Chapter Seventy-Three: The Sun
Jima personally presided over the ceremony, offering the captured warriors as sacrifices to the Lord of Metamorphosis in hopes of gaining insight into the abilities she most desperately needed.
She hoped that the Lord of Metamorphosis would unveil the mist of the future and reveal the marching intentions of the enemy troops.
The Lord of Metamorphosis was quite satisfied and agreed to her request, promising that once the timing was right, divine grace would be bestowed upon her to unveil the future mist.
Jima felt immense pressure from the ceremony and the bargaining with the dark god. Beneath her platform, blood was splattered everywhere, and headless corpses lay in pools of blood, with some mutated organs, like hearts with beards, still pulsating.
Not far from the ceremony site, her army was celebrating their victory.
For the demon race, war was an opportunity to grow stronger. The emotions of those who had narrowly escaped death were a mix of elation and depravity. Killing equally matched opponents, or even achieving a counter-kill, pleased the Blood God. Such acts made them stronger. This was also a significant reason why mortals chose to become cultists and fall into depravity.
Jima’s gaze swept over the troops she deemed as cannon fodder, which were chaotic and lively, with all sorts of people engaged in body art.
She summarized these disordered matters with one term: “leveling up.”
A northern pig raider knelt on the ground, with his round shield and axe laid beside him, along with a steel helmet on his head, the entirety of his possessions.
Now, blessed by the Blood God, his back muscles rippled, his head continuously deformed, and a jet-black horn sprouted from his skull. He couldn’t help but cough, spitting flames. His skin sizzled like it was burning, revealing the mark of the Blood God’s blessing.
Once the Blood God’s blessing left him, he stood up, patting his own head, only able to strike his robust chest. He appeared hideously disfigured, with growths all over him, filled with the style of the Blood God, a blend of blood steel and brass.
He no longer looked down on the beloved axe and shield he had kicked aside.
He passed several comrades rolling on the ground. One was clutching a deformed head, screaming in silence, his will shattered, limbs sprouting tentacles, hands turned into blades, nearly losing all self-awareness.
Overwhelmed by the excess of the Blood God’s blessing, he could no longer advance, becoming a half-witted remnant, while another turned into charred flesh, falling to the ground.
He ignored these failures, not even giving them a glance, his head held high as he walked toward Jima, who stood on a high platform of bones, approaching her.
Now he truly considered himself a member of the demon race.
Someone raised a flag and shouted, “New demon warriors report here!”
The flagpole was next to the skull throne, allowing a close view of the most beautiful demon lord.
He felt immense honor standing beneath the flag.
The nose-tooth pink demon strategist stood on a floating platform, counting with its enchanting fingers, saying, “One hundred and fourteen warriors, so many?”
He disliked this pink demon, who could only hide in the air like a flame’s lover, wishing he could pierce its weak body.
But he didn’t.
The king’s presence was like a shackle, binding the rage in his heart and everyone else’s.
The nose-tooth pink demon strategist reported: “My lord, I counted personally, there are one hundred and fourteen who have advanced to become demon warriors. There are also succubi who have obtained demon steeds, and it seems they have over a hundred.”
Jima didn’t even glance at the scene where succubi were throwing steeds, it was indeed an eyesore, with all sorts of liquids exchanging and outdoor poetry activities… The Blood God’s followers looked ready to strike; if she wasn’t standing on the platform, a fight would have likely erupted.
“Well, it’s a gain overall.” Jima was not surprised. Although the Blood God could be irrational and present difficult challenges, the rewards were great once one succeeded.
Jima continued to ask, “How many were favored by the god and became chosen ones?”
“Six warriors in battle received the favor of the four dark gods.”
Hearing this pitiful number, Jima casually remarked, “I heard that the infantry of the eternal chosen ones are all chosen ones.”
“My lord has already revealed that; it’s just words.”
“What’s the actual situation?”
“There are a total of twenty hundred-man squads.”
“Get to the point.”
“Eighteen of them are chosen ones.”
Jima was silent for a moment: “Did this bring all the chosen ones of the demon race together? There can’t be more than dogs?”
“The differences between chosen ones are even greater than those between humans and dogs. Soldiers might be chosen ones, Jima is also a chosen one, and those of the eternal chosen are also chosen ones. But to put it simply, if Georges were among the chosen, even if he wasn’t dismembered, he’d at least be missing some parts.”
Jima, a nuclear bomb, would turn any chosen one into glass shards.
A sudden shout broke Jima’s thoughts.
The commander of the Copper Bull Knights, a demon, spoke. Dressed in heavy armor, with a spike from the shoulder piercing the helmet of a Saint Cup Knight, indicating he had killed a Saint Cup Knight.
He said, struggling to salute Jima, “I also have a request; please bestow the god’s blessing upon us.”
As a tri-god envoy and a member of the demon race, Jima could feel the divine thoughts and intentions of the blessed.
Those demon warriors ready to receive blessings lined up neatly before Jima. There were both demon warriors and succubi.
Many mortals and demons looked over, their eyes filled with envy.
