Chapter 186 Chapter 185 Untitled
George retorted, “Why is it better if she’s a beauty?”
“Think about it, a beautiful woman lying in the forest, surrounded by all the creatures… how thrilling is that?” Jima said. “Reality can be even more exhilarating than what I write in my novels.”
Beasts and beauties, beauties continuously giving birth to ugly yet strong offspring, considering the inevitable process involved.
Jima couldn’t help but show a pure smile.
George frowned in disgust and said, “That’s too gross. Jima, I hope you think less like that.”
“Here we go again, lecturing me?” Jima lightly kicked George’s shin, “Sorry to let you see my true colors.”
George sighed and remained silent.
“Hey, you look like you regret marrying me now that you’ve opened your eyes.”
“I admit, I’ve realized you’re a bit different from what I thought before,” George said, “If you could change, that would be great, but I know that’s impossible, so I sigh and accept the reality.”
“Heh, you really sound more resolute now.”
Jima crossed her arms and stepped out of the “hidden peaceful barrier,” not sparing George a glance.
If this kid were smart, he should come over, pull me back, and comfort me.
But after walking several steps, all she heard was George’s receding footsteps.
It seems George truly dislikes some of my quirks. Seriously, what does he mean by “a bit different from what I thought before”? I’ve always been this lecherous; sometimes, it’s just that I have to disguise myself a bit because of trivial matters.
Why does it feel like I’m tricking him into marriage?
There were quite a few corpses of beastmen under the trees. Several beastmen lay with their hands over their ears, leaning against trees, their faces twisted in pain.
Two knights were inspecting them nearby, saying:
“This must be what those country bumpkins call the song of death, right? They say the sound is so terrible it’s like the Grim Reaper sharpening his teeth. Just look at how they died in such agony.”
“Was that really Jima singing? Her speaking voice is quite pleasant.”
“Who knows? My sister has a beauty that would make even goddesses jealous, but when she plays the harp, the birds fall to the ground. One time during a festival, the butcher didn’t show up, and my father asked my sister to play the harp; the pigs immediately ran into a wall and killed themselves, faster than the old butcher could slaughter them.”
The succubus, exuding an alluring aura, smiled faintly upon hearing this and walked towards the two knights, one of whom looked familiar. He was large in stature, a chubby guy, like a standing black bear.
Jima remembered his name: Sam. Oh, and it seemed he really liked the books written by the White-Haired Author.
The black-haired girl was beautiful, and both knights looked at her with awe, as if gazing at a rose that could slay hundreds of beastmen.
Jima’s golden eyes sparkled, and her lips curled into a charming smile: “You must be Lord Sam. If I got it wrong, please forgive me; I’ve always had face blindness and hesitate to call people by name.”
Sam straightened his back, feeling nervous and not wanting the beauty to laugh at him, and made an effort to stare at her face, saying:
“Indeed, Miss Jima, it’s an honor for you to know my name.”
But his overly formal tone betrayed him.
“The name of a valiant knight is the easiest to remember.”
I prefer names with two syllables.
Jima said as she pulled two books from her dimensional space bag at her waist and handed them to Sam, winking at him: “I heard you like reading, especially the books written by the White-Haired Author.”
Sam’s face instantly turned red. The White-Haired Author was famously known for writing risqué books.
The knight beside him saw the cover stating “The Wonderful Adventures of JoJo” by the White-Haired Author.
He immediately shot a suggestive glance between the succubus and Sam.
The succubus was notorious for her promiscuity; at least that’s what everyone says. In his view, his friend Sam was lucky.
“Sorry, I can’t accept that,” Sam said, his face turning red from anger. “I’ll talk to Knight George about this.”
“Ah?” Jima feigned innocence. “I heard George say you like the books by the White-Haired Author, and since the author just released a new book, I had my servant buy two copies.”
Sam quickly realized he had misunderstood, his chubby face becoming even redder, awkward and uncertain of what to say.
Jima immediately gave him a way out:
“Is it because we’re in a battle, and it’s not suitable for leisure? You knights really work too hard. Then forget it; I’ll take these two books back to read.”
“Don’t!”
Sam felt a sense of shame in front of such a beautiful girl, knowing he liked reading risqué books. “I… I accept your gift, thank you. You’re right, we need to rest amid battle.”
“Exactly, work-life balance.”
Jima placed both volumes of “The Wonderful Adventures of JoJo” in Sam’s hands.
“Work-life balance, yes, work-life balance, what a great term.” Sam hastily took the books.
“Goodbye, brave knights.”
Jima stepped on the fallen leaves and left.
The two knights bid farewell while watching her retreating figure.
Sam sighed, “Even this slaughterhouse looks so much better because of her beauty.”
“Stop it. Let me borrow it after you finish. The White-Haired Author has actually released a new book.”
In his excitement, Sam asked, “Does that mean ‘The Misadventures of the Elf Queen’ won’t be written anymore?”
“Probably not.”
A pang of disappointment hit Sam, and he cursed, “Damn eunuch.”
No one noticed that as Jima turned away, a mischievous smile crept onto her lips.
