Chapter 146 Chapter 145 Delete
“Ahhh… I’m so tired.” As the noble party, Jima dropped her red pen, the desk covered with drafts marked with circles: “This guy’s bad habits are already deeply ingrained. If I don’t tighten up the reins, they’ll take creative liberties and get self-satisfied. If I don’t keep a close eye on this book, how can it trick readers into reading it?”
Now Jima was particularly concerned about her book, as it related directly to her legitimate income.
“Lianxi! Lianxi!”
“Coming, Master.”
“Are the lunch ingredients ready?”
“No, it’s not noon yet.”
“Go prepare them first. I’m going to rest, I’m really exhausted today.” After working hard for an hour, Jima stood up and stretched her body.
“Okay, Master, what ingredients should I prepare today?”
Lianxi pulled out a piece of paper listing the remaining ingredients she had compiled.
“I’m tired of beef. Get more of the foul mushroom meat and chicken. Remember, even though I’ve cooked the foul mushroom meat before, it must be boiled again when handling.”
“Understood, Master.”
“Do you know why the foul mushroom meat must be cooked thoroughly?”
Lianxi answered smoothly: “The knowledgeable Master taught me that foul mushroom meat can spread green spores that may taint the palace, leading to the growth of green skin next year, so it must be cooked.”
“Qualified. Go prepare.”
“Yes, Master.”
Lianxi dashed out of the room.
Jima took a few steps, feeling a bit weak, her legs slightly unsteady. There was still a lingering “pain” in her lower abdomen from the Holy Light’s burn. If she weren’t a succubus, naturally adept at recovery, she would have struggled to get out of bed after yesterday’s battle.
Unable to hold on any longer, she plopped down on her cloud and flew out of the room, heading outside the palace.
In the real world, it was already winter, bleak and desolate, but in the dream palace, a false sun hung in the sky, and the ground beneath Jima’s feet was lush and green. She rested her chin in her hands, gazing at the verdant forests below and the shimmering river weaving through them.
She pondered a lot about marriage and her current position, thinking and thinking.
Lianxi finally finished cutting the meat, cooking the mushroom meat, and washing the vegetables, taking nearly an hour and a half. She ran to inform Jima and saw her floating in the air on the terrace, deciding not to disturb her.
As a result, Jima wasted a perfectly good morning, and it was only when her stomach began to rumble that she snapped out of her reverie.
In front of her face, a semi-transparent personal system interface hovered, displaying lines of Chinese characters, which were part of a main quest: “Retrieve My, or His, Extraordinary Material, See Red Name Text.”
The content read: “The extraordinary material of Demon King Jima can not only enhance my combat power but also confirm a terrifying hypothesis. Am I truly the Demon King Jima, or am I merely the reincarnated vessel, a succubus born for his future happy life?”
Jima had figured this out; there was no need to further pursue this matter. She should just consider herself as the succubus egg saved by George. If that’s the case, this quest had no value and would only shake her determination.
Although abandoning the extraordinary material of the Demon King Jima meant bidding farewell to “power,” it was still better to let go in comparison to the risks that such power entailed.
If she couldn’t obtain the highest level of personal system privileges, what did it matter what the red name text said? As long as she could ensure that she wouldn’t be controlled by “Demon King Jima,” that was enough.
Jima checked many times to confirm that there were no “backdoors” on her. The only variable was that fragment of the Demon King’s extraordinary material.
No matter whether she was actually “Demon King Jima” or not, this extraordinary material was dangerous. If so, it could sway her understanding and determination; if not, there was the risk of being enslaved by Demon King Jima.
Delete it.
With a thought, Jima’s mouse hovered over the word “Delete.”
She hesitated for a moment and, contrary to her judgment, opened another experimental report titled “Experiment Report on ‘Simulation’ Abilities.”
“Major discovery! I can use extraordinary material as a material, combined with ‘Silent Phantom’ aided by ‘Power of Lies,’ to simulate an extraordinary being. It’s essentially creating life.”
“If I am not mistaken, as long as I kill an extraordinary being and take their flesh and the extracted extraordinary material, I can ‘simulate’ another version of them, as long as everyone believes the ‘another version’ is real.”
