Chapter 131 Chapter 129 Little George
Regarding George’s dream, Jima felt very nervous. George was most likely blessed by the gods, and if she were discovered, Jima wouldn’t know how to deal with George’s questions. She simply couldn’t lie in front of him. In her imagination, if George had any doubts about her, then all the bad things she had done would be exposed at once.
At the same time, she was also very curious about the dreams of the brave George.
What would he dream about?
Would he dream of simple romantic dreams like a normal man? If so, that would be easy; she could just quietly replace the female lead of the dream with herself.
Or would he dream of ruling the world? Because he might appear just and kind on the surface, but behind it, he could be a big bad guy like herself, a hypocrite.
However, Jima felt that the most likely dream for the brave George would be one about religion. Perhaps in his dreams, there would be tightly wrapped, sexy angels flying around in the sky.
In her chaotic thoughts, Jima had already reached the strait, and she couldn’t see the shore ahead or behind. Below her lay an endless sea, and just thinking about the depths of thousands of meters made Jima a bit nervous. She looked down, and below in the dark sea, there were many “dreams,” some dim and some bright, like dense clusters of mushroom spots.
Jima was startled. Only sentient beings capable of dreaming could have their dreams seen by her. She hadn’t expected that there would be so many living beings in the depths of the sea.
At that moment, below her, she suddenly saw dreams emitting a faint white light, like small islands, as if a giant beast had opened its eyes, with Jima being just a speck of dust on the eye of the giant.
Her legs went weak, and a force was pulling her down as the dream darkened.
This was a sign of uncontrolled extraordinary abilities.
Jima quickly averted her gaze, forcing herself not to look below. A few seconds later, the symptoms of losing control disappeared.
Fortunately, her soul was strong enough; otherwise, seeing something she shouldn’t have seen just now would likely have caused her to die on the spot.
Jima thought to herself as she spotted a coastal area with a city rapidly approaching her. Although she couldn’t see it for even a second, she could be sure that this city was Deep Water City.
Was the brave George coming to Deep Water City to buy equipment?
In less than half a second, the towering buildings of Deep Water City swept past Jima. She passed through a wall and landed in a spacious room.
Jima glanced around the room a few times and immediately formed a preliminary judgment about the identity of the room’s owner:
Either rich or noble.
This room was better than her own by an unknown margin.
Jima shifted her gaze to the bed, where a dream was floating like cotton illuminated by the sun, bright and fluffy.
Only one.
Jima felt a little regretful; if she had found a woman on a virgin’s bed, that would have been a most amusing thing.
She walked to the head of the bed and cautiously reached out a hand toward the dream, as if it were a live electrical outlet. As her fingertips touched the soft dream, it expanded and engulfed her. Everything around her turned white, and Jima felt as if she had lost her footing, falling from a cliff.
The sensation of weightlessness awakened her fear, but she suppressed her impulse to spread her wings and take flight, fearing it would expose her identity.
Fortunately, the weightlessness didn’t last long. A lush green meadow came rushing toward her. Jima fell face-first into the grass.
“Ouch…”
Jima lay on the grass, spitting out a blade of grass.
Noises of commotion came from all directions, sounding like a wild outdoor gathering.
Jima quickly got up from the ground, as she needed to avoid standing out due to her clothing being different from those around her; otherwise, she would be easily recognized.
She stood up and, within a second, took in her surroundings.
This was a suburban area, with a white castle sitting in the distance, its roof blue. Outside was a vast expanse of grass, and a wide road cut through the grass and disappeared into a dense forest. By the forest, people gathered together; there were farmers and artisans, separated by a rope fence, looking in with cheers and applause.
The sounds of clashing weapons and galloping horses echoed from within.
Jima followed everyone’s gazes and saw a rather unremarkable tournament going on. Inside, on a wooden spectator platform hidden under a sunshade, noble ladies and young women gazed intently at the action below. Servants moved about with drinks and fruits.
Just as Jima was about to find someone to reference their clothing to change her own, she thought to herself that these outfits were indeed quite unsightly.
A childish voice suddenly called from behind her.
“Sister, where do you come from?”
Jima was startled and turned around sharply, seeing a little boy behind her. He had blonde hair and blue eyes, a large head with a buzz cut, dressed in an old red long-sleeve shirt made of coarse fabric that had been washed many times. It was only slightly better than the clothes of a farmer; the one advantage was that it was very clean.
He was an ordinary child, with the only difference being his unusually clear eyes, showing a rare focus in a child’s gaze as he looked intently at Jima.
Her instinct told her that this boy was the owner of the dream, George the Hammer.
She panicked. She had planned to sneak into the dream, lay low, and change the dream to harvest lust, but unexpectedly, she fell directly in front of George and was immediately asked where she was from. It seemed she was about to be exposed.
Jima’s dark eyes rolled around, and she smiled in response.
“Guess.”
“Are you a foreigner?”
Very normal, yet very unusual.
Jima folded her wings behind her and hid her tail behind her, wishing she could retract her horns into her head.
Perhaps this meant he hadn’t truly figured her out yet. Or maybe, deep inside, he thought she was human?
