Chapter 92 Chapter 93 Just hit De, just hit De
Jima instinctively showed a kind smile, but unfortunately the other party was a green-skinned orc. The big orc frowned harshly, his nostrils flaring with anger, and wielded a large axe and sword directly towards Jima’s face.
Jima hurriedly dodged while enhancing her “Extraordinary Charm.” An axe swung from behind towards her head, but was deflected by her “Extraordinary Charm,” glancing off Jima’s horn.
Having avoided disaster, Jima instinctively ran towards the city wall, as it was the closest location to George. She casually dusted off her “Lucky Ring,” which gleamed with a flash of light.
A flying axe whizzed past Jima’s face. She turned to see five large orcs charging at her, forming a wall of muscle.
Someone leaped down from the tower.
It was the Warlord, landing in front of Jima with a heavy body that shook the ground. Standing three meters tall, he resembled a small mountain. Now this small mountain swung a massive axe taller than Jima, charging towards her.
With pursuers behind and a blocking tiger in front.
Jima couldn’t help but shout, “George, help—”
Her voice was interrupted by the axe swinging down, and she wasn’t even sure if her voice reached George’s ears.
The axe came down horizontally, and Jima hurriedly rolled to the side, bracing for what she thought would split her in half. However, the Warlord’s overzealous movement strained his back injury, altering his action, and the axe blade only skimmed past Jima’s head, merely chopping off the tip of her horn.
The wind whipped Jima’s black hair, obscuring her vision. She pushed her hair aside with her hands, stood up, and couldn’t resist casting a glance at the tower.
There, a white light dazzled, indicating that Saint Jenna was still guiding that damned light orb, so George was protecting her.
What she should have thought of was that the best course of action was to run towards the castle.
Without time for regrets, Jima turned and charged straight at the five large orcs coming at her.
The five large orcs roared, “Waaagh!”
After that roar, they brandished their weapons and lunged at Jima, eager to chop her into pieces on the spot.
Jima lunged forward, miraculously slipping beneath the large orcs, as two of them, eager to grind her into bits, collided with each other when they turned back.
Jima managed to crawl on her hands and knees, quickly getting up and running for her life.
The Warlord bellowed in anger, “Chop her up!”
He crashed through the blocking orc, pursuing Jima in just a few steps. He kicked at her but missed, losing his balance and falling to the ground in a big tumble.
Jima was not out of danger yet; she had to escape from the horde of green-skinned orcs. She weaved left and right among them, narrowly dodging knives, axes, and spears, as many orcs stood confused, not understanding what was happening, watching Jima escape right beside them.
The Warlord got up, roaring angrily, “Damn! You little ones, kill that screaming girl! Charge, charge! For the sake of Brother Mao! Shatter her bones! Just chop her! Just chop her! Just chop her! Grab her by the feet!”
A goblin next to her clung onto Jima. Jima flung her hand crossbow at its face and miraculously escaped the green-skinned crowd.
Behind her, she heard footsteps and orc roars. The Warlord’s voice boomed over all, shaking Jima’s eardrums.
“Just chop her! Charge, charge, charge….”
Jima stepped over a fallen horse corpse. Amid the crowd of footsteps behind her, one set of footsteps stood out, pursuing her and gradually closing in.
She reached into the dimensional space bag on her belt and grabbed the “Blood Goat Horn Cup,” feeling the coldness of the cup.
A battle axe struck her shoulder, and she could hear the sound of her bone breaking, pain forcing her to grit her teeth. She pulled out the Blood Goat Horn Cup and drank the blood within.
As she bent her head, a large hand swiped over her, missing.
Jima turned her face, her golden eyes burning with anger, glaring at the large orc behind her, cursing:
“Curse you! Weakling!”
As soon as she pronounced her curse, the large orc felt its legs go weak, unable to step over the horse corpse, toppling to the ground.
An arrow flew by her side, embedding itself in a nearby corpse. She didn’t dare look at her arm; she couldn’t feel her left arm, only sensing it was nearly severed, held together by a bit of skin, blood pouring out. But the wound was rapidly healing.
The Warlord’s voice grew increasingly frantic: “…. Hit him once! Hit him once! Where’s the flying axe?”
A flying axe skimmed Jima’s calf, embedding itself in the ground. But an arrow struck Jima’s back, causing her to jerk her head back, nearly falling over. She quickly swallowed another mouthful of blood and stuffed the goat horn cup into her dimensional space bag.
She absolutely could not drink a third sip!
The wound was healing quickly, new flesh pushing against the arrow. While running, Jima reached back, grasping the arrow shaft, and pulled it out with force.
“Finish her! Finish her! Finish her! Finish her! Damn! Another shot! Take her down! Just chop her! Just chop her!”
The footsteps behind her kept closing in. Even with Jima’s luck, it was no match for the robust green-skinned orcs who wouldn’t trip over flat ground.
Jima saw the soldiers in front of the castle, retreating in panic, watching her. She pleaded for the retreating mounted retainers to make a charge. She waved her hands vigorously, shouting, “Charge! Charge!”
No one heard her call.
Her luck had run out. A battle axe flew at her; as Jima twisted her waist to dodge, she unfortunately fell to the ground.
