scarier than a rhetorical question.
Jima gritted her teeth and did not answer.
“Why not?”
Jima felt both anticipation and shame: “Go die.”
Ten minutes later, Jima felt like she had died.
It was as if she were sitting at the front of a ship in a storm, gradually and violently crashing against the ship, bouncing up and down, swaying left and right.
Jima felt helpless amidst this storm, against the mighty forces of nature, holding onto the wall tightly, trying to steady herself despite the severe upheaval.
But there was nowhere to grab. Before long, she was thrown against the ceiling and fell again, in the chaos, only able to support herself with her hands, staggering forward, searching for anything to stabilize her stance.
Finally, after who knows how long, she firmly grasped the railing, barely managing to stop in the storm.
Amidst the roaring waves, she pushed hard, trying to hold on, waiting for the storm to pass.
Her face could no longer support her; she kneeled down, surrendering to the great power of nature.
Recalling her past, her face became blurred, and a thought emerged.
Have I become a puppet at any moment?
Thinking of this, her brain trembled; mixed with shame and excitement, complex emotions surged into her abdomen.
Warm sea water soaked her body.
Gradually, she gave up resistance, straining to follow the rhythm of the storm.
Suddenly, a loud noise broke the storm, overpowering all the clamor.
“George?”
It was Frostleaf’s voice.
Jima felt irritated; she hoped to break something, but unfortunately, she was a succubus who hadn’t relieved herself.
She stood up suddenly.
But the storm continued, two waves came in, the deck shook, and Jima almost knelt down again.
“Stop it!” Jima shouted at the raging waves from the bow of the ship, “Stop now!”
Several waves hit directly, sinking the wobbling ship.
Jima trembled as the ship sank to the ocean floor, the cold seawater engulfing her.
Knock, knock, knock…
A knocking sound.
Awakening.
Still drowning, Jima lifted her eyelids; the ground was damp, and she felt completely normal; who wouldn’t be wet after sinking into the sea?
Kneeling on the ground, the lines along her cheeks were already soaked.
Jima supported the ground with her hands, struggling to lift her head, and met Frostleaf’s cold eyes.
Her green eyes seemed capable of melting everything.
In the past, Jima could completely disregard the “don’t interfere with life” gaze emitted from those green eyes.
But this time was different; she felt she could use her hands to dig a large hole from the uneven ground.
Fortunately, those green eyes did not question Jima and headed straight for George, standing opposite him, asking, “George, do you have time?”
Yes.
I want to talk to you…
Jima let out a long breath; she barely stood up, her feet turning inward, her knees pressing against each other. She calmly told her that the tranquil secret barrier was still open.
