Chapter 211 The Goddess Sheds Tears
The nightmare that Eve Frostleaf dreamed was only slightly inferior to “The Tale of the Fallen Elven Queen.” The fighting scenes were extraordinarily intense, with powerful warriors shattering skulls, crushing armor in a single blow, and throwing furious attacks.
The mud on the ground stained the elegant clothes and silver hair of the pristine elves.
It was dirty and smelly. Just the thought of it made Eve Frostleaf feel upset that she couldn’t return to her hometown, but then a strange sense of pleasure emerged, composed of the joy of revenge and the exhilaration of escaping from a suffocating cage.
In the end, she dreamed of a small dog digging and rolling in a mud pit.
The long night concealed fierce battles not only for Eve Frostleaf in her dreams.
A fight was about to happen in the forest shrouded under a veil of darkness.
The dark elves camped far from the beastmen, unable to smell their foul stench.
The leader, Balsa, was clear in her rewards and punishments: she rewarded those who achieved results and punished the poorly performing dark elves. In front of everyone, she hung a dark elf who had failed to stop Eve Frostleaf from a tree branch.
“Even a useless waste like Azur, who can’t shoot arrows, couldn’t stop her! We almost killed the succubus.”
The dark elf with a sky-high braid pleaded for mercy, but the angry glares and accusations from the other dark elves drowned out his pleas.
“Worthless dead weight!”
A witch spirit shouted at him, covering her snow-white waist marred by a bruise, “You nearly got me killed!”
“Feed him to the beastmen! Let them gnaw him alive.”
Most of the dark elves lived in the Frostlands, where conditions were harsh, and therefore they held a general disdain for the weak who dragged others down, favoring swift executions after killing.
Balsa stood before the dark elf hanging from the tree branch, lifting her strong leg and kicking his chin with force.
His cervical spine made a cracking sound, and his head jerked back. His neck went limp, and blood dripped from his mouth and nose.
Balsa placed one hand on her hip, her red hair flipping as she turned her head. The firelight illuminated her mature and profound face as she said,
“Clean up his corpse by morning. Don’t let that group of beasts touch it; not even the worthless Duluzis are worthy of eating it.”
Everyone agreed.
Balsa, in her steel high-heeled boots, walked towards the male dark elves sitting by the campfire.
She was still wearing her purple-black armor, which covered her thighs and calves, leaving her tight calf muscles exposed at the back since she wasn’t wearing padded leggings. Looking up, one could still see her white thighs.
The flickering firelight cast dancing shadows on her thighs, giving her beauty an ambiguous veil.
Their gazes were drawn to her, mixing awe with lust.
Balsa suddenly stopped and took a few steps back, addressing the assassin Kane, who had made significant contributions in this operation, saying, “You were looking at my legs just now, weren’t you?”
Kane quickly lowered his head, “I couldn’t help it.”
“Your poisoned arrows were well-aimed; you incapacitated the succubus. She would have died long ago if not for that waste,” Balsa lifted her foot and nudged him, “I’ll give you a special reward. Drop all your weapons, stand up, and follow me.”
“I can’t refuse.”
Kane stood up amid the envious looks of everyone, obediently following Balsa as her tall silhouette disappeared into the shadows behind the bushes.
As the leather straps and belts loosened, the first to fall onto the grass was the thigh armor, followed by the calf armor.
“My lady, isn’t this too close?”
“Get as close as possible, let those wastrels envy you, and work hard.”
Before long, sounds of special rewards came from behind the bushes.
The male dark elves exchanged glances, envy written all over their faces.
The witch spirits scoffed coldly, secretly mocking these foolish men, who got played and still envied others, truly shameful.
Morning.
The sun slowly rose from the horizon, casting golden sunlight upon the lush forest, filtering through the glass on the second floor of the palace, landing on a white dining table.
Jima was sharing a roasted leg of lamb with Lianxicat.
Eve Frostleaf sat opposite them, sipping warm milk in small mouthfuls and eating oats soaked in milk. After organizing her words, she asked, “Jima, can you control dreams?”
Jima set down the roasted leg of lamb, bringing it to Lianxicat’s mouth, who happily bit into it.
“Yes, why?”
“Are you the author of that obscene book?”
“Yes, pen name: White Fur.”
“Can you influence my dreams?”
Jima’s eyes widened slightly, then she looked at Eve Frostleaf suggestively.
Could it be that Eve Frostleaf wanted me to enter her dream and give her a taste of the novel’s storyline? Wow, how exciting. This progress in seduction has skyrocketed. Ancient wisdom does not deceive me, a woman’s heart is as deep as the sea.
Feeling an itch in her heart, Jima said eagerly, “Of course I can.”
No sooner had she said this than a chill blew over from Eve Frostleaf, a bone-deep cold.
Lianxicat felt so cold she couldn’t eat anymore, curling into a fluffy ball, and even Jima shivered.
This woman is so unpredictable.
She had intended to take a bite of the roasted lamb to calm herself but ended up biting into a cold piece of meat.
Feeling angry, she set the lamb down and said,
“Hey, what is it you want to say? Just say it clearly.”
“Nothing.”
“Do you think I’m a fool?” Jima retorted, “This is just another roundabout conversation like the high elves. If there’s something wrong, just say it directly. I don’t want to play guessing games with you; this isn’t the high elf court.”
