Chapter 59: The Torment King
As Jima walked up the wooden wall, George looked at her and asked:
“Did you rest well?”
“I’m in great shape, how about you, Sister Frostleaf?”
Eve Frostleaf seemed less impassive as she tied her silver hair into a long ponytail and nodded at Jima: “Mm.”
“We’d better resolve the battle as soon as possible,” George said. “The warriors are about to buckle under the pressure of the defense. As soon as we jump down to punish a few beastmen, they will launch a fierce attack, and the defense won’t last long. We only have one chance.”
Jima glanced at the wounded soldiers on the wooden wall beside her. She felt that without George and Eve Frostleaf to put out the fire, they wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer against the beastmen’s onslaught.
At that moment, a military priest with an arm slung across his chest brought a middle-aged woman up to the wooden wall, followed closely by a child with horns, mimicking the steps of a duckling behind a mother duck.
Jima deliberately said:
“If we can’t cut off the head of that beastman in twenty minutes, the beastmen will overwhelm this wooden wall, and the brave soldiers resisting will become meat in the mouths of the beastmen. I won’t be able to take everyone back home for a wedding.”
The military priest said, “You all should break through as soon as possible; our army’s defeat is inevitable.”
“Enough, Priest,” George replied. “If the ambush fails, we will withdraw.”
The military priest shook his head: “Brother George, you still hold unrealistic fantasies of victory, which will only lead to a disastrous defeat. A catastrophic defeat is precisely due to an unwillingness to accept failure.”
“Alas, I don’t know how many wives will lose their sons and husbands,” Jima said while stealing a glance at the middle-aged woman, who showed a mournful expression as she had just lost her husband. “Actually, I do have a plan, and if it succeeds, that beastman will fall within ten minutes.”
George asked, “What plan?”
“A curse.”
“Remember you said that the stronger the connection between the curse medium and the target, the stronger the curse?” George took off his helmet, revealing his handsome face, and pondered. “So, you want me to draw a portrait of you? No, if it were that simple, you would have asked me for a drawing already.”
“If you can paint a picture of that beastman, I would be very grateful.”
George took out a small cloth bag and handed it to Jima: “I also collected some of his hair.”
“You actually got it,” Jima said. “You were complaining before about how cunning he is and wouldn’t engage you.”
“The last time we failed to behead the general, before retreating, I yanked on some hair from his tail.”
Jima opened the cloth bag, looking at the large clump of brown hair inside. Even if this hair was enough, she still intended to go after the middle-aged woman.
“I’ll give it a try.” Jima pinched a hair, cursing: “May you fall and eat dirt.”
Jima’s curse attached to her vicious words, using her finger as a medium, aimed at the beastman. It felt like shooting a crossbow bolt at the back of someone, but suddenly a wall appeared behind that beastman, blocking the malicious curse and turning back, attacking Jima with an even stronger curse.
The hair Jima was holding ignited on its own, black flames danced, burning on Jima’s skin, a stinging pain burrowing deep into her bones, while her hand felt as if it were glued in place and couldn’t move an inch.
Quickly resisting, Jima forced out the malevolent curse; with a slackening of her fingers, the burning brown hair drifted to the ground, devoured by flames, leaving only a few ashes behind.
George asked, “Are you okay?”
The military priest said, “As expected, it failed.”
“A person who is stronger in curses than me is protecting him from the curse’s interference. I guess it could be the Mother of All Beasts.”
The military priest shook his head: “It’s an even greater failure.”
“But if I can obtain a closer connection medium, I’m confident I can break through that beastman’s defenses.”
The military priest said, “A failure with a hint of hope is just a tragic defeat.”
Unable to take it anymore, George said, “Priest, if you can’t provide suggestions, then please be quiet. Otherwise, next time I will accuse you of violating military discipline and undermining morale. Of course, you could also choose to leave.”
The military priest replied, “What a classic process of failure, the commander acts unilaterally, leading the team off a cliff with various risky ideas one after another, missing the last chance… Alright, Commander George, I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
George turned to Jima: “So the problem lies in obtaining a closer connection medium, right?”
“Yes, for example, you can get blood from that beastman; the more, the better.”
“If I can obtain his blood, then I can kill him.”
“That’s just an example,” Jima said. “Getting blood from his mother would work too. Do you remember what was around the beastman’s neck?”
“The four-leaf clover necklace, crafted by humans.” As he said this, George recalled something and looked at the middle-aged woman. “Ma’am, you also have a four-leaf clover emblem on your cart’s wall.”
The middle-aged woman remained silent, while the horned child stared at her.
She said, “He might have stolen the necklace from my family.”
Jima said, “Or perhaps you left him abandoned in the forest, hanging the necklace around his neck.”
The middle-aged woman stayed silent, shaking her head repeatedly.
Jima stared at the middle-aged woman, a cold smile appearing on her face as she said, “Lying will only push everyone toward the edge of a cliff.”
“Dear sister Jima,” the horned child mustered courage and stood in front of the middle-aged woman, stuttering, “She, she is a good person.”