Everyone betrayed and fell, joining the demon race.
Isn’t serving the demon king just about seeking that blessing?
“You will be punished.” Jima ordered her troops to turn around, demanding obedience. However, they instead broke through the line and collided with the opposing minotaurs.
“Only the heavens can refuse challenges and battles.” The officer raised his head, and the Saint Cup Knight helmet on his shoulder was immediately removed. “My men and I will fight to the death against the minotaurs; we will emerge victorious.”
The officers behind him began to speak up.
“We have won,”
“Today we shed much blood.”
“The Blood God is pleased.”
Jima felt a deep-seated disdain.
Just like there was once a silver-haired maid who foolishly stole an armband, rallying other maids to avoid punishment.
This officer, believing himself a leader of a team of Copper Bull Knights, trying to use the force of victory to persuade her to relent.
You are nothing but my cannon fodder.
Jima raised her head and pointed at him: “No more delays; die!”
Her eyes burned with heat, turning red.
The Blood God’s mark occupied her entire pupil.
The Copper Bull Knight officer did not perish; he roared and raised his weapon to charge at Jima in self-defense.
But the curse had already seeped through the command contract, spreading throughout his entire body. He became stiff and unable to move.
With the curse came the invasion of the three dark gods into his body; while similar to the usual dark god’s blessing, it was more intense and terrifying.
Like a flood surging into his body, he made horrifying sounds of transformation. His muscles inflated, cracking open the thick armor, producing piercing deformation sounds. His armor burst apart as he grew taller amidst his screams.
His limbs twisted grotesquely.
From the inflating muscles, tentacles and meaty whips, as well as strands of black hair as thick as a finger, emerged.
His howls drowned out all sounds for a time.
From underneath his neck, a deformed head grew, pressing against his screaming face. Then, his neck transformed into a mouth, opening wide to bite down on his original scream.
“Please, kill me!”
The large mouth clamped down, swallowing his head into its belly.
A monster was born. A body unable to withstand excessive blessings would become a monster.
All demons that witnessed this felt profound fear.
Becoming a monster caused suffering in killing, leading to the loss of sanity. Even more terrifying was that they would no longer receive the blessings of the four dark gods.
The monster opened its mouth, emitting signs of submission toward Jima.
“Very well,” Jima said:
“My army just needs more monster infantry. Little Pink, read the list; those called should step forward. If you survive, there’s nothing else; if not, then it’s a fate worse than death.”
Seeing the nose-tooth pink demon strategist not respond, Jima tapped him with her blood-red axe spear.
Jima’s army gained twelve monsters.
After the list was read, it was time for the beloved candy-giving moment.
Jima then blessed the warriors who came forward to receive blessings.
Then there were twelve more monsters—this was unavoidable, with twenty-three fortunate ones not turning into monsters and dying on the spot.
The remaining sixty-three successfully advanced, becoming stronger.
The rewards from the battle were still continuing.
After bestowing blessings, someone was still fighting against the mounts supplied by the dark gods, attempting to tame the beasts.
No one found anything wrong with that.
Though many would die today, overall, the army would grow more powerful.
The equipment finished, Jima stood on her floating platform, leading a somewhat diminished army, returning to Vanguard City. “Have you counted?”
“My colleagues and I have counted, great king,” the nose-tooth pink demon strategist became more respectful. “Look.”
Jima glanced at the numbers:
“There are just over sixty survivors; only about four thousand six hundred remain.”
“King, eliminate the weak to strengthen us.”
“We can reduce the losses even further.” Jima suddenly thought of something, “Guess what else I can improve?”
The nose-tooth pink demon strategist hesitated, raising his hand then letting it drop again.
Jima then said, “Yes, the level of obedience is not high enough, and the system can’t accommodate enough slots.”
“You are absolutely right, my lord.”
“But I see you seem to have other opinions.” Jima said, “Speak, I won’t eat you; I don’t like eating roasted starfish.”
“Uh, my king, I just have one unclear point and would like to seek your guidance.”
“Speak.”
The nose-tooth pink demon strategist raised his hand, pointing at the god of fire who had been daydreaming in the sky, asking:
“King, you didn’t give him any commands. I thought just now you must be intimidating the enemy lord, preventing him from daring to fly up to you and attack you, which would hinder your command.”
I knew it; I always felt like I was forgetting something.
Jima paused, honestly saying: “I just forgot about this unit.”
The nose-tooth pink demon strategist fell into awkward silence.
The nearby guards acted as if they hadn’t heard anything, as the group rode their bluish fire floating platform back to Vanguard City.
That night.
Jima rushed to the Osuan White Tower to urge progress.
She received a nuclear bomb and even met the great magician Saphorui, who was responsible for making prophecies for her.
He was half mad.
In a small dark room, when Jima met him, he covered his eyes, hearing her arrival, and shouted:
“The sun… it’s the sun, I have seen the sun!”
Jima got her answer and took her leave.
That night, she sent a dream to Georges with a prearranged message:
“The sun rises.”
