Chapter 128: Jima and George
In the early morning, Dream Palace.
Jima stretched lazily. On the table was a liquid resembling milk, placed in a glass bottle, appearing particularly white under the sunlight.
There was also a piece of paper attached, with the words “Milk” written on it.
Jenna had not yet drunk the “milk,” as it was rather shocking, but Jima believed that sooner or later, faced with increasingly challenging grades, she would succumb.
With that thought, a slight smile appeared on Jima’s lips. She felt a sense of returning to the past, for in this palace, she was the supreme Demon King, and the charming maids within were all trophies of the king, desperate to resist but slowly being “tamed” by her…
Maybe I’m not really a Demon King yet.
Jima shook her head playfully; if she were merely a resurrection tool and mobile palace arranged by Demon King Gima, as well as a personal maid, that would be quite ironic.
The victim is immersed in the Demon King’s memories, relishing the feeling of tormenting her abuser.
Then, if she is not “Demon King Gima,” what difference does it make?
However, Jima didn’t want to be entangled in the dilemma of “am I really me?” As long as she felt comfortable, it was fine. Being a Demon King Gima wasn’t a big deal.
“Knock knock knock.”
At that moment, the door was knocked on, and George’s voice came through: “Jima, it’s me.”
“Come in.”
George grasped the doorknob and pushed the door open a crack. His eyes took in Jima’s figure before fully opening the door and stepping inside.
Jima propped her feet up on the table: “Oh, you thought I was underdressed, did you?”
George walked towards her, the armor he wore clattering: “Yes.”
This scene inevitably reminded Jima of the “Demon King before death,” as that kid had also entered wearing armor. The only difference was that this time he didn’t bring a sword.
Well, for now, let’s not care whether I’m “Demon King Gima” or not; this is definitely something I have to keep from this kid.
Jima even started to hope that she really was that incubus arranged by the Demon King.
“Are you disappointed to see me in formal wear?”
“Not at all.”
“Oh, I think I should thank you at this moment.”
“Why?”
“Men, by nature, are attracted to sexy women, and thus have an irresistible love for promiscuous women,” Jima said, “I’ll mention a few keywords that attract men: firearms, incubi, promiscuity…”
Fortunately, George was already accustomed to Jima’s nonsensical conversations. He sat down and asked seriously: “So, is this your theoretical guide for writing erotic novels?”
“That’s not the point. The point is, you know full well I’m a… uh, charming woman, yet you still lack that impulse, which shows you’ve become unaffected by my incubus identity— in other words, you’ve lost your prejudice.” Jima said seriously, “Thus, I should thank you for your efforts.”
“Jima, you’re being too formal.”
“But…” Jima suddenly turned the conversation, “but I still want to say, having no desire at all means you’re no man; you’re worse than a beast.”
George stood up, expressing his discontent through action.
“Ouch! Why are you hitting my head again?” Jima complained, holding her head, “I’m already not a kid, why do you still treat me like one?”
George glanced at the bed and asked seriously: “Do you want to have some intimacy?”
“Could you please not ask that with a calm expression and serious tone? Alright, I don’t want to. Can you keep your hands away from my tail?”
“I have a question: do you usually hang out with Jenna?”
“Of course, we’re good friends. Your harem is now quite harmonious, so there’s no need to worry about sparks flying.”
“Can I interpret that as sarcastic or jealous?”
“Suit yourself.”
“During this time, I’ve met Jenna a few times in your Dream Palace,” George said, “but she seems very distant towards me. Is she in a bad mood lately?”
“Hmm? In what way is she distant?”
“She feels like a cold, aloof goddess in front of me, not my Jenna,” George said. “I’m worried I might have done something to hurt her recently.”
This indicates that Jenna is a hardworking and diligent student, executing the goddess contrast plan remarkably well.
Jima considered and said: “I don’t know.”
“…..” George frowned slightly, “You’re lying.”
“I was joking.” Jima said, “In any case, you don’t need to worry. She loves you and is a devoted woman who cares for her lover, full of selflessness.”
George stared at her and gently asked: “Are you jealous?”
Jima was taken aback and asked: “Why suddenly that question?”
“I feel like we’re becoming more and more distant,” George extended his hand, tightly grasping Jima’s hand, “It’s not as intimate as when we were in Salin City; sometimes I feel that between us there is only sex, not love.”
You just realized that.
Jima wanted to say that, but looking at George’s handsome face, those blue, focused eyes, a wave of security rose from her heart.
She said: “Jealousy, of course, is there. But it’s different from what you think; I’m jealous that you have such a wonderful childhood friend and an excellent woman loving you wholeheartedly.”
