Chapter 65 Chapter 66 Stiff Stiff Stiff Stiff Stiff
The two sides exchanged pleasantries.
George looked very excited; it was rare for Jima to see him this way, like a fan meeting their idol.
Jima found it hard to understand.
Clearly, George could easily strangle the old, frail man before him as if he were choking a goose.
Under Saint John’s lead, the three entered his home.
Like many of the clergy, his home had many large windows made of pieced-together glass—very costly in the countryside. The stone house was spacious, well-lit, and clean, with not a speck of dust on the old wooden table.
There was little furniture and decoration, quite simple.
Jima thought George’s place was already poor, but Saint John’s home was even poorer—there were no chairs for the three guests to sit on!
Saint John fetched three chairs from inside, smiling as he said, “It’s rare for anyone to visit, so these were a gift from the folks in the village.”
As he spoke, he set the sturdy, heavy chairs next to the only wooden table in the living room.
After Saint John sat down, George followed. One couldn’t deny that while the craftsmanship of these rustic chairs was ugly and their legs uneven, they were indeed durable. When George sat down in his heavy armor, the chair merely protested with a “creak.”
Only one chair remained.
Jima glanced at the last chair; although it was ugly and unstable, sitting down was still better than standing.
This seat was undoubtedly hers, after all, Saint Jeanne’s character was softer than her chest.
Just as Jima was about to make her move, a soft white figure darted past her and took the seat. Jeanne naturally sat beside George, resting her arms on the table, leaning close to George, like a housewife leaning against her dear husband.
Jima stood behind the two, resembling a pack-carrier following a couple on their honeymoon.
She stared at the back of Saint Jeanne’s head and huffed to herself.
This big-breasted, air-headed sweet girl really thought she was the main wife. Wait until I become powerful—ah, just a few days, and she’ll realize her status, just someone to wear a green hat.
Jima habitually fantasized in her mind to vent her dissatisfaction with reality.
Opposite George, Saint John lifted his gaze, noticing Jima’s expression, but said nothing.
George remarked, “I’ve been wanting to find a chance to visit you these past few years, but I’ve been too busy. The last time I visited was three years ago.”
“You don’t have to come,” Saint John replied. “For others, the busier you are, the better. By the way, is this the saint you mentioned before? Her name is Jeanne, right?”
Jeanne smiled brightly and said, “Yes.”
“What is your relationship now?”
“If nothing unusual occurs, we’ll be getting married and spending our lives together.”
“I envy you,” Saint John said to George. “You two are a perfect match, much like a prince and princess in a fairy tale.”
Jeanne’s smile grew even brighter, and the room seemed a bit brighter too.
Jima secretly vowed to show Jeanne a bit of color.
Saint John raised his aged, somewhat frightening face—his right eye socket bore a scar resembling a burn, with a pale and terrifying eyeball.
Jima instinctively shifted her gaze elsewhere.
“I hope it’s not rude to ask, Brother George, what is your relationship with the succubus Jima?”
Just as George was about to speak, he remembered that their relationship had to be concealed at Jima’s request; she didn’t want anything to do with forbidden love involving an enemy.
He shut his mouth and fell silent.
Jima spoke up, “We haven’t slept together. Although I’m a succubus and my nature is lewd, one cannot immediately assume there’s been that kind of relationship between us.”
Saint John chuckled and said, “Hahaha, it seems Miss Succubus is troubled by her origins. I’ve been rude.”
Despite his apparent old age, his voice sounded like that of a healthy middle-aged man.
Jima began to have a vague suspicion in her mind.
“Dad, Dad, I’m back!”
At that moment, a clear child’s voice rang out at the door.
Jima turned her head and saw a round-faced boy with red hair, covered in mud—the king of the field kids. He had a rosy face and an excited smile leftover from playing.
Saint John sternly said, “You’ve been playing in the fields again.”
“No, we were playing with potatoes. We had a war game today.”
“You need to wash up by yourself right now.”
“No, Dad.” The red-haired round-faced boy—who should be called Little John—said, “I haven’t seen Brother George in a long time.”
George laughed, “You’ve grown so much! I barely recognized you.”
Jima interjected, “You should be calling him Uncle George; he’s about to marry that saint beside him and have children.”
George’s face stiffened, feeling as if he was aging prematurely.
Little John raised his small round face, uncertainly glanced at George and Jeanne, and shyly said, “Uncle George, hello, Saint Sister.”
The atmosphere became a bit awkward.
Clearly, George had just turned eighteen, yet he felt time slipping away, and his face stiffened further.
Jima covered her mouth and giggled, shaking her tail: “Hehe…”
Saint John said, “You little troublemaker, not focusing on your studies. If it weren’t for George’s return, you’d be out playing until midnight, not fearing the green-skinned goblins would take you away. Now go wash your clothes, and only after you’re clean and dressed can you come in.”
Little John pouted in dissatisfaction, reluctantly turned to leave, looking back at George’s heavy armor every few steps.
