Chapter 3: Taking the Train
The Mediterranean elder turned a blind eye.
After signing the death contract with the mission paper, the two of them left the hall.
What a boring and uninteresting situation.
Jima yawned and lazily looked around with her golden eyes. This group of weaklings only talked a big game; none of them had the guts to seek death right off the bat. How disappointing. While thinking this, she suddenly heard a grunting sound approaching.
A young man clad in iron-gray armor walked over. Apart from lacking greaves, he was fully armored and wore a confident smile on his face, with yellow hair, accompanied by a few burly men with mischievous grins.
The young man leaned against the wall, blocking the path of the couple. With a confident smile, he confirmed George’s attire multiple times before smirking even more.
The young man looked at Jima and said, “Hello, newcomers. Is it just the two of you? It seems you are looking for some assistance.”
“Yes, yes,” came the reply.
Nearby adventurers laughed and surrounded the couple, a wave of sweat and body odor wafting over.
Jima nervously grabbed George’s elbow, shrinking her head and hiding behind him. The trembling of the prey only served to incite the predator’s desire to hunt—Jima was well aware of this.
“Dear husband…” Jima said, “What should we do?”
Someone responded, “Hey!”
Another person laughed.
George declared sternly, “We don’t need your assistance; it would be best if you step aside. You are breaking the law, and I warn you.”
Another round of laughter erupted, with someone clutching their abdomen in mirth, while another shook their head and remarked to a companion, “Is this a child?”
“He looks very young; he’s probably just in his early twenties.”
“Still has baby fat, trying to venture into adventure.”
The young man elongated his voice, “Madam, you wouldn’t want your husband to die, would you? We are all golden; whether day or night, we can accompany you—”
George moved suddenly; no one except Jima could catch his actions. He abruptly grabbed Jima’s tail, which was stirring emotions behind his robe, while his other hand formed a fist and struck the young man’s abdomen.
A dull thud resounded as the young man stood rigid, his face turning pale, eyes wide, hands clutching his abdomen as he fell backward. The crowd quickly made way, revealing a fist imprint where the young man’s armor had dented. He struggled to stand but his armor had deformed, preventing him from rising.
People murmured among themselves.
Meanwhile, George held Jima’s tail with a firmer grip, preventing the restless tail from moving anymore.
The agitation in the young man’s heart and those of his companions suddenly calmed.
George, thus, pulled Jima away, his large hand still gripping her tail behind her.
Jima’s face flushed as she said, “Hehe, you found out. Don’t grab that part.”
George released his hand and shook his head, “Stop trying to have fun with mortals.”
“I’m just bored,” Jima replied. “Besides, it’s so much fun to bully weaklings.”
George shook his head again, “We need to reach the mission site as soon as possible and discuss our plan on the way.”
“Are we flying?”
“No.”
“A magical ship? The kind that sails on clouds?”
“Not that either.”
“A griffin?”
“You’ll find out then.”
“Tell me quickly.”
“You could do some divination.”
“Too lazy.” Jima pondered, “It wouldn’t be a teleportation circle, would it?”
“How could it be?”
Hours later.
Wooo~~~
The steam locomotive roared, black smoke billowing from its chimney, drifting overhead of Jima and George. Jima rested her cheek on her hand, looking quite displeased, while bits of coal ash intermittently fell, influenced by an unseen force, drifting to her side.
George observed the scenery on both sides of the road.
The Empire has finally built a railway. I had proposed earlier that the Empire could lay down railroads and transport goods with steam trains.
Look at what you’ve done! Jima lamented: Such a well-crafted fantasy world has been completely ruined by you. If it continues like this, the sword and magic will inevitably turn into steampunk.
Better than stagnation in development.
Compared to pastoral idylls, the medieval sword and magic has no point at all. Jima said: I’d rather they remain forever in the Middle Ages.
Can’t they enjoy the right to develop?
Jima asked: Lily, as a native, do you want things to be this way?
The large orange cat coiled atop Jima’s head shook its head.
According to my voting stats, natives do not enjoy that right. You’re a real villain. Jima threw a small stone at George: Bad person, bad person—wait, there’s a conspiracy.
What conspiracy?
Someone is going to ambush us.
Jima blinked her right eye: Hungry beasts ** gang, three hundred and twenty-one beasts.
I’ll notify the guards.
A few minutes later.
Ahead on the railway, the vanguard team shot red signals into the sky, as beastmen, having charged out from the forest, blocked the tracks.
The steam train already received the warning; it slowed down, and armored riflemen extended their dark flintlock guns out of the iron windows.
A roar erupted from the forest, and led by two minotaurs, a horde of furry horned beasts surged toward the steam locomotive.
Bang, bang, bang, bang!
Gun muzzles flared, smoke rising from below, not affecting Jima’s expressionless face.
The beastmen fell one by one, with one minotaur almost turned into a pincushion, while the return volley of arrows landed on the train, causing no casualties.
Jima switched her rifle to a flintlock gun, aimed at the last minotaur’s vital spot, and pulled the trigger.
Bang!
The last minotaur fell.
What a beautiful scene. Jima coldly blew the smoke from her gun: Shooting in a fantasy world really doesn’t ruin the atmosphere at all; heaven knows if a Gatling gun will come next.
George held a bought flintlock gun, aimed, and shot down a fleeing horned beast, saying: I don’t know, but I heard that a genius engineer from the southern kingdom successfully miniaturized steam engines and invented steam tanks.
Steam tanks? Goodness.
Jima asked: How do you know this?
They also call me the Pope of Engineers. George responded: I’ve always been interested in Earth’s technology. Before becoming Pope, I was one of the Empire’s earliest engineers.
The culprit. Jima fired another shot, successfully hitting the target while the beastmen dragged their dead companions’ bodies back into the forest: By the way, why do others call you Saint George the Dragon Slayer?
Saint George, on that day, after the explosion of Terra’s power, the Emperor attributed the credit to me as compensation for the grievances I suffered.
What about the dragon-slaying?
I killed a green dragon named Crysis.
Oh, the beautiful green dragon lady? What a pity, and how terrifying! Jima retorted: I remember back then, I made up my mind to find a chance to chop you up; otherwise, I would end up like her. We are of the same kind.
You said that on that night.
I know, after all, she was particularly beautiful, specially so to you.
George muttered, “True.”
Jima didn’t hear, but it didn’t stop her from narcissistically flipping her hair: After this battle, let’s find some time to visit Adolf and check out our previous battlefield, to commemorate it.
Yes, I haven’t seen the Emperor for a while; he is a good person.
