Chapter 80 Chapter 81 The Green Skin War Gang
In the Knight Kingdom of Bartow, knights place great importance on knightly honor. Fighting with projectile weapons like bows and crossbows is considered a cowardly act, as it denotes an unwillingness to confront the enemy head-on. Refusing to engage in a one-on-one duel is also considered an act of cowardice.
This does not mean that the knights of Bartow lack reasons to refuse duels, but the problem lies in George’s identity. On the surface, he is still a noble knight of Bartow with no legitimate reason to refuse.
Drew shifted his gaze from the arrow feather to the expressionless George before him.
He couldn’t understand why the seemingly good-tempered paladin got angry enough to demand a duel over a trivial comment. Besides, bows are indeed weapons used by cowards, and he didn’t say anything wrong.
He really didn’t want to duel George.
Lord Drew glanced at Jima, who had not used her silver ring to hide her horned tail, and said, “Could it be that the pure and brave servant of the God of Dawn is willing to draw his sword over a fallen and wanton succubus?”
George curled his thin lips and retorted, “Hasn’t Lord Drew forgotten the knightly spirit of valor, refusing to accept a duel?”
These words sounded particularly harsh in Drew’s ears, causing his blood to rush to his head, and what was once a pallid face turned a shade of red.
But Drew restrained the words he was about to say, relaxing his clenched fist and replying, “Since the siege, the space in the city has been limited, and dueling would waste manpower and resources… I won’t hold your offense against a lord against you today.”
In his view, he was already giving both sides a way out.
George pointed towards the shooting range behind him and said, “A fistfight here is spacious enough.”
Drew suppressed his anger and said, “I don’t have time to wait for you to don your armor—”
“I won’t wear armor.”
“I won’t participate in an unfair duel; the world will laugh at me.”
“You’re right,” George replied. “If both sides don’t use extraordinary power and rely only on strength, I will go unarmored. Accept my duel like this, and the world won’t laugh at your lack of clarity.”
Jima suddenly realized that George was quite skilled in trash talk.
Drew’s anger flared as he pulled off his iron gauntlet and flung it forcefully towards George’s face.
With a “slap,” George caught the iron gauntlet.
Drew pointed at George’s nose and said, “Today I’m going to knock you to the ground looking for your teeth.”
George tossed the iron gauntlet back to him, and the two jumped over the railing to step into the shooting range. Drew’s attendant shouted loudly from beside the fence:
“By the lake goddess above, this duel first dedicates honor to Her…”
Drew panted, staring intently at George before him. Once his anger subsided, rationality returned.
George was wearing a simple brown linen outfit, with a worn leather belt tied around his waist.
He felt at ease. Although his opponent was a renowned warrior, he had armor against an unarmored opponent, and with extraordinary abilities restricted, didn’t that give him a significant advantage?
Drew’s mind raced as he began to devise a strategy to capitalize on the advantage of wearing armor.
With armor, George would inevitably aim for the weakest part of his armor—the face. Drew decided to angle his body, using his thick forearm armor to block George’s punch, and then retaliate with a punch to George’s face. Even if he failed, his armor offered a high margin for error, allowing him to handle the situation calmly.
With a strategy formed, Drew felt confident, raising his hand to lower his face guard.
The attendant’s voice rose, “For the goddess, the duel begins!”
George bent down, crouched, pushed off the ground with his feet, twisted his waist, causing his spine to arch like a dragon, channeling all his strength into his fist, and in the blink of an eye, he charged directly at Drew’s face.
The speed was so great that an ordinary person could not react in time.
Drew turned to the side, anticipating George’s punch to strike his shoulder armor, everything going according to plan. He couldn’t help but smile slightly, clenching his fist, ready to counterattack.
Suddenly, a tremendous force slammed into his shoulder armor. Drew immediately felt as if he had collided with a bull, losing his balance, one foot lifting off the ground, and he spun half a turn, facing George squarely.
Through the visor of his helmet, he saw a reddening iron fist rapidly approaching.
How could it have so much power—
The forceful punch broke his train of thought. Everything went black before his eyes, a roaring sound flooded his ears, and his head jerked back sharply, almost touching his back, leading one to question if his spine would snap.
He fell backward to the ground, sliding several meters, his helmet tumbling away, rolling and revealing a dented faceplate.
Two attendants stared wide-eyed, frozen in shock.
George stood in place, his fists hanging at his sides, drops of blood dripping from his knuckles. As the tenth drop hit the ground, he looked at the attendant acting as the referee and asked, “Are we done?”
The attendants snapped back to reality, instinctively reaching for their waists, stammering, “In… in the presence of the goddess, Sir George is victorious.”
George said, “He’s in armor; he won’t die; he’ll recover in a bit.”
No sooner had he said this when Drew, lying on the ground, groaned and opened his lifeless eyes.
The two attendants rushed forward.
George walked past the attendants trying to “revive” their master, stepping out of the shooting range while treating the small wounds on his right hand.
Jima was waiting for him, her golden eyes smiling as she said, “Thank you.”