“I have a wonderful idea: if I obtain the extraordinary material from Demon King Jima, with my close relationship with the extraordinary material, even just half of it, I can confidently simulate a version of Demon King Jima to compensate for my lack of combat ability.”
“If successful, I will name it the Heart of Black Gold.”
Jima’s index finger trembled.
Thinking back to her past interactions with George and the others, despite almost having a few near-death experiences, being with him felt very safe and relaxing.
She spoke aloud to herself: “Life is so good now; why take risks?”
With a determined heart, she deleted the “Experiment Report on ‘Simulation’ Abilities” and the main quest “Retrieve My, or His Extraordinary Material, See Red Name Text.”
The semi-transparent “screen” flickered, and all the text vanished without a trace, as if those words had never existed.
But Jima felt it hadn’t vanished cleanly enough, as they still resided in her memory.
She wondered if the “Vial of Potion” supernatural ability could store memories? If she could hide them away in an unknown place, then her past would forever be unreachable.
Just as Jima had this thought, Lianxi’s voice came from below:
“Master! Master, it’s already twelve-thirty.”
“Coming.”
Jima spread her wings, leapt onto the cloud, and gracefully flew back to the palace terrace.
…
…
Time quietly slipped away, and over half a month had passed.
Adolf’s winter had reached its harshest point, with frigid winds and snow seeping into people’s clothes, as countless poor souls struggled to survive in the biting cold.
In the bridge tunnel, a few homeless children huddled together, wrapped in thin, tattered rags. They threw in everything flammable they could find—wood scraps, puppets, cotton fluff—into a small fire, its weak flames barely managing to burn.
Amidst the cold smoke, one child slowly closed their eyes, dreaming of spring and a roaring fireplace.
“Hey!”
A booted foot intruded into the bridge tunnel, causing the homeless children to lift their heads in unison to see a scowling witch hunter. Dressed in a tall leather hat, with a square face, they wore armor with a claw mark and a long sword hung at their waist.
His expression was grim, as if he might snap and haul someone to a stake to burn at any moment.
Yet his hands held items that did not match his identity, a bundle of firewood, a bag of charcoal, and a basket.
The homeless children didn’t recognize him as a witch hunter, failing to notice the Sigma emblem on his chest armor or the wax-sealed scripture.
Their immediate attention was drawn to the long sword at his waist, causing them instinctively to huddle together, hiding the dark pot and a few moldy pieces of bread behind them. Their small hands, covered by tattered rags, clutched improvised weapons.
“Here’s for you.” Witch Hunter Arcanis tossed the firewood before them and set down the charcoal. “Use it sparingly; I don’t come by every day.”
The homeless children were momentarily confused, staring at the firewood on the ground.
“And there’s bread, with sausages inside. Roast them to eat.”
Witch Hunter Arcanis lifted the white cloth from the basket, revealing neatly arranged loaves of bread stuffed with sausages. He crouched down and handed the basket to one overwhelmed child, who dropped their makeshift club and stammered, “Thank… thank you, good person…”
The other children came to their senses, chiming in with gratitude:
“Thank you.”
“We will work hard.”
Witch Hunter Arcanis waved his hand: “If you can’t get enough to eat, go steal. Learn to pick locks well; that’s how you survive. Don’t rob; it’s easy to get killed.”
The children paused in a daze; when they went to the church for relief bread, the priests always told them to work honestly and not steal or rob.
Suddenly, Witch Hunter Arcanis reached out, gripping a child who was about to doze off and shook them hard, saying, “What are you daydreaming about? Don’t you see he’s going to freeze to death?”
The homeless children then realized one of their own was about to succumb to the cold and hurriedly threw the firewood into the small fire, slapping him awake.
He opened his eyes: “What a big fire… am I home?”
“There’s a strange good person showing mercy. Huh? Where did he go?”
In front of the tunnel, there was already no one left.
Witch Hunter Arcanis climbed the slippery staircase and reached the bridge surface, where a cart awaited him, already half-loaded with firewood, charcoal, and bread.
The coachman huddled in his coat, trembling, saying, “Lord Van Helsing, you’re finally back.”
