Chapter 152 Chapter 153 Intermission
Jima sat in the chair, her eyes glazed over, the bright red light of the sunset streaming through the window, casting a warm glow on half of her body, making her look like an abandoned exquisite doll.
Mrs. Mary Black held a white over-the-knee sock in her hands, smiling as she said, “My little darling, lift your leg.”
Jima numbly raised her calf, allowing Mary Black to pull the sock onto her leg. As Mary Black adjusted the long sock and smoothed out the wrinkles, she said, “My little darling looks beautiful in anything.”
If I hadn’t looked into your dreams, I might have thought you were involved in a cult.
Jima opened her mouth and weakly asked, “Which set is it now?”
“The ninth set.”
The tiny flower of hope that had just begun to sprout in Jima’s heart was instantly crushed. It felt like standing in military training until she was exhausted, with sweat dripping from her chin, only to be told she had only stood for two minutes.
“Aunt Mary, can I—”
“No, my little darling.”
Mrs. Mary Black responded, her face lined with age yet full of spirit, contrasting sharply with the lifelessness of Jima. She stood up to adjust the bow on Jima’s black hair, cheerfully saying, “I’ll go get a mirror for you to see.”
Jima numbly turned her head and watched her leave.
Why didn’t I just grab a stick and hit her in the back of the head? If it were that reckless guy, Arcanis, he would probably do it; sometimes I really envy the chaotic faction, they can do whatever they want without so many concerns.
Before long, Mrs. Mary Black returned, pushing a mirror in front of her. The mirror reflected a sweet-looking girl, adorned with a bow, wearing a pink puff-sleeve patterned dress, and white knee-length lace-trimmed socks.
Jima thought of the word “Lolita.”
“Little Qiao, you look wonderful!” Mrs. Mary Black said excitedly, scratching her palm. “You have a slender figure, and the puff skirt suits you perfectly, it doesn’t make you look fat. Some people look like little pregnant ladies in that outfit, yet they always make me dress them in it.”
“I know I’m stunted.”
“My little darling is just humble. Stand up and try?”
“I don’t have shoes.”
Mrs. Mary Black brought over a pair of cream-colored platform doll shoes, saying, “The shoes are here.”
Jima let out a pained groan, “Oh heavens, God of Dawn, please save your devout follower from the sea of suffering. I have no strength left, Aunt.”
“It’s okay, I’ll help you put them on.”
Mrs. Mary Black knelt down, reaching for Jima’s ankle but touched something strange—a soft, tail-like object. She instinctively squeezed it, feeling it was like some kind of tail.
Jima shuddered, jumping up from the chair and pulling back her tail.
“I think I just touched something.”
“Nothing, right?” Jima stood up, wrapping her tail around her thigh while lifting her pink puff skirt, her legs feeling empty in between.
“Was that just an illusion?”
Jima quickly changed the subject: “Ah haha, I suddenly feel energized; I’ll put on the shoes myself.”
After putting on the outfit, Mrs. Mary Black praised her repeatedly. Jima looked at her reflection in the mirror and complained, “The more I look, the more I look like a kindergarten child. This dress isn’t form-fitting, and it doesn’t show off my absolute territory; it just looks like a child with baby teeth. Even if it were given to me for free, I wouldn’t want it; I really don’t understand what’s beautiful about it.”
“Little Qiao, you really do long to grow up.”
“I’m not that small, okay?”
“You’re about fourteen or fifteen; it’s a good thing you’re so cute. You’ll understand this later,” Mrs. Mary Black said. “Also, your taste seems to be like that of lascivious men.”
“By the way, Aunt Mary.” Jima quickly diverted the topic and asked, “Do you have grandchildren?”
Mrs. Mary Black’s smile dimmed as she replied, “I had a lovely granddaughter, but she died at the hands of a tyrant’s crossbow.”
“I’m very sorry.”
Mrs. Mary Black stood behind Jima, reaching out to touch the bow on Jima’s hair, saying, “If she were still alive, she would be your age. She was very lovely, always smiling from birth. Her skull showed no deformities; she was a very healthy and pure child.”
The people of the Empire viewed a non-deformed skull as a symbol of purity because generally, children who had been corrupted would have altered shapes.
“But she died. The tyrant wanted the money from Marlin City, the soldiers wanted to kill more people to earn military merit; nobody cared about the lives of ordinary people like us. When they saw a shadow in the bushes, they couldn’t wait to shoot their crossbows. Just this group of bloodthirsty thugs, yet some people still idolize…”
Mrs. Mary Black said, “There’s an alchemist who hangs a flag in his shop, wishing for the tyrant’s army to come again.”