Once Little John was gone.
Saint John sighed, appearing a bit older, saying, “I always feel sorry for him. His mother passed away early, and all he knows is play. He can’t focus on his studies, and I haven’t provided him with a good growing environment. At this rate, he will eventually end up as a peasant digging in the fields.”
“Maybe he can be taken to the chapel?”
Saint John shook his head, saying, “Brother George, you are still too young; the chapel isn’t a daycare. I’ve always wanted to find him a good teacher. Hehe, the teachers found here don’t even know as many characters as I do.”
Jima then asked, “You’ve been canonized as a saint; your son should inherit a bit, right?”
Saint John shook his head, saying, “The chapel is not a secular noble organization.”
George proudly said, “Yes, if descendants could inherit from their fathers, the chapel would have far fewer people hindered by their backgrounds.”
For example, a fire-loving enthusiast from a shepherd background.
Saint John said, “I used to think that way… Brother George, you are still young; think more about life after marriage before tying the knot. Sometimes when I have free time, I think my wife must regret hastily marrying me. We’ve never had a good day, and our son suffers every day in the countryside with me. So, while young, plan for the future.”
Saint Jeanne smiled, saying, “George should pursue his dreams; my family has some money and property to maintain a decent life.”
Saint John smiled back, saying, “That’s good.”
Discussing such topics made George feel like he was aging rapidly. He interrupted, saying, “We should discuss the main topic; please inform the others about the return of the necromancer.”
“You didn’t tell them?”
“I believe it’s more credible coming from someone who experienced that war rather than my words.”
Saint John lifted his head, his pale eyeball seemingly gazing into the past. He said, “It was originally a lackey of a vampire, but its cruel methods of dealing with living beings pleased its master, and it became a vampire itself. Hehe, those muscular knights can’t understand why their spears couldn’t kill it; their bravery only provided it with reliable minions.”
“I don’t want to speak of what happened afterward; it’s simple. Many noble souls perished, it lost, and we uncovered the secret of its immortality lay in its ring, which was also the source of corruption. We severed one of its arms, suppressed its ring, and it lost power; it may have died in the ensuing chaos or might be missing.”
“Many swear they saw it turn to dust.”
“But I know it will return one day.”
“Wait.” Jima raised her hand to ask, “Then why not simply destroy the ring or purify it directly? Wouldn’t that eliminate its chances?”
“Extraordinary materials do not perish.”
“I know, like water. Strictly speaking, water cannot be wasted, but if you pour a basin of water on the ground, after it evaporates, if you’re thirsty, you still have no water to drink because it’s floating in the sky, unreachable.”
“However, a part of the ring is still within its already rotten body,” Saint John said. “If that ring were destroyed, the extraordinary material would ultimately flow back into its hands.”
“Then where is that ring?” Jima seemed to come to interrupt, “Since it’s possibly him, we could just take it away, seal it in the chapel; let him try to break into the chapel!”
Saint John was taken aback, saying, “That is indeed a viable option.”
Jima shamelessly applauded herself, saying, “Hey, this isn’t just because of my own cleverness. When I read other fantasy novels, I want to complain; why seal a terrifying village for tens of thousands of years without using that time to dispose of what was sealed?”
George looked at Jima expressionlessly and said, “Do you know why the ring is the source of corruption?”
“Magic items are all sorts of strange; who knows?”
“Because it shattered, mingling with the filthy blood of the necromancer and fell beneath this land, which is why a church must be built atop it, and a saint must watch over it.”
Saint John shook his head in disappointment, saying, “I thought you would bring a method to move the land.”
Jima asked, “Doesn’t that mean someone must stand watch at all times?”
Saint John replied, “After I die, I will become a holy relic, and scatter my ashes across this land; that would be the complete resolution of this matter.”
At this point, Saint John smiled, saying, “This is also my speculation; we are at a great advantage. This land hasn’t seen a single undead for over ten years; maybe it’s just a unique necromancer. Ultimately, Brother George, what is your task?”
“To assist in eliminating the fragmented green skin warband.”
“I have a letter of introduction for you; give it to the local knight lord; he will surely be happy to have a paladin from Barto assisting,” Saint John said. “It’s not good for just the three of you to act; the more people you can bring, the better. You need to understand the limitations of tactical operations.”
“I understand,” George nodded, “Previously, when we encountered that green skin warband on the road, we ran into quite a bit of trouble during the attack due to our small numbers.”
Saint John displayed a gentle smile: “There are too many green skins; though the extraordinary ones are few, their sheer numbers often present a significant advantage.”
“Right,” George nodded in agreement, “When they scatter, they run extremely fast and spread out; it’s impossible to eliminate all of them.”
Saint John’s smile suddenly froze.
——
By the way, after checking the data, I discovered that there have been quite a few popes from shepherd backgrounds.
I still owe two chapters; I expect to catch up in a few days. I remember (it would be better if you all forgot).