Eve Frostleaf thought for a moment, then asked with difficulty, “Did you influence my dream last night?”
“No,” Jima replied, “I was studying how to break the gray fog last night. What would I want with your dream? Besides, as a platinum powerhouse, it’s not that easy to control your dreams. Otherwise, I would have long since entered those beastmen strongmen’s dreams and made them jump off cliffs in their sleep.”
Considering Jima’s unreliable credibility, Eve Frostleaf felt that Jima’s lengthy explanations were just attempts to conceal something, so she nodded slightly and continued eating her breakfast.
“Then did you have a dream last night that was too embarrassing to mention?” Jima teased, eyeing Eve Frostleaf, speculating, “You didn’t dream of the wild George, did you?”
Eve Frostleaf felt even more like Jima was just joking, rolling her eyes at her and replying, “No.”
Jima noticed that her ears were slightly red, laughed, and said nothing more, turning around to heat up the roasted lamb.
Daylight.
The two women and a cat continued their journey towards George.
Along the way, they encountered beastmen search parties hunting down fleeing soldiers. Sometimes they circled around, and at times Eve Frostleaf couldn’t help but engage in battle when she saw someone being captured.
The two shared no dialogue other than fighting together, but Eve Frostleaf did not refuse to rest in Jima’s dream palace.
…
…
The news of Duke Karsun leading the Bartor army to near total annihilation, with him dying on the battlefield, had not yet reached Quinnasburg from the fleeing soldiers.
Given the distance, it would take at least a week for the fleeing soldiers to convey this bad news to the people of Quinnasburg.
A courier riding a swift horse entered the city today, beaming as he informed the eagerly waiting noblewomen that the Bartor army had exterminated over 100,000 beastmen (most of which were inferior horned beasts).
No one doubted that Duke Karsun could resolve the beastmen disaster that had troubled the duchy for nearly half a year.
That was more than 100,000 beastmen; even without exaggeration, it was at least 80,000. Eighty thousand beastmen, according to previous records in duchy history, were enough to wipe out entire families.
Even a once-in-a-century beastmen disaster that could sweep the entire kingdom would be sufficient to keep the beastmen busy.
The entire city was filled with a festive atmosphere, and the knights stationed at the rear immediately decided to hold a celebration to warm up the mood.
Clowns dressed in flamboyant attire led a parade, rolling and frolicking through the streets.
Granaries and wine cellars opened wide, and that night, the nobles held grand banquets. The usually modestly eating noblewomen and young ladies opened their stomachs to eat freely since there were so few men present.
The leftover food from the banquet was given to the peasants seeking refuge in the city, much to their delight, creating a joyous scene.
With the granaries wide open, everyone in the city ate to their heart’s content, even the hungry rats were well-fed.
The next morning.
The noblewomen and young ladies initially planned to sleep in, but some, worried about their husbands, sons, or favorite knights, filled their stomachs with food and ran to the city walls to eagerly await the triumphant return of the knightly army.
Not wanting to fall behind, one by one, the ladies skipped breakfast, dragging their full bellies up to the walls. By noon, all the noblewomen of the city stood atop the castle walls, each vying to demonstrate who missed the knights at the battlefield more.
They lingered on the castle walls, unwilling to leave first, instructing their servants to prepare lunch, even scheduling their lunch and dinner up on the castle.
As they looked towards the distant horizon, searching for the silhouettes of their husbands, sons, or beloved knights, seeking the banners of their returning armies,
all the statues in the temple dedicated to the Lake Goddess within the city and outside began to shed clear tears, which flowed down their faces and dripped onto the ground.
The Cupbearer Maiden serving the Lake Goddess hurried to bring news of a bad omen to the noblewomen on the castle walls.
“The goddess weeps for the sacrifices of the brave knights.”
One pregnant woman, overcome with emptiness and faint from low blood sugar and sorrow after skipping breakfast, fainted publicly.
…
…
At sea, a long line of sailboats navigated across the surface.
The sailboats bore flags with white irises, their hulls laden with the spoils of a holy war.
King Richard I of Bartor, the future king, stood on the flagship, gazing in the direction of home.
Chosen by the Lake Goddess, after passing the test and winning the holy war in the desert, King Richard I would return to his loyal territory to be formally crowned king.
A retainer rushed over to report astonishing news to King Richard I.
“Your Majesty, it’s terrible! The goddess weeps.”
The Lionheart King looked at him, “Hmm?”
“The golden statue is shedding tears.”
A minute later, the Lionheart King knelt before the golden statue of the Lake Goddess, which was shedding two streams of blood tears, and silently prayed.
Then his expression grew serious as he stood up and told his retainer, “Order the fleet to change course; we are heading to the Duchy of Karsun.”
He paused and added, “Call for the Cupbearer Maiden; tell her I want to launch a chivalric war.”
“A chivalric war?”
A chivalric war initiated by the king himself would drive knights across the nation into a frenzy, all eager to join in the fight for honor.
But there was a problem: if a national chivalric war was to be launched, by the time the news spread throughout the Bartor kingdom and knights gathered to set out, the entire Duchy of Karsun would likely have fallen.
“Yes,” the Lionheart King replied solemnly, “Gather my knights; we must discuss how to quickly launch the chivalric war and eradicate evil; time waits for no one.”
With that, he walked to the ship’s bow and glanced back at his vast fleet, laden with the victors returning from the holy war and their spoils.