“Keep following me.” Witch Hunter Arcanis replied, stepping onto the street and trotting along the ground, where the snow had already hardened.
The coachman hurriedly urged the horse to follow behind him.
Three passersby wrapped in warm coats, wearing hats, pointed at Arcanis in the distance.
“Yes, that’s the witch hunter. I heard he’s been distributing things to beggars and thugs these past couple of days.”
“Heh, such hypocrisy. If the witch hunter dragged a few less people to the pyre, it would be considered doing a good deed.”
“Not much of a good deed. Giving food to the poor only meets immediate needs; can it help them for a lifetime? What’s the use? People will still die.”
“Why doesn’t he give money to those dock workers battling the winter? He’s only giving it to those without legitimate work; isn’t that encouraging laziness?”
“I say, this witch hunter can’t even do good deeds right. What a waste of gold coins; he might as well throw it in the street.”
Suddenly, Arcanis stopped dead in his tracks, turned around, and charged toward the three passersby.
The passersby were instantly filled with alarm, hastily closing their mouths, one hand pressing down their hats, their bodies sinking into their warm coats.
Witch Hunter Arcanis lunged in front of them, grabbing one by the head and delivering a punch to his face.
Six minutes later.
Back in the bridge tunnel, the homeless children gathered around the roaring fire, warming their frostbitten, purplish feet by the flames, tearing into the bread as they discussed whether the person who delivered the firewood was a god.
“I heard that in the dead of winter, there’s a kind old man dressed in green who rides a sleigh, delivering gifts to poor children. He’s a good god.”
“No, he must be a person because he isn’t wearing green clothes.”
Suddenly, three heavy coats were thrown into the bridge tunnel.
Witch Hunter Arcanis poked his head out and shouted: “I just went to check on some heretics.”
With that, he turned and left, disappearing into thin air.
The homeless children hugged the coats, staring at each other, saying in unison: “He must be a good god.”
Speaking of which, after successfully convincing the bystanders to conduct a donation drive with his fists, Witch Hunter Arcanis happily led his cart across the city until the goods were exhausted, marking the end of his delivery activities for the day.
Many speculated about Arcanis’s motives for doing good, but they were all mistaken. Arcanis wasn’t out for redemption, for a good reputation, or to build momentum; he simply recalled the snow of Adolf’s winter, reminding him of the days he spent surviving with his small gang, formed with Fulis, amid the ruins burned in Shalin City.
So he did it.
After wrapping up that task.
Witch Hunter Arcanis sneaked into the eastern part of the upper city, following the house numbers until he found the residence of the professor of tail history. He casually hung the dead sparrow on the door handle and hid in the nearby shadows.
In a warm residence.
The professor of tail history was bundled up tightly, draped in smooth fur. With a hand warmer clutched in his hands, he stepped outside, attended by his young wife, standing in the yard, gazing at the snow falling from the sky.
He praised the snow briefly, and his young wife echoed him, remarking on his talent.
The professor of tail history shifted the topic: “Though the snow is heavy, it’s a bad thing for the poor. Especially for some orphans; they live in drafty houses, five or six people sharing one fireplace.”
His young wife praised, “Husband, you really care about the poor.”
“Right now, the emperor has war on his mind, saying we must unite to fend off the demon invasion, all because of a crazed old man returning to say that the demons are unifying and coming to kill us.” The professor of tail history pointed at the snow in the sky, declaring, “It would be better to use military funds to build more houses so that the poor wouldn’t have to huddle by fireplaces.”
After his grandstanding, the professor of tail history disclosed, “Demons prefer peace over war; I invested in a merchant convoy that successfully reached the city of Arcado. I just received word from the convoy leader that this trip will yield great profits.”
“The city of Arcado is wonderful. Once the conditions are ripe, we’ll move our whole family there so that everyone can see demons are not as bloodthirsty as legends say.”
His young wife instinctively tightened her grip on his sleeve.
The professor of tail history asked, “What’s wrong? Do you have a prejudice against demons?”
His young wife quickly released her hold. At that moment, she spotted a leather hat suddenly bobbing up over the garden wall and exclaimed, “That witch hunter is back!”
It was indeed Arcanis. After being misrepresented a few times, he held a grudge against the professor of tail history and would occasionally show up to smash windows.