Jima replied, “You got it right.”
Little George asked, “Then where do you come from?”
Jima quickly changed the subject. “Are you here to watch the knights’ tournament too? Which village do you live in?”
Little George corrected her, saying, “Guest, welcome to beautiful Bartow, I am the second son of the landowner here.”
He particularly emphasized the words “second son.”
Jima had forgotten that George was still the son of a noble in Bartow. Looking at his outfit, it was truly shabby; she had never seen a noble’s son dressed so poorly. Emphasizing his status as a second son suggested he was an unwanted illegitimate child… It also indicated he was unhappy about being mistaken for the son of a farmer, which might stem from his real experiences in childhood.
Jima asked, “I’m sorry, noble… gentleman’s second son. Aren’t you going to the spectator seats to watch the battle?”
“I just ran out.”
Jima recalled the fancy clothing of everyone in the spectator seats and understood his motivation.
“Better hurry back,” Jima just wanted to escape. “Goodbye.”
She turned around, but before she could breathe a sigh of relief, she heard Little George say, “Wait.”
The virgin…
Jima forced a smile and asked, “What is it?”
Little George looked at Jima, fell deep into thought, and said, “I seem to have something important to tell you, I—”
Jima quickly interrupted, “You snuck out to play, right? How about I play with you, as an apology for my weakness?”
Little George shook his head and said, “I’m not playing around!”
“Then what are you doing?”
“I’m waiting for the people from the chapel. I heard the voice of God calling me.” Little George pointed down the road, “They will come sooner or later.”
“Uh, can I wait with you?”
Little George smiled for the first time, saying, “Sure, no one has accompanied me.”
Jima and Little George walked toward a large rock at a nearby fork in the road. The knight tournament behind them grew increasingly distant.
The journey was dull, so Jima asked, “How long have you been waiting?”
“Three months and eleven days,” Little George counted on his fingers. “I should add half a day.”
It seemed George’s original family was not treating him well.
She glanced at the cheap clothes on Little George that had faded from washing and praised, “Your clothes are quite clean.”
Little George beamed with joy, saying, “Thank you.”
So cute. It’s a shame that when he grows up, he’ll have a stern face every day, wearing a bucket helm, looking as serious as a tombstone. Speaking of which, I don’t think I’ve ever seen George smile, aside from his usual grin. Tsk tsk, religion can be quite cruel.
Just as Jima was lost in her thoughts, Little George continued, “I washed them myself.”
He had a child’s proud expression on his face.
Jima was taken aback; this was different from the nobility she had in mind. He had to wash his own clothes? Didn’t people just hand them off to laundresses? George had it so hard during his childhood.
She said, “Not bad, you really wash diligently. But why do you wash them yourself? Don’t you have a maid?”
Little George replied, “She told me that only the cleanest clothes capture the most attention.”
Jima’s first reaction was that Little George had been deceived. But looking at his only clean clothes, she couldn’t find the words.
He was participating in the knight tournament, making an appearance, and he would definitely want to wear the best clothes, right? These clothes were so inferior; compared to those nobles, he looked like a beggar.
For some reason, Jima imagined Little George working hard washing clothes just to make himself look less shabby at the tournament.
“Don’t you have any friends?”
“I have many! Tom, Jamie, Jerry…”
“Do they live in the castle too?”
“No, they all live in the countryside.”
Just as Jima had thought. Other children of the same age in nobility truly didn’t want to play with him.
Jima surmised about George’s childhood. A neglected illegitimate child, with poor living conditions and few friends; one day, he hears the voice of God calling him, surely that would make him very happy. He probably spent every day perched on the balcony like a stone looking out for the chapel’s direction.
The two of them sat on the large rock, Jima resting her fist on her chin, gazing at the empty road. Little George showed no signs of being a mischievous little boy; he gazed steadily into the distance.
The surroundings were quiet and boring, with the distant sounds of cheers from the tournament. Jima felt as if she, along with Little George and the rock, had been forgotten by everyone.
Forgotten, this must be Little George’s evaluation of his childhood.
After having tricked Little George, Jima remembered her primary task: she needed to fill her stomach. She turned her head and looked at Little George’s youthful face, feeling a headache coming on; he was still just a child!
She could only change George’s dream, but that would easily expose her and make him realize something was off. What could she do?
Jima thought until her head hurt. It felt like a considerable amount of time had passed when Little George was still waiting, and Jima couldn’t remain seated, feeling bored.
She asked, “Will they come today? Are you waiting here all the time?”
“They’ll probably come,” Little George said, “My father’s servant told me he really wrote a letter to the chapel.”
“Three months is enough to travel around the world.”
Little George became anxious, saying, “The letter might have been delayed on the way. They said the chapel wouldn’t send anyone. I believe they will come, but may not find my home, so I’m waiting here for them.”
Was he worried that the chaplains would take a glance and just leave?
Jima remained silent, affectionately patting Little George’s head, feeling a bit of an opportunistic thrill.
——————
I calculated that I owe for last month’s delayed updates. I plan to make up for them all in the next few days.