Jima pretended to sympathize: “I’m very sorry…”
After rambling with her for nearly half an hour, Mrs. Mary Black felt it was getting late and let Jima go.
After changing back into her own clothes, Jima stepped over the threshold, holding the several outfits that Mrs. Mary Black had forcibly given her, and stepped out of the shop, taking a deep breath of fresh air.
“I’m finally free.”
If she hadn’t intentionally dragged things on, continuing to change clothes, she felt she would have gone mad.
She didn’t expect that the king would make such sacrifices for power. Really, no matter how she thought about it, it was all the fault of that certain tail-control.
As Jima walked, she angrily stomped her heel against the ground, imagining stepping down a few times on George to release some of her frustration.
I’d better wait a while before seeing him; I need to scare this guy a bit, otherwise I’ll have a hard time venting this anger inside me.
Her heart still felt uneasy.
“I can go to the Saint’s house for a knee pillow massage treatment the day after tomorrow.” Jima’s spirit lifted, “Just in time, I can use the excuse of going to watch the finals to invite her on a date.”
Thinking of this, Jima couldn’t help but look forward to the day after tomorrow. Since there would only be the two of them, and their relationship was so good, being a bit intimate was quite normal, right?
…
…
In the Duchy of Casong, within a forest.
Behind the leaves, the blood-red sunset gradually sank beneath the horizon.
A bull-headed man, nearly three meters tall, covered in muscles and encased in tough hide, had a circle of skulls around its thick neck. Holding a gigantic axe, this terrifying creature made the enemy army tremble in fear; just a few of them could wipe out an entire village of militia.
But now its time was short. With a charred bow stuck diagonally in its chest, it was still alive, gasping for breath as it lay on the ground.
The wounded Eve Frostleaf leaned against a tree. Her foot was temporarily injured, having taken a heavy axe blow to her thigh.
A sound of snapping branches echoed, and Eve’s long ears twitched. She braced herself on one foot and pulled her silver bow tight.
A tall knight burst out of the bushes—it was George. He pulled a branch that had lodged in his helm and said, “It’s me, Frostleaf.”
Eve Frostleaf slowly released the tension on her bowstring: “Such barbarous actions; I should have known it was you.”
George cautiously approached the injured and not-yet-dead bull-headed man, asking, “Do you need treatment?”
“Paladin, save your divine skills. I’m not as weak as I look,” Eve Frostleaf replied. “That bull-headed man should know something.”
Before she finished speaking, Eve’s long ears perked up as she shouted, “Crossbow!”
With that, she rolled on the ground.
A poisoned arrow whizzed over her head, embedding itself into the tree behind her. George bent down, shielding his helm with his hand, blocking another poisoned arrow.
A third poisoned arrow struck the bull-headed man in the throat, and the silhouette of the attacker appeared in the nearby bushes.
Silencing witnesses.
George immediately stepped forward, closing the distance, turning into a streak of light as he dashed through the trees, appearing behind the attacker dressed in a gray-black cloak and smashing the hilt of his sword against the enemy’s head.
The attacker turned their head, hitting the ground, rolling over; their red eyes reflected George’s figure, and suddenly, they rolled their eyes back, body trembling, spewing black blood.
Perhaps to prevent leaking secrets with dark magic.
George quickly realized what was happening. He first stomped down on the attacker’s knee; the attacker didn’t make a sound and died within mere seconds.
Confirming the other party was not feigning, he turned and, bending his knees, leaped with gathered strength, soaring above the treetops. As he landed, he kicked down a tree branch and jumped back to Eve Frostleaf’s position.
He landed just as two dark elves armed with magical short swords and crossbows rushed toward Eve Frostleaf.
Before George could act, both were terrified and met their end under dark magic.
Eve Frostleaf sheathed her sword: “You returned just in time.”
“It was simply a trick to lure the tiger away from its mountain. I won’t be caught a second time,” George replied. “All leads are broken; our opponent is very fearsome.”
“Druzi has always been pathological.” Eve Frostleaf tried to take a step but momentarily lost her balance and stumbled toward the ground.
George rushed forward, catching her wrist. Eve’s cheek brushed against the grass, barely ten centimeters off the ground. As George pulled her up, Eve Frostleaf leaned against him, saying, “Is this how you support someone?”
“Your maid warned me to try not to touch your body.”
“Let her die.” Eve Frostleaf retorted. “Are you made of wood? This is a battlefield.”
“Sorry.”
“Take action, Paladin.” Eve Frostleaf commanded, “You’re to carry me to the riverbank; it’s time for a wash.”
George agreed, as their comrades would come to clean up the battlefield later.
