Chapter 19 Mischief
Eve Frostleaf’s cold, unpleasant expression brought a sense of genuine joy to Jima.
Right, I seemed to be planning to dig a hole in the wall. Never mind, too lazy to lick; I won’t even stretch my foot to lick. In life, being happy is the most important.
Jima revealed an “innocent” smile.
Eve Frostleaf ignored her and directly urged her horse to move away from her.
As an extraordinary being who didn’t need to work, she naturally had the privilege of staying in vacant houses in the village.
“Madams,” a villager said with both awe and an inability to help staring at their faces, cautiously avoiding eye contact as if mere prolonged gaze would lead to disembowelment.
“This is a vacant house for you to live in, particularly good, no drafts.”
A house built of raw wood and mud stood behind him, with thatched roof and small windows barely wide enough for a head to squeeze through. A mud path, marked by footprints, stretched to the door.
Eve Frostleaf sat steady on her steed, motionless.
Jima slid down from her chestnut mare and smiled at the villager, “Thank you for your hard work.”
The villager was taken aback, his dark face flushing.
Jima approached the house door and pushed it open with a strong shove, a wave of cow dung and pig feed smell hitting her. The interior was dim; Jima, possessing night vision, could see clearly. The house had no separate rooms, just a large bed against the left wall, covered with dark wheat straw and topped with a yellowish cloth. There was also a table with several yellow pottery jars on it.
In the center, a fire pit’s ashes glowed with dull red flames, a blackened iron pot resting atop it.
The villager said eagerly, “Madam, this fire can last a long time; if you want to drink soup, you can just grab some wicks to start the fire, very convenient.”
Jima could see the grayish soup in the pot and said, “Fortunately, I’m not thirsty.”
Jima looked right, noticing dry grass on the ground, covered in dried cow dung, mixed with a pile of fresh manure, with a feed trough placed in the corner.
“This is the livestock pen?”
“There’s one cow and one pig,” the villager said enviously, “but the big man Mor has gone to graze the cow. No worries, they will bring the cow back in the evening; if you ladies get cold at night, you can bring the pig to bed.”
“Uh, let’s skip that.”
“Don’t worry, it’s a**,” the villager reassured, “won’t reproduce wild beastmen.”
Jima closed the door abruptly, saying, “I’m just not used to living with livestock.”
The villager said curiously, “City folks living in stone houses are really strange; I heard elves live in trees?”
“In white stone houses with big windows.”
The villager shook his head, “How odd.”
“Let’s hope those soldiers don’t look down on these houses, but those mortals probably don’t have the mood to complain.” Jima turned her head and saw Eve Frostleaf riding away.
Jima quickly mounted her horse and urged it forward to catch up, saying, “Sister Frostleaf, I still need to stay in your tent tonight.”
“There are vacant tents.”
“The conditions are too poor; I can’t get used to it.”
“There are empty tents.”
“They all reek of stinky men; I don’t want to sleep there.”
Eve Frostleaf chose to ignore her.
“Sigh, then I’ll have to squeeze into a tent with George.” Jima sighed, “We’re resting early today, there’s not much entertainment in the countryside, and the long night is coming. George knows I have soundproofing capability; I’ll have to draw a few buckets of water to wash myself tonight.”
Eve Frostleaf tightened the reins and said,
“I’ll let you stay.”
With that, she kicked her horse, the steed carrying the elf galloped away.
“Hey, aren’t we buying some things together?” Jima waved at Eve Frostleaf.
The elf pretended not to hear.
There was a small market in the village for villagers to exchange goods.
Riding over, Jima instantly became the center of attention among the villagers.
“Delicious sweet melons.”
“Sweet melon wine, madam, would you like a jar?”
“Rabbit meat, rabbit meat, hunted yesterday.”
Jima glanced at the rabbit meat that the hunters had, very little of it, only two or three pieces, and it didn’t look fresh; the meat was grayish.
It seemed the wild beastmen had made the forest less safe. She stopped at a stall selling sweet melon wine, sniffed a jar, and detected a faint alcoholic scent. Not to her liking, she chose not to buy.
In the end, she only purchased fresh onions, carrots, and cabbage, putting them all in a basket for a total of just one and a half silver coins.
“Could you help carry this?” Jima said, “I can’t carry it on my horse right now.”
“Of course, madam.”
The seller was a slightly hunched farmer who readily obliged. He harbored a favorable impression of Jima and found himself wanting to serve her.
“Madam, there’s also sweet melon, do you want any?” the hunchbacked farmer said, placing a few melons in the basket, “They’re a gift for you.”
“Take as many as you can carry.”
“Alright.”
The hunchbacked farmer added the melons to the basket, which made it somewhat heavy. He glanced at the distant village entrance and suddenly felt regret; the sun was so hot, and he had to carry so much.
Jima smiled at him slightly, “Thank you for your hard work.”
“Not a problem, not a problem.”
He immediately filled with energy, like a beast of burden, following behind Jima’s horse.