The green-skinned brutes surged forward.
At the same time, a shadow swooped down— it was the green dragon Zarilis, diving towards Jima from the clouds.
However, Jima estimated that before it reached her, she would likely be torn apart by the large orcs.
Facing the swarm of oncoming green-skinned orcs, Jima sighed in relief and remained oddly calm.
Finally ready to use her trump card; if she failed, then so be it… not my problem?
A hemispherical shield appeared around Jima, blocking the axe and sword before dissipating, but it was already enough.
Jima was overjoyed and took off running.
A beam of light descended from the sky, landing atop her pursuing orc, incinerating it into carbon.
The shadow surrounding Jima grew larger; she felt like a little white rabbit being targeted by an eagle.
Why is it always targeting me? What did I do? Wasn’t I supposed to find Jenna? Haha, it must be because George is beside Jenna.
Jima stopped in her tracks, reaching into her pocket and grabbing a doll, looking up at the green dragon Zarilis.
It was bigger and more powerful than before, its scales gleaming. It looked exactly like the green dragon she remembered.
The green dragon Zarilis had returned to its peak state so quickly.
Jima felt utterly powerless, sensing too many useless teammates around her. She clutched the doll tighter.
George was faster. He landed beside Jima, pushing off the ground to slow down, shielding her as he gripped a spear and hurled it at the green dragon.
The spear struck true, and the dragon’s body shattered like green glass, scattering into specks of green.
Jima sighed with relief, releasing the doll and saying, “I can’t believe I let her deceive me.”
George dispatched the pursuing green-skinned orcs with a few strikes.
In the distance, the silhouette of the Warlord vanished from the city wall. He must have been occupied with the other green-skinned orcs and couldn’t keep up with Jima.
George turned back and asked, “Are you alright?”
He reached out his hand, glowing with white light, towards Jima’s blood-soaked left arm.
Jima glanced at her left arm; the wound had scabbed over, slightly painful, and her back was the same, but it was no big deal.
A surge of resentment bubbled up from her heart. She swatted George’s hand away, saying:
“I’m fine. You should go protect your saintess.”
“Jima, I’m—”
“I know, I know.” Jima ignored George, brushing past him. “She’s guiding the spell. She’s being beaten by a bunch of large brutes, and that big beast is blocking you. Go check on your saintess; she might be losing control right now.”
With that, she extended her hand and said, “Thank you, my great benefactor, Lord Saint John.”
An emaciated old man was crossing over corpses toward her, his aged face having one eye clouded, one side of his face burned, his gray and white beard covering his chin— it was Saint John.
He had just given Jima a protective barrier and used the flame strike spell, much faster than someone else.
Jima found his terrifying scars quite endearing.
His eye was wary as he looked at Jima approaching.
Jima smiled at him, and even Saint John couldn’t help but feel a bit of joy, showing a smile and giving her hand a gentle shake.
Jima held his dry hand tightly, shaking it and saying, “Saint John, thank you so much. You truly are a saint. Without you, I would have been cut to pieces long ago.”
“It’s the least I could do.”
“I’d like to make a donation to your church,” Jima said, “just a small gift, to help the church expand from two floors to five.”
Saint John released her hand, saying, “No need, it was a simple act.”
Jima was even more touched. What does high-mindedness mean? He wasn’t greedy for gold; it made her feel a bit guilty for what she had done to his son…
Conversely, someone else…
Jima thought, glancing at George, who was racing towards the tower to find his saintess.
After a short while, George jumped down from the tower with Jenna in a classic princess carry, her legs bent over his strong arms. As George crossed the battlefield, Jima saw Jenna unconscious, her oval-shaped face turning pale, and the small censer tied to her wrist emitting a wisp of green smoke.
Jima asked, “What happened to her?”
George replied, “I don’t know. The moment I reached the tower, she was holding on, and the moment she saw me, she fainted.”
Saint John stepped forward to check her and said, “She needs to rest well. To avoid losing control, she must have voluntarily entered a state of unconsciousness. She shouldn’t use her extraordinary abilities for the next few days.”
“Okay.”
The battle situation had temporarily reversed.
The green-skinned orcs were retreating, and the mounted retainers were chasing down the remaining green-skinned orcs inside the city.
On the city wall, the bodies of humans and green-skinned orcs emitted wisps of smoke, with far more green-skinned corpses. A gust of wind blew toward the castle, bringing along a foul stench.
Jima pinched her nose tightly as she looked down at the buzzing crowd behind her, finding the corridor packed with people. Her room had been emptied, preparing to bring in the wounded. The entire castle was overcrowded, and the soldiers had to regroup on the city wall.
Jima glanced down at the crowded gathering, spotting a boy around thirteen or fourteen years old, wearing a blood-stained oversized armored coat, struggling to put on a broken chain mail.
That armor must have come from a dead body.
Despite the reversal of the battle, George could not reorganize the defense on the city wall quickly, given the heavy casualties.
Jima murmured to herself, “I think I should make my escape.”
An elderly voice called from behind her: “Miss Jima, did you ask me to accompany you to see Dru?”
Jima turned around to look at Saint John’s clouded eye, smiling, and said, “Yes, I think the potion on him should be ready. I need your help to speed up the effect.”