It’s worth mentioning that the latter book was a pirated version, written by the famous “author” Irwin Green.
No wonder she acted petty; after all, Sam had hit her sore spot by saying behind her back that the pleasant-voiced Jima sang off-key. Even if she was always out of tune, it shouldn’t sound that bad, right?
Without a doubt, this was slander.
Now that there was nothing else for Jima to deal with, she planned to find Eve Frostleaf to have her eyes refreshed, passing through the battlefield.
On the battlefield, the rescued farmers were expressing their emotions in various ways. A skinny farmer picked up an axe from the ground and kept smashing the corpses of the beastmen. Most of the farmers numbly stared at the sky.
A farmer’s wife leaned against a tree, crying loudly, while another farmer comforted her: “Don’t be sad; everything is over.”
The farmer’s wife cried, “He died.”
It was likely that her husband was eaten in front of her, or perhaps her son had passed away, leaving the survivors contemplating a grim future—something they had grown accustomed to.
A gust of wind blew, mixing the stench of the farmers with the bloody scent from the ground, carried by the breeze.
Jima pinched her nose and stepped back from the farmers.
Everyone else kept their distance from the farmers. The knights had always looked down on them, only protecting them out of chivalry.
Only George was willing to talk to the farmers. Surrounded by them, he was making promises to an expressionless farmer, and soon, a hopeful smile broke out on the farmer’s face. Against the backdrop of the farmers’ dirty cotton clothes, George in his shining white armor resembled an angel descending from the sky.
“George is being foolish again.”
Jima couldn’t help but recall a memory of the Demon King Kima.
Influenced by literary works from that past life on Earth, he thought that mobilizing the masses would lead to victory. A demon, with dreams of domination, exhausted his savings to come to the Knight Bartok Kingdom, hoping for a turnaround.
He worked hard for ten years without pay, achieving nothing. After eleven years of foolish actions, the Demon King Kima finally understood one thing.
No matter how well he performed, or how many farmers he rallied, in a world filled with creatures like bull demons and monster gods, the farmers’ spears were no match for the knights’ charges.
Even with ideals or a willingness to die for their cause, against knights with extraordinary powers, they were as powerless as a joke.
Even if he didn’t intervene, those farmers would struggle to protect themselves from the green-skinned creatures and beastmen.
Though his farmers lived relatively better lives, it came at the cost of the Demon King Kima continuously sacrificing himself. For this, he not only exhausted all his gold but also delayed becoming stronger.
After realizing this, the Demon King Kima abandoned his ambition for dominion and turned away. He categorized this as one of the three greatest foolish decisions in his life, alongside attempting to build a steam engine, creating gunpowder, and copying books.
From then on, he focused on harnessing great power for himself.
Although Jima considered herself not to be the Demon King Kima, she believed this experience was still quite enlightening.
Jima found Eve Frostleaf, the white elf, sitting on a tree branch with her long legs dangling in the air.
The closer she got to Eve Frostleaf, the colder the air became; the stone facing her was covered with a layer of frost.
There was no one beside her except for her elven maid; upon seeing Jima approach, the maid gave Jima a friendly look and found an excuse to leave.
In her view, Jima, as the legal wife, was surely here to confront Eve Frostleaf.
Becoming an ally with Jima was indeed the most cost-effective decision.
“Hi, Eve Frostleaf.” Jima landed beside Eve Frostleaf, her gaze dropping to the beautiful curves of her calves beneath her skirt armor.
The elf, silently stroking her silver bow, immediately shifted away, turning her eyes elsewhere.
What a pity, I can’t use my current status to seduce her to bed.
Jima said, “I heard that you were cursed by the Demon King, and you can never hit your target?”
Jima could only see the side of Eve Frostleaf’s face; she was as cold as ice, not uttering a word, as if Jima didn’t exist.
Jima felt a competitive spirit rising within her and wanted to provoke her: “I can help you break the curse.”
Eve Frostleaf remained silent, merely extending her hand to point below.
The meaning was clear: she hoped Jima would leave. Now, Eve Frostleaf had given up on trying to ward Jima off with her gaze; it was the first time she had encountered someone with such thick skin.
Jima clapped her hands, creating a “silent hidden barrier” around them to prevent any harmful words from leaking into the outside world.
“You want to marry George, oh no, you want him to defile you, right?”
Eve Frostleaf shot Jima an angry glare, grabbed her silver bow, and lightly jumped down from the branch.
Jima cupped her face with her hands and smiled sweetly:
“I can help you become the mistress; what can I say, George’s desires are so strong even I can’t handle them.”
Eve Frostleaf didn’t look back as she stepped out of the barrier.
Jima’s smile slowly faded.
I wonder if this direct approach will be effective. Any normal woman would surely find it disgusting, but it’s better than maintaining the status quo.
Since I can’t deceive them, I might as well try to matchmake them; after all, they’ll have to meet at some point.
Jima saw no loss in this; she could enjoy a free show. The most important thing was that she didn’t want to end up married with only Jenna by her side.
She licked her lips: “George, I’m really sorry; I’m so lecherous.”