These were the only worthwhile purchases in this shabby village. If only the “Dream Palace” could grow some vegetables, then I could cook every day… with these vegetables, what dish should I make today?
Without meat, vegetables lack soul. Should I simply buy a pig or a cow?
Jima scanned her surroundings, noticing the absence of livestock; recalling her entry into the village, she realized she hadn’t seen even a single animal.
No sheep, no pigs, and no cows.
Jima turned her head and asked, “Are there any sheep, pigs, or cows for sale in the village?”
The hunchbacked farmer replied, “No, only a few plowing oxen. Recently, we suffered losses from wild beastmen; almost all the sheep are dead.”
“What a pity.” Jima didn’t believe it; she lowered her gaze and employed her charm on the hunchbacked farmer, “I really want to eat some meat. Eating military rations every day is killing me.”
The hunchbacked farmer felt his mind sway, sensing Jima’s friendliness and intimacy, her plight rough yet pitiful, softening his heart like a lump of mud, saying:
“Actually, there are still a few livestock around, but…”
“But the village chief told you to hide the livestock and not tell outsiders, right?” Jima interjected. “And it’s not like the wild beastmen stole them.”
The hunchbacked farmer hesitantly nodded, “Yes.”
“I want a pig, and I need help to kill it.”
“But they will blame me.”
“Though they suffered from the wild beastmen’s disaster, surely some livestock survived. I’ll help you keep it a secret; I won’t tell anyone.” Jima said, “I believe the village chief or the butcher will understand, as long as you take me to speak with them.”
The hunchbacked farmer nodded.
Jima’s cravings began to quiet down a bit.
Although the Dream Palace had little combat utility, it could serve as a mobile kitchen and icehouse.
I could set up a modern icehouse inside, hanging pork, and cutting some beef; perhaps a few sheep as well. Tonight, we could have sweet and sour ribs, onion stir-fried twice-cooked pork, and stir-fried pork belly. The carrots can be fed to the horses.
I could also reward the army with livestock, buy a few sheep for roasting. The villagers are scared of outsiders and have hidden their livestock; only I can get the sheep. They will be grateful to me, and in turn, they would be loyal to me.
However, the stock of cumin and spices is running low; I still need to marinate the meat…
For over a hundred people, roasting meat requires quite a bit of seasoning; I would need to do the grilling myself.
Jima began to feel pained about her spices, pondering whether to use only salt instead.
No, since I’ve already invested, I can’t be stingy. If I am going to do it, I should do it right, leaving everyone with a deep impression.
“Get lost! Wild beastman brat!”
A furious roar interrupted Jima’s thoughts.
Jima lifted her head and saw a young man, face flushed, kick a horned child to the ground, rushing over to continue kicking.
The horned child clasped his head and cried out, “I’m not a wild beastman, I’m not!”
“With your horns, how can you say you’re not?”
The young man continued to kick and beat.
Several nearby villagers came over, trying to stop the young man.
Just then, a few soldiers shopping nearby turned to glance, saw that the one being beaten was the horned child, then turned back and continued haggling.
Seeing this, the villagers slowed their pace, did not intervene, allowing the young man to continue beating the horned child.
“Comrades, save me!” the horned child reached out his hands towards the soldiers.
The soldiers’ bargaining voices grew louder: “What? So expensive? More than the standard prices from Lord George. Don’t think we don’t know how much this thing actually costs; it’s written on paper.”
No one paid attention to the horned child.
“What are you doing? What’s going on?” Jima rode over, raised her whip, and struck forcefully at the young man, “Are you looking to die? Hitting our people.”
The whip struck the young man’s nape; he turned his head, his face red with anger, a noticeable smell of alcohol on him. Seeing who struck him—a beautifully dressed, long-haired girl on horseback—was sobering enough for him to shout:
“Are you protecting a wild beastman?”
With that, seemingly reminded of something, he kicked the young man again in fury.
“I said stop hitting.”
“I’m hitting the wild beastman.”
“Stop it.” The hunchbacked villager behind Jima said, “Hitting is bad.”
The young man glared at him, “Yesterday, you all carried my dad away to feed the wild beastmen. So what if I hit a wild beastman now?”
The hunchbacked villager awkwardly laughed and shrank away.
A quiet sob could be heard: “I’m not a wild beastman.”
In a fit, the young man kicked the horned child again: “Liar!”
“Don’t you take me lightly?” Jima’s mind raced, activating her “Liars Become Truth” ability, whispering, “I have a spear.”
As the deceptive ability infused the imagined sword in her mind, a light spear appeared in Jima’s hand. She then used her “Simulation” ability to mimic Jenna’s light control skills, causing the spear to emit a silver-white glow.
“Move again, and I’ll stab you.” Jima aimed the spear tip at the young man.
The young man raised his foot, ready to kick the horned child.
Without hesitation, Jima stabbed the spear directly into the young man, shocking the surrounding crowd into a gasp.