A minute later, George carried Eve Frostleaf on his back, with both hands securing her legs, jumping in a bouncing motion through the thicket. Her delicate calves swayed with the bumps.
“I’m quite suspicious of your elvish literacy; clearly, ‘carry’ and ‘hold’ are completely different pronunciations,” Eve Frostleaf remarked, tightly wrapping her arms around George’s neck, while using her sword to slice through a branch sweeping toward them. “But I must commend you, your speed is comparable to Maldaya.”
“Who is Maldaya?”
“My swordsmanship teacher, the champion knight of Her Majesty the Queen. His steed is a fine horse.”
“Why do I always feel like you’re intentionally comparing me to livestock?”
“It’s a noble steed,” Eve Frostleaf replied. “Even if you were lucky enough to arrive at the Eternal Royal Court, your status wouldn’t compare to it.”
“I wouldn’t run off to your elvish islands if nothing was wrong.”
“One day you will, and you’ll marvel at the magnificence of our elven cities. Your human cities are comparable to goblin camps,” Eve Frostleaf said. “It’s very beautiful there.”
George thought Eve Frostleaf was having a hereditary moment of insanity.
A gust of wind blew, causing the branches to sway and creak. Eve Frostleaf lowered her head and said into the wind, “You’ll like my hometown.”
The wind carried away her whispered words, and George didn’t hear her.
Soon, the two arrived by the riverbank.
Eve Frostleaf sat on a stone by the river, unfastening her scale armor and removing her long boots, revealing her perfectly proportioned legs wrapped in silken strands to the air.
Her right leg bore a fresh, shallow wound, tearing through the silken strands, with the fierce battle having caused her hose to tear in several places, exposing some of her plump leg flesh.
George glanced at Eve Frostleaf’s legs several times and said, “I can’t shake the feeling this is a trap.”
They had hurried to the Duchy of Casong overnight, arriving at the village given to them by the dark devil, only to find it burned down. They searched the mountainous regions for traces, where the area was full of the tracks of beastmen. As expected, they encountered beastmen in the forest, fighting from noon until night.
It was now certain that the beastmen were colluding with the dark elves.
Eve Frostleaf pulled out a vial of emerald green potion and asked, “Is this intuition?”
“Reasoning,” George replied. “We were a step too late; the dark elves could have escaped much further, yet after all this time, they didn’t even reach the shore. And then there’s the silencing operation—what intelligence could the beastmen have? They sent a few assassins to their deaths. I suspect it’s as if they feared we would have no clues.”
“That’s far-fetched,” Eve Frostleaf said. “Why couldn’t the beastmen have important intel?”
“The most important point is.” George looked towards the other side of the river, where, in the distance, the tip of a castle tower could be vaguely seen beyond the valley. “My hometown is right in front.”
“How far?”
“A day’s journey.”
“I want to meet your parents.” Eve Frostleaf turned her head, saying, “To see what kind of people gave birth to you.”
“My relationship with my family isn’t good.” George said as he wiped off blood stains from his armor, “I haven’t seen my mother since I was a child.”
A euphemism for being a bastard.
Eve Frostleaf fell silent and said, “I understand that feeling; even if parents are alive, it feels like they’re dead. By the way, George, can you do me a favor?”
“What is it?”
“I can’t bend over in this armor.” Eve Frostleaf pointed at her torn silks and tossed the emerald potion to George, saying, “Apply it.”
“I can treat it.”
“Save your divine skills for now; nothing can compare with our elvish healing salves.”
With that, she confidently placed her injured right leg on George’s thigh. George removed his funnel steel gauntlet, his rough fingers covered in green ointment, and used a dagger to cut her silks, applying the ointment on Eve Frostleaf’s thigh.
Eve Frostleaf closed her snow-white lashes, murmuring, “Your hands are so rough; your technique can’t compare to my maid’s, but considering you’re not an elegant elf, this can be forgiven.”
…
…
“Sister Jenna!” Jima hugged Jenna tightly and said, “I feel like my aftereffects are recurring; my chest hurts subtly. Isn’t it hard to breathe? My chest feels tight. If I don’t get that knee pillow massage soon, I feel like I’m going to die.”
Jenna was startled, saying, “Is it that serious?”
“Yes, I need treatment.” Jima rubbed her cheek against Jenna’s chest, gazing at the wall, her face revealing a mischievous smile.
That guy George must be struggling in the wilderness, feeding mosquitoes every day. He sleeps every night with a bunch of toe-picking big guys, with no women around and even no chances for some hand relief, while his fiancée is behind benefitting from that blond hair.
Thinking this way, Jima smiled even more happily.
——————
It’s so annoying when the protagonist uses a pseudonym; there are always mistakes. I can only correct it when the editor is back at work.
