Chapter 34: Climbing the Mountain
Jima was quite satisfied with today’s negotiations, the only flaw being her hint of hesitation, which George opposed. Jima stood up, patted her backside, took her chair, and vanished into thin air. The “Tranquil Secret Barrier” disappeared. Eve Frostleaf also stood up, preparing to return to her injuries; she hesitated at the tent entrance and asked, “George.” “Hmm?” “Why do you trust Jima so much?” “Because I believe in her.” “Don’t tell me the reason; it makes me uneasy.” George, feeling a bit helpless, replied, “I know her true name.” The true name of a demon is its weakness. A knowing look appeared on Eve’s face as she stepped out of the tent. George stroked his light-forged holy sword and whispered a prayer of repentance to the God of Dawn, hoping to redeem himself.
After Jima returned to Vanguard City, she immediately prepared for how to reach the homeland of the high elves, which was far away and resembled a toilet seat. Flying directly in a dream wasn’t feasible. Now, having just taken command of the troops, their beliefs were inconsistent, full of contradictions. To put it bluntly, if a battle were to start now, Jima had no doubt that this troop would fall apart halfway through. She had neither appointed officers at all levels nor established a command system, nor developed a new military code.
Jima realized there was an even more pressing issue—faith. Sacrifices and worship were limited. Choosing to sacrifice to appease different deities resulted in different blessings for the army. She had seen in the demon realm an entire battalion of the Lord of Transformation, blessed by the gods, teleporting across the continent, catching the enemy off guard. As a Chosen of the Lord of Transformation, it seemed only natural and assured to seek to please him. But the problem was that most of the troops were followers and demons of lust.
After some deliberation, Jima had a hard time finding a reliable solution. She decided to roll over in bed, thinking, “Rather than burying the sewage, I might as well make use of my three hundred-year history as a demon king. I’ve led many demon armies in mutual combat, as George would say, it’s like dogs fighting dogs.” The only downside was that when she was Demon King Jima, she commanded the Blood God’s army. In some ways, they were very simple and pure, the ideal targets of human critics.
With their heads full of muscles, they required no cunning; as long as a leader could bring headache and bloodshed, they would follow. Jima closed her eyes and gradually sank into dreams. Once in the dream, she thought about reaching the homeland of the high elves, a long road ahead, not knowing how long it would take. She decided to sleep well and enjoy her rest. After all, she had done so much today; the journey could wait.
Jima fell asleep. At three hundred and eighteen years old, she slept soundly. The next day, Jima ordered the entire army to assemble and commanded them to elect a captain for a hundred-man team, then divide into squads and companies. On the third day, everyone got into a heated argument about the style of the banner, resulting in chaos. On the fourth day, Jima killed several instigating pink demons to set an example. She reluctantly presided over a ritual to please the Lord of Transformation, receiving some divine favor.
On the fifth day, due to disciplinary issues and conflicts over the ownership of slaves, some wanted the slaves to sing, while others wanted them to fight in gladiatorial combat. Meanwhile, the Doomsday Knights, relying on their status as Jima’s royal guard, demanded that the slaves learn mathematics and participate in math competitions. On the sixth day, both sides nearly came to blows. Jima’s orders went unheeded, and slackers were allowed to take liberties. She demanded that Vanguard City be decorated without any elements of lustful bodies, but when she opened the window in the morning, her good mood for the day was ruined by spikes and the mixing of the living and the color pink in the “art” of the Vanguard.
In the afternoon, Jima used divination and her awareness of schemes to hang ten followers of lust on the city wall as bait, hoping to attract some demonic war hounds to supplement the Vanguard’s inadequate forces.
On the seventh day, Jima consumed considerable magical energy to expose the mastermind behind the scenes, capturing several of the Doomsday Knights. The suspects revealed that they thought Jima was foolish, unable to even handle higher mathematics.
Why such foolish birds don’t stir up trouble quietly? Jima left her remaining armor hanging outside, allowing the lustful female demons to express their creativity. She barely resolved the issue. However, these busy days had delayed her plan to reach the high elves’ homeland.
She would fly for a few hours, find someone dreaming, use the next dream seed as a “teleportation point,” then return. However, the furthest teleportation point was even farther than Adolf had reached. Although Jima was extremely tired, she forced herself to gather her spirits, entering the dream to seek the furthest dream seed. But she found that the host of the dream seed had died, and she took a deep breath in frustration.
“Take it slow. In a chaotic world, life is the most worthless thing; anyone could die.” She stabilized her emotions and gazed at the distant smoke signals emitted by the dream seeds in the stark black-and-white dream. To her, these smoke signals carried a clear meaning. She fixed her gaze on the farthest smoke and read the name of its host: “Henry, nicknamed the Holy Sword of Skar.”
This meant that while she was busy managing internal affairs these days, she still couldn’t keep up with Henry and his group, who traveled by foot. Jima raised her fist, looking around for something to smash to vent her anger. But since she was sitting at the highest point of Vanguard City in the dream, there was nothing around for her to hit.
“Thud!” Jima had no choice but to slap her own palm hard. “Ouch, that really hurt.” Jima shook her reddened palm, blowing on it with force. She truly missed the simple Blood God army.
Jima thought while propping up her chin. Should I invest in the Blood God? Or were the Blood God demons better? They were all one family; they looked good when together, only knowing blood sacrifices and offering skulls, despite doubts about their vocabulary being limited to seven words—another word being “kill.”
Yet, that was still better than those believers of the Lord of Transformation. It was hard to believe that after she and the pink demon strategist had settled on the new military code, a Doomsday Knight found loopholes in the rules that afternoon and eloquently debated in front of her.
What was even more infuriating was that she couldn’t even win the argument, so she resorted to using weapons to critique, almost killing him. The number of Doomsday Knights remained fixed at ninety, still all belonging to the Lord of Transformation. However, no matter what, this army staggered but managed to slowly get on track; perhaps she was just too anxious.
Thinking this, Jima went to sleep.
On the morning of the eighth day, there were no Vanguard artworks to spoil her mood. Only the slaves and soldiers diligently mending Vanguard City could be seen. The weather was nice, it was overcast.
Jima breathed a sigh of relief and said to herself, “Finally, I’ve encountered a beautiful day.” Carrying her good mood for the day, Jima held a cat and went to the command room, sitting in a comfortable lounge chair.
“Knock, knock, knock.” A powdery pink hand emerged from the tabletop, knocking on the surface, adorned with a golden ring on the finger.
“What is it?”
“Your Majesty.” The pink demon strategist climbed up from the table, patted his right shoulder with his right hand, then extended it straight toward Jima, saluting.
It was Jima’s newly established military code. He was always very understanding, able to restrain his instinctual arrogance and jealousy, knowing that no matter how foolish Jima was, like the Blood God, it was still easy to squash anyone stirring up trouble behind the scenes.
There was bad news. The pink demon strategist held a piece of parchment and handed it to Jima. “About the finances.”
Jima took the parchment and unfolded it. “There are twenty-four thousand five hundred and sixty-two gold coins remaining.”
“Sorry, I counted the mortal currency to make the numbers look good; please see below.”
For the demon army, gold coins were only useful in transactions with mortals. They mainly relied on divine favor. The pink demon strategist quantified the divine favor into general equivalent value. “578?” Jima exclaimed. “And there’s a parenthesis at the back with -256?”
“Estimated expenses for tomorrow.”
“It’s fine; I’ll send a small army to the nearest magical vortex to bring back magic energy and divine favor.”
The pink demon strategist said, “They might have escaped.”