George replied, “I couldn’t tolerate his insult.”
Jima regarded him with an amused wink, cradling his fist in her hands. Like a chick pecking at rice, her soft lips lightly brushed against his fist as she said, “I believe there are other reasons.”
With that, she turned and walked away, savoring the noticeably peach blossom fragrance in the air, a wicked smile blooming on her face.
He’s just a rookie compared to me.
After leaving the shooting range, Jima sat in her room, feeling bored, and decided to show some mercy by starting to write.
She was not worried about what trouble George would land in for beating Drew.
Even though this was Drew’s territory, in the Knight Kingdom of Bartow, knights were “civilized barbarians.” George’s actions were both legal and in line with knightly spirit. Most importantly, why bother worrying about someone who was bound to die?
A white panel floated before Jima, lines of text continuously appearing on the screen, filled with yellow and vulgar content.
Jima was in the zone; it felt like a fire was blazing in her lower abdomen, her face slightly flushed, her mind filled with unspeakable scenarios—the perfect state for writing explicit literature.
However, readers might be disappointed since Jima was writing a different kind of explicit story, featuring an evil demon lord who used amorous spells to seduce. Anyone caught dared not offer anything but their life, or they risked being consumed by flames.
Just as she was writing about a noble princess struggling against desire, a deafening Waghhh sound suddenly echoed from outside the window, drowning the entire city and interrupting Jima’s thoughts.
She rushed to the window and saw the green-skinned wave flooding over the hillside outside the city, rushing toward the city. The wave consisted of small goblins and orc warriors in tattered armor, all led by a robust three-meter-tall green-skinned war chief who was frantically waving various weapons and shouting towards the city walls.
The entire city fell into a state of panic. Refugees scurried about like headless flies. The guards rushed to the city walls, and upon seeing the massive green skin army, they were utterly stunned. Some, afraid, picked up their bows and took aim.
But the green skin army stopped outside the firing range. The war chief lifted a nearby goblin wearing a monocle, bringing it to his eye level.
The monocle goblin flashed a flattering smile at the war chief.
The war chief roared, “Get me a big cart, a huge stone-throwing contraption! I want to crush those shrimp! We’re going to kill the screaming girl, and we’re going to sleep in tents!”
In an instant, countless green skins agreed with this sentiment. The orcs raised their axes and machetes, shouting, “Kill the screaming girl! Sleep in tents!”
“Kill the screaming girl! Sleep in tents!”
Jima stepped back from the window, saying, “Damn, how are there so many orcs, and they arrived so quickly?”
She felt a bit regretful about writing explicit literature for money and revenge. Who knew rumors would turn out true in the most absurd places, inadvertently dragging the green skins into trouble, and she had no idea who was stirring the pot from behind.
After pondering, it seemed she had severed connections a bit too harshly; that was too unethical.
Jima then thought that this must be someone’s plot. Therefore, the blame lay with the mastermind, not herself.
With that in mind, she comfortably sat down on her bed.
At that moment, the door swung open, and George walked in.
Jima said, “George, you came at just the right time.”
“What’s the matter?”
I want to scramble; you guys can guard as you please.
Jima opened her mouth to speak but then shut it. She reconsidered that her intention was to turn George into “kindling” to fuel the rumor of “Jima being a benevolent succubus.” This would allow her to once again deceive the detection system of the paladin camp.
The more dangerous the situation, the more she should stay in the city. After all, no one knew she had the ability to “walk through dreams” and escape at any time.
As the saying goes, good at nothing, first in flight.
Jima said, “If there’s anything I can assist you with, just say it.” I may not necessarily do it.
George replied, “I’m heading to the city walls soon; you should join me.”
Jima wore a determined expression, picking up her crossbow, ready to fight against the green skins.
George said, “I’m not asking you to fight.”
“Then what am I going to do?”
“In case of danger, I’d like to free up my hands to protect you.”
“And me?”
“You just stay behind and help out.”
Jima felt a strange sense of indignation, even though George was speaking the truth. The light crossbow in her hand was just enough to tickle the orcs; it could handle goblins, but the green skin army had goblins in abundance, enough to use as cannon fodder.
“Help me put on my armor.”
“Okay.”
Jima concealed her horned tail, followed George, and assisted him in donning his armor. Once they were done, they ran into Saint Jenna, and the three of them headed to the city walls together.
The green skin army had already surrounded the city, and they started to establish base camps, with groups of green skins entering the forest to chop wood. Uneasily, Jima noted that several fallen green skins were staggering aimlessly in the green skin camp.
Jima couldn’t decide how great a threat the green skin army posed to the city, so she asked George.
George said, “The good news is that this city has rarely fallen to a green skin tide.”
“And the bad news?”
“The last time it was conquered, the enemy was undead.”
Moreover, the last time, the commander of the city wasn’t a lord suspected of becoming a vampire.
George lamented, “It’s too fast. If only I had a bit more time.”
Jima understood that George meant he needed more time to deal with the difficulty of Drew.
These green skins were alarmingly well-informed.