“Then let her answer the question.”
The middle-aged woman said, “What a joke, how is this possible?”
“George, it’s time to start a lie detector test,” Jima said. “By the way, bring your great sword; some people require a scare to realize the truth.”
The middle-aged woman suddenly covered her face with both hands: “I… I gave birth to a beast.”
“A beast?”
“I must have been cursed by the gods, giving birth to a child with horns, covered in hair, looking nothing like a human…”
George was stunned, looking the middle-aged woman up and down: “But you’re a purebred human, how could you give birth to a beastman?”
The middle-aged woman immediately defended herself: “I did not betray my husband; during that time, we were together.”
“As far as I know, purebred humans can also give birth to beastmen,” Jima said. “So if I’m not mistaken, according to both law and traditional customs, if you give birth to a beastman, you should drown it in the river. Of course, I understand that it’s cruel for a mother, but as long as you’re willing to pay, many are happy to drown a beastman.”
“Y-yes, I intended to call a butcher, but it called me ‘Mama.’ Such a small child would call me ‘Mama.'” The middle-aged woman’s tears were flowing incessantly, and she gestured helplessly about its size. “I begged my husband, holding onto his leg, pleading not to be so cruel, just to throw it outside, leave it in the wilderness, and let the gods judge whether it lives or dies.”
Listening to the middle-aged woman’s lament, Jima felt a sudden pain in her wings.
“Nonsense, in fact, you wanted it to survive, right? So don’t blame the gods for allowing him to live,” Jima said. “You must have left him in the forest, hoping some beastman would find him, raise your progeny, and perhaps one day he would recognize you.”
The middle-aged woman didn’t respond, merely choking back her sobs.
Jima pointed outside at the beastmen, her tone sharp:
“Now you should be satisfied. That beastman cub who calls you ‘Mama’ has grown so tall, strong, and clever, leading a large group of beastmen around to devour people. As a mother, you should feel proud. Your beastman son almost chopped off my wings with one blow.”
The middle-aged woman sobbed, “I… I’m just a mother.”
“So the beastmen in the forest never cease,” Jima said. “Mothers like you contribute greatly to the population growth of beastmen in the forest.”
Unable to contain herself, the middle-aged woman broke down sobbing.
George couldn’t help but say, “Jima, that’s enough.”
“Her good son nearly chopped off my wings,” Jima said. “And I haven’t even mentioned her husband; could this be karma?”
“Jima!”
The middle-aged woman covered her face tightly, tears streaming down, falling to the ground from her fingers.
Jima fell silent. Listening to the middle-aged woman’s tormenting cries, she felt an inexplicable sense of satisfaction, unsure if it was due to her inherently bad character or the desire for revenge. She opened her personal system and saw a new line of text in the information bar:
“DM: Congratulations on making a small step forward on the path to leveling up.”
How wonderful.
The horned child looked at the middle-aged woman, timidly reaching out to comfort her. When his hand was about to touch the middle-aged woman, she abruptly dropped her hand and angrily pushed the horned child away, saying to everyone:
“I must have angered the gods to receive today’s punishment. Ever since I gave birth to that beast, I have been unable to become pregnant again. My husband has always been loyal to me, but he…”
The middle-aged woman recalled how her husband died, her expression turning somber but filled with anger as she continued:
“It must be because I didn’t have the heart to kill that beast back then. I should have taken a knife and chopped off its ugly sheep head, and fed its horns to the dogs. You can ask for anything, whether it’s my blood or my flesh, just as long as you can curse that beast to death.”
Jima smiled slightly: “Very well.”
“Just a mother’s blood is enough,” Jima took out a prepared ceramic bowl and a sharp small knife. “Here.”
The middle-aged woman took a deep breath, grabbed the knife, and pressed the blade against her palm, cutting deeply, causing Jima to wince in sympathy. Blood flowed continuously, dripping into the ceramic bowl; after it filled halfway, Jima said it was enough.
The middle-aged woman hastily wrapped a bandage around her hand and told Jima, “Please tell him I’m his mother and that I regret giving birth to him, wishing I had crushed his skull with a stone.”
With that, she turned to leave.
The horned child hurriedly chased after her, but the middle-aged woman walked quickly, and when he could not catch up, he reached out as usual to grasp her skirt. The middle-aged woman turned around and forcefully pushed the horned child down; he fell to the ground, looking up at her retreating figure like an abandoned kitten, softly crying, “Mama… Mama…”
The middle-aged woman did not look back, scolding, “Get lost! You beastling.”
Leaving the horned child alone on the ground.
George couldn’t bear it, stood up, and pulled the blank-eyed horned child to his side.
“There’s nothing to be sad about,” Jima said. “Your adoptive mother is just putting on a show for us; she fears we will direct our wrath at her, so she wants to distance herself from you.”
The horned child was taken aback, softly saying, “So I’ve always been a child without a mother.”
Jima ignored him, stirring the blood in the bowl with her fingertip, smiling at George: “We’re safe now; there’s no curse that’s more malicious than this.”
