Chapter 49: Preparation for the Gathering
Lothen, the largest city of the high elves.
The sound of cannon fire from the Black Ark crashed against the city walls, rumbling loudly.
A private tavern’s door was tightly shut, and several high elf patrons huddled inside, drinking, taking a rare moment of leisure.
“Where’s Naluca?”
“She’s up on the second floor getting cozy with the squad leader she just met yesterday.”
“When did she become so open?”
“We might not live to see tomorrow.” One companion shook his wine glass, his short hair leaning against the chair. “It’s normal to fight fear with love, just like we do with fine wine and little dishes.”
He swirled the wine in his hand and murmured, “What a pity, we might not get to drink tomorrow.”
“Well, if we survive the war, who knows how many new grooms there will be.”
“What use is it to have many grooms?” the third high elf said. “Have you heard? The Guardian of Osoan and his supporters have moved north.”
“Moved north? Is the demon army landing from the north?”
“Don’t listen to the official nonsense, have you forgotten? The Guardian of Osoan has the blood of Ainario flowing in his veins; what cursed thing will he do, do I need to say more?”
The Husband Slayer?! He plans to draw the Husband Slayer?
The Husband Slayer is a nickname for the Sword of Cain, originally forged as a weapon of war for the elves, imbued with immense power but also bringing endless curses.
Back in the day, in order to annihilate the demon race’s world-destroying army, Ainario drew the “Husband Slayer,” and the curse spread amongst the elves. His followers became increasingly ruthless and bloodthirsty, eventually turning into dark elves.
The curse seeped into his bloodline; his son, now the king of dark elves—the Witch King, sparked a civil war, ultimately splitting the elves apart.
Countless elves died on the battlefield.
Thus, when high elves spoke of the Sword of Cain, they only referred to it by its nickname, the Husband Slayer.
In today’s terms, it refers to a husband responsible for many deaths, also known as the Widow Maker or the Tears of Many Mothers.
They were shocked and stood up.
“How can he do this?! What difference is there between him and their perverted cousins?”
From the stairs, there came a thrilling shout.
At this moment, the tavern door creaked open.
The three high elves instinctively placed their hands on the hilts of their swords.
“Creak.”
The lock clicked open.
A stunningly beautiful woman walked in, her posture upright, sporting a pair of lovely horns. Her black hair was softer than the finest silk they had ever seen. Her golden eyes shone like a full moon, bright and captivating.
A lock of black hair obscured her left eye, adding an element of mystery to her beauty while evoking a sense of regret.
Jima twirled a key on her finger, giving them a slight smile.
The three froze in place, their thoughts vanishing instantly, their eyes focused solely on her smile. They overlooked Jima’s horns and tail, ignored the key in her hand, and paid no attention to how she knew this secret location.
Jima approached them, the door closed behind her, and as she walked, the high slit of her skirt occasionally revealed her toned thighs, stirring desire.
When Jima reached them, with a snap of her fingers, they finally came back to life, stuttering to ask:
“Um… is there anything we can help you with?”
“I’ve traveled from afar.” Jima spoke. A wave of fragrance filled the room, instantly reminiscent of spring, with blooming white flowers and chirping birds.
All three began to reminisce about their hometowns, where flowers bloomed in the woods during peaceful times.
Jima was unapologetic and pulled out the chair beneath one high elf, sitting down and crossing her legs.
“I want the finest wine, what’s it called? And the best dishes you have; I forget the name, but I remember it was delicious seafood.”
“We high elves are warm and hospitable; whatever you need, I can treat you.”
“I’ll treat!”
“So will I!”
Their eyes glimmered, looking at Jima, hoping to help this woman, believing any sacrifice would be worth it.
Those skilled in cooking went to cook, while another wanted wine with a sugar cube and ice. As for killing, one was tasked to prepare the food.
In unison, they said: “It’s an honor!”
At that moment, shouts of Naluca climbing joyfully could be heard from upstairs.
