Chapter 71 Chapter 72 Departure
The next day, St. John’s Village.
Jima lay in bed, only getting up after her stomach started to growl.
The midday sunlight streamed through the windowless openings. Jima squinted and looked out at the tranquil, lush green fields, a scent of burning wafted in with the wind; without a doubt, it was the villagers burning the green-skinned corpses.
Jima felt around her side, finding nothing but the neatly laid quilt.
In a hazy recollection, she remembered Jenna got up very early. She wasn’t sure if Jenna had thought about what they did to her yesterday. From her performance on the battlefield, she didn’t seem like the usual soft-hearted saint at all.
Jima felt a bit worried, fearing she would never be able to pinch that soft bun again.
After getting up and dressing, she walked out of her room and vaguely heard voices outside in the courtyard. It was Jenna and George speaking,
“Last night, Jima…”
Jima immediately perked up her ears, crouching against the wall to listen closely:
“… It’s a bit embarrassing to say, but Jima seems to have some grievances against me, so she really likes to squeeze my chest…”
Oh, what a little snitch of a saint. Jima’s ears stood even straighter, her eyes darting around as she thought about how to respond.
“… Is it too much for her to do that?” George asked, “I really don’t understand the playful roughhousing between girls.”
“… Unlike other times, when she squeezes my chest, Jima feels like she’s driven by some strong desire… I can’t quite explain it, it’s just how I feel…”
Damn, can she not be so perceptive? She wouldn’t notice my true identity, would she?
With the last bit of her sleepiness gone, Jima felt a surge of fear and was ready to interrupt this conversation.
“What feeling?”
“The feeling is that Jima is quite self-conscious about her flat chest…”
Just as Jima was about to rush forward, she immediately pulled her head back, straining to continue listening.
Jenna’s voice came again:
“… So she wants to grow up quickly, longing for a mature body. I can also see a rebellious side to her; she’s already quite grown up, but you always treat her like a child. I think that’s her little act of defiance…”
After hearing that, Jima breathed a sigh of relief, turning around to lean against the wall, her face showing a relaxed smile.
What a worry for nothing; a soft bun is just a soft bun, no matter how much it’s pinched, it won’t bounce back. Next time, squeeze a little harder.
Jima rubbed her eyes with her fingers, and when George finished talking with Saint Jenna, she stepped out, her face still sleepy as if just waking up.
George, fully armored, stood at the door threshold, while Saint Jenna held the reins of a white horse.
“Are we leaving so soon?” Jima asked. “You didn’t call for me all this time; I thought we had plenty of time.”
“It’s not that urgent,” George said. “After all, we still don’t know anything about the enemy; it’s best to leave early.”
“Because my presence in St. John’s village was spread by the escaping greenskins, right?”
George admitted directly, “Mm.”
“Do the villagers know?”
“I only told St. John.”
Which is roughly equivalent to the whole village knowing that the greenskins were targeting Jima.
Saint Jenna looked at Jima’s expression, worried she was unhappy but didn’t know what to say.
“Jenna, don’t look at me like that; I’m not a petty person,” Jima glanced at Saint Jenna. “Life is the most precious… it’s only human nature. As long as no one confronts me face to face, then there’s no problem. Speaking of which, no one would really be foolish enough not to give the hero some face, right?”
Having said that, Jima went to wash her face. She lifted her head and saw some villagers not far away pointing at her, peering as if checking whether this jinx was still lazing around in the village.
Jima wiped her face clean with a cool, damp towel, and after preparing for less than ten minutes, she was ready.
She donned her cloak, fastened her weapon belt, with a short sword hanging at her side, holding a light crossbow in her hand. She mounted her chestnut mare and left with George and Jenna.
The way was lively.
Villagers waved goodbye to George as he left, chatting loudly on the roadside.
“… It’s him, I saw with my own eyes, he single-handedly held back thousands of greenskins, cutting those little greenskins down to screams.”
“… No wonder he’s St. John’s apprentice; he’s a great guy. A big greenskin kicked down my door, ready to chop my kid, and he rushed over, blocking the axe in one blow, with nothing happening at all.”
“Thanks to him, I should give him something.” A woman picked up a basket of potatoes, standing up to send them to George, but someone next to her stopped her, saying, “What does he need these scraps for? Lord St. John said not to cause trouble for him…”
Everyone showed radiant smiles towards George and Jenna, hesitant yet grateful. They wanted to express their thanks but didn’t know how to, fearing their gift might embarrass the recipients instead.
Meanwhile, as Jima walked past the villagers behind George and Jenna, even though she lowered her head and pulled her hood to cover most of her face, she was still recognized.
The chatter quieted down, many faces lost their smiles, as if they had seen a plague victim, quickly averting their gaze to avoid Jima.
The three rode out of the village.
George slowed his pace to come alongside Jima, asking, “Jima, are you okay?”
“I’m not sad at all, really.”
George frowned slightly, saying, “You’re lying again.”
“Why so serious?”
“Compared to lies, I’d rather hear you complain,” George said. “Lies sound like noise to me; I’ve gotten used to them and can no longer enjoy the humor of harmless lies.”
“Then I’ll complain.” Jima said, “Even though I didn’t kill a single greenskin last night, if I hadn’t willingly run out to be bait, leading the greenskins to the church for a collective capture, this morning the village would be filled with wailing.”
George comforted her, “Sometimes, good deeds go unrewarded.”
“Then why do good deeds?”
“Protecting the weak goes without saying,” George replied. “It also satisfies me.”
At that moment, the three passed by a field where a group of children were playing in the black mud.
Little John clearly hadn’t taken his father’s words to heart. He waved a wooden sword, shouting out “swish, swish, swish” sounds, saying:
“Hero George, just like this, in one swing, split three greenskins standing in front of him in half. Let me tell you, each big greenskin is as huge as Susan’s old plow ox.”
“Really?”
“Really!” Little John said. “With a swish, he chopped them into six pieces.”
Little John, excited, sprayed saliva as he continued, “I saw it with my own eyes; my dad always took me with him.”
The other dirty boys stared wide-eyed at him, their eyes shining with envy.
Jima shifted her gaze from the boys to George’s blue eyes and said, “Sometimes I also want to be held up and celebrated, like ‘Long live the great hero’ or something.”
George encouraged, “That’s good; positive feedback can help you walk down the path of goodness. You might consider starting with small things.”
Jima nodded, “Mm.”
She saw a look of appreciation in George’s blue eyes, and her mouth involuntarily curled into a slight smile, asking, “George, do you think I deserve the villagers’ thanks for my contribution yesterday?”
“Maybe.”
“What do you mean?”
“Can’t I choose not to say?”
“No, you have to say it.”
“I think you didn’t help that much. If someone were to give you a basket of eggs, it would mean they are very grateful.” George stated honestly, “But having this idea shows that your kindness is blooming in your heart.”
“Hey, hey, hey, even though I was basically just observing yesterday,” Jima said, “but I’m a succubus; it’s in my nature to be evil, so doing a good deed is not easy for me. Come on, give me some more compliments, or I might feel like I’m losing out and stop doing good deeds.”
George shook his head, saying, “You’re really mischievous.”