The professor of tail history, furious with Arcanis, shouted, “You emperor’s lapdog! I’ve already recorded you in the black history book; your descendants will be ashamed of you for repeatedly threatening a historian.”
Arcanis didn’t care. After all, the emperor only told him not to hit or kill the other party.
He extended a middle finger from behind the wall and shouted, “Fool!”
The professor of tail history’s pleasant mood soured, angrily pointing at Arcanis, muttering that he would ensure his legacy would stink for eternity, calling for the guards. As he rambled, he retreated into his house, conveniently lamenting the emperor’s persecution of him in his writings.
Before leaving, Arcanis grabbed a stone and hurled it at the professor’s glass, fleeing like the wind.
The guards arrived but naturally had no one to catch.
Arcanis ran back to his home in the lower city. Though he was now a great hero of the empire, no one wanted to live in the upper city with a witch hunter—especially not with a lunatic like Arcanis. So he took up residence in the lower city.
His home was empty, with no one there. Arcanis peeled off the “Van Helsing” disguise, restored his original appearance, put on some clothes, and prowled in the shadows, casually choosing a tavern to enter.
The tavern was called “Pig and Horn,” and although there was a bouncer collecting cover charges at the entrance, no one noticed Arcanis.
The tavern wasn’t cold; in fact, it was quite warm, with a fire pit in the center piled high with bright red coals, and servers roasting meats on a grill, brushing honey over them.
Arcanis’ eyes were drawn to a roasted pigeon, its surface coated with honey, glistening. He deftly swiped the roasted pigeon from the server’s hand, even though he had enough coins in his pocket to buy half the tavern.
A crowd had gathered in front of the tavern stage.
Most likely, it was one of those daring strip dancers flaunting their long legs or bosoms in the middle of winter.
Arcanis took a bite of the roasted pigeon, directing his gaze elsewhere to see what excitement the tavern might hold.
“Jojo! This is my big sweet potato!”
Suddenly, crude singing erupted:
“Big sweet potato, big sweet potato, big, big, big, eat it and grow bigger, bigger, bigger♪.”
Arcanis eagerly wanted to push his way in, but the crowd was simply too thick for his short stature. So, he pulled out the wallet he had just stolen; its former owner had an awful body odor, which was why he had taken it.
Arcanis opened the wallet and scattered the coins on the ground, shouting, “Step aside, there’s money to be picked up!”
Yellow and white coins flew through the air, drawing a rush from the crowd.
With that distraction, Arcanis was able to squeeze to the front of the stage. Before him were four performers: a tall man who looked like a northerner, waving a steel sword as he stuffed roasted sweet potatoes into his mouth, shouting at a pair of horned individuals:
“Evil demons! I have consumed the magic-infused sweet potato! Your death is imminent.”
Beside him, a lady dressed in a bikini chainmail held up her hands, crying, “Jojo, please save me and defeat that evil chosen one!”
“Jojo” raised his sword just as a clumsy red-robed mage began chanting a spell, his pupils shaped like hourglasses. The red-robed mage clapped his hands, and “Jojo’s” sword erupted in sparks.
“My magic is so plentiful!” Jojo boomed. “Justice will prevail!”
With a swing of his sword, even though he didn’t actually hit anyone, the horned man cried out and fell to the ground.
The woman in chainmail rushed to embrace “Jojo,” exclaiming, “Thank you for saving my life; to repay you, I can only marry you.”
“Jojo,” holding the bikini-clad woman in his arms, announced loudly to the audience, “No matter how formidable the enemy, a sweet potato can take them down; join me on a simple and easy adventure in this otherworld at the end of the month in ‘Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure.'”
Arcanis watched, momentarily forgetting to chew the roasted pigeon in his mouth, applauding with fervor and shouting, “Great!!! So amazing!”
Naturally, his roasted pigeon fell to the ground.
Arcanis hurriedly picked it up, wiping away the dust with his silk sleeve, and continued eating.
——————
Speaking of which, the earlier illustration titled “Jima Fulfilling Her Duties as a Wife” was drawn by the book friend Arceus. If you didn’t see the drawing, it probably got pulled.