As she thought of this, she uncontrollably recalled the memories of “Demon King Gima,” being toyed with by women, left as a waste product, and cowardly committing suicide from the heights. Waking up in a corner of the Demon World’s arena, relying on the system and her mediocre talent, step by step, she slowly ascended.
For centuries, without any romantic encounters or love, of course, Demon King Gima also didn’t care; after all, those were just plots in novels. Moreover, as long as one’s strength was strong enough, they could always take by force.
But since being defeated in one strike by George and learning about his life experiences, everything changed. Why were some born with exceptional talents? Why could some live like protagonists in novels, with beautiful women completely devoted to them?
Why wasn’t it me?
A sour feeling rose in Jima’s heart as she looked at George’s face but felt an affection for him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed her forehead against his, and kissed him forcefully, silencing all his questions.
A few minutes later.
They pulled apart, and Jima said: “Your armor is really cold.”
“The weather outside is very cold,” George replied, “I think you don’t want to continue answering, do you?”
“Really, it’s pointless when some subtext is stated openly.” Jima sat back down, subconsciously smoothing the wrinkles on her skirt, like a woman who loves beauty.
George finally noticed the milk on the table and asked: “Do you only drink milk for breakfast?”
At this point, Jima’s earlier sour feeling faded. Thinking of this chosen one before her, his fiancée, his childhood friend, who was working hard to take exams under her hands. Meanwhile, he remained blissfully ignorant, completely unaware of it.
She felt a sense of happiness instead.
“Of course not.” Jima purposely shook the milk bottle in front of him, “I also ate a lot for breakfast, and I might need to drink fresh milk later.”
“Is it for beauty?”
“No.”
George nodded; he was just trying to find a topic to have a good conversation with Jima. Since they could not continue chatting now, George routinely asked:
“Next month, the army might go to war with the beastmen, so you’d better prepare in advance.”
“Okay.” Jima asked, “Is Gregory still in charge of the Demon King’s extraordinary materials?”
“Everything is as usual.”
“Are you still a platinum-level?”
“Yes.”
How pitiful.
Jima happily placed the milk back on the table.
Last night at the celebratory banquet, after she sowed pain among everyone, the system informed her that she had made a small step forward in mastering the pain succubus. This indicated that her previous guesses had been correct. This meant that once the publisher was sorted out, with a large output of painful cultural debris for readers, she would steadily move forward, leaving the once-chosen one behind.
By that time, he would have a front-row seat; he would never think of smacking his own bottom again.
“Alright, I have a serious matter too.” Jima said, “Can you draw illustrations for me? I want to publish a novel.”
“No.”
“Ah?” Jima was taken aback, “What a scumbag.”
“I still remember the last time with ‘The Queen of Elves’.”
“I promise I absolutely won’t make fun of that narrow-minded woman again.” Jima vowed, raising her hand, “The emperor granted me a publishing house, and I just want to sell books and let more people see my work.” Then let them suffer.
“Won’t you finish your statement?” George said, “If you don’t clarify clearly, I won’t draw for you. Considering your influence, I will even investigate your novel, to avoid any harm.”
“I promise, this time it’s definitely not going to be a malicious incident that disrupts society or causes deaths. There won’t be any bloodshed because of this.” Jima said, “Actually, I want to make money; my gold coins are scarce.” But I do have a lot of your gold coins.
“And?”
“Become stronger and level up.”
“Do you still need to take potions?”
“Yes.”
George spoke sincerely: “You’re already strong enough; there’s no need to take such a dangerous path to level up through demonic potions.”
“Don’t worry; I’ll be careful.”
“Promise me you won’t take unnecessary risks, okay?” George said, “I’m still young, but I’ve seen more than ten people become monsters after taking demonic potions to level up, just recently there was a knight who wanted to achieve a good ranking in the knight’s tournament and took a potion which caused him to lose control, tearing apart his attendants before dying at the hands of other knights.”
“I promise you.” Jima said, “Now, can you draw for me?”
“I can; I’ll find time to help you draw a few.”
“Thank you so much, George.”
Disregarding George’s cold armor, Jima leaned against his breastplate. This time it wasn’t to hold him for his flesh, but because she liked the feeling of being against his chest; it felt very secure. There was no need for her to calculate so much.
If she didn’t have the memories of Demon King Gima, everything might still be quite beautiful.
Jima closed her eyes, enjoying a few minutes of peace, then re-opened her eyes, her golden pupils filled with ambition and a thirst for becoming stronger and leveling up.
She couldn’t wait to start selling that large heap of cultural debris today in the capital of the Adolph Empire, exchanging the heartbreaking pain of countless readers for a line of wonderful text in her system information panel.