However, the three felt that the joy she received paled in comparison to the service they were providing to the stranger before them.
They quickly cleared the dining table and replaced it with a new one. Soon, they brought out a wine that was usually only drunk during festivals, poured a glass, added precious sugar, and then chipped in some ice from the icehouse.
Though sugar and ice were precious during wartime, Jima felt that making the woman smile was worth it.
Jima took a beautiful sip of wine and said, “Not bad. You, while you’re at it, bring me a bed, and call that woman upstairs; if she’s pretty, tell her to come massage me.”
The other nodded and hurried upstairs, where knocking and impatient voices from a man and woman could be heard.
However, after a while, the pair joined Jima’s service team.
Jima lay back on the bed, eating the freshly steamed shellfish, very fresh, the sauce primarily made of fish sauce, along with some cold dishes. As she ate, she inquired about news and learned that Lady Osoan planned to draw the sword.
“Noted. By the way, do you have devil peppers here?”
Jima mixed the white shell meat with sauce, placing it in her mouth, savoring the fresh and salty flavors that spread throughout her mouth, followed by a subtle sweetness.
“Devil peppers? I’m afraid we don’t have those.”
Another high elf said, “We do, there’s some in the room, used for torturing prisoners. I’ve heard some use it for seasoning; it’s quite extreme.”
“Bring it to me; give me as much as you have.”
“But…”
“No buts.”
“Okay, I’ll sneak some for you right away.” With that, the high elf hurriedly dashed out the door.
Jima continued to eat for a while, then lazily reclined on the bed. One of them complimented, “You’re so beautiful, more beautiful than the elven queen.”
“Of course, her legs are shorter than mine, and although she’s pretty, she’s sharp-tongued and mean.” Jima lazily replied, “But pure beauty is just beauty. Do you know why you’re so obsessed with my charm?”
“Why?”
Someone began to sense something was off.
Seeing their expressions of ignorance mixed with dawning realization, Jima’s mischievous side came out:
“Because of the fragrance, because of my extraordinary charm. In short, I am the chosen of the Sin of Lust.”
The two words, “Sin of Lust,” echoed like two deafening strikes on a bronze gong in their long ears. The pleasure-seeking elves, plagued by the Sin of Lust, were particularly alert to it.
Naluca shivered, coming back to her senses and shouted, “Sin of Lust! You are a demon!”
“What? How is that possible? I’ve seen lustful succubi; they’re all quite ugly. Someone as beautiful as you can’t be! Why did you kick me?”
The elf kicked her companion’s backside with a quick leg sweep: “Wake up! This is the chosen of the Sin of Lust! We’re doomed!”
The other three male elves also received a kick on the backside, snapping back to reality as they drew their weapons and nocked arrows, aiming them at Jima.
Jima took a sip of wine, revealing the sugar at the bottom of her glass, smacking her lips and saying, “Still better than happy water.”
“It seems she hasn’t done anything bad to us.”
“It looks like she’s just eating something. You must be a good person, right?”
“I’ll give you one last chance to surrender.”
They hesitated.
With another snap of her fingers, Jima employed her charm, and all four of them lowered their weapons, staring blankly at Jima.
She said, “Bring me the best wine and all the fresh ingredients you have.”
They complied.
In a flurry, they carried wine barrels into the entrance leading to the palace of dreams.
As Jima finished her last dish, the door suddenly swung open.
“I got it, here!” A panting high elf tossed a wooden jar at Jima, decorated with a skull.
Jima caught it.
From behind the wine barrel surged a mass of high elf soldiers in pointed helmets, among them a high elf dressed like a noble, pointing a magical sword at Jima, shouting, “Demon of Lust!”
Swish, swish, swish.
Arrows shot swiftly toward Jima.
Jima vanished from the bed as the arrows flew through the air, embedding themselves into the table.
“She must have turned invisible!
Watch out!
A mage cast a spell to reveal her, but still couldn’t find her.
Other than the faint scent of flowers in the air, there was no evidence to prove she had ever been there.
