Chapter 243: The Eve of the Escape
Vichina, the Mother of Beasts, rolled down the hillside, stirring up a cloud of dust. She raised her body and shouted with all her might, filled with hatred, “Jima!!!”
The shout was so loud that the leaves of the trees behind her fell. The awakened beastmen covered their sheep ears.
Jima held the dead infant and coldly looked at the Mother of Beasts in the dust below.
There was no change; it was still the same as before, which indicated that the Mother of Beasts couldn’t bear to destroy the “strong medium” to sever Jima’s curse.
“Aren’t you strong? Hmm?” Jima felt a sense of pleasure as she saw the pain in Vichina’s chest spreading.
“Put him down!” the Mother of Beasts roared, her eyes filled with rage as she glared at Jima. “You have achieved your purpose.”
Perhaps influenced by her extraordinary abilities, or perhaps out of fear, Jima suddenly felt a rush of terror. A thought surfaced in her mind: completely angering the Mother of Beasts was not a rational choice. She was very powerful and could make her life miserable; she should take a step back and not provoke her.
But the sharp pain radiating from the wings hanging on her back reminded Jima.
Who told her to offend me?
Filled with hatred, Jima gritted her teeth and forcibly stuffed the straw doll, which had needles stuck in it, into the dead infant’s mouth, embedding the poisonous curse into the Mother of Beasts’ body.
“Ahhhh!!!”
The Mother of Beasts was in agony, cold sweat trickling down her collarbone.
The dead infant in Jima’s arms began to shrink and turn into a dried corpse. As Jima ran, it shattered, and Jima simply threw it on the ground, where it broke apart into countless fragments.
From behind came the intertwined sounds of the Mother of Beasts’ curses and roars.
Jima used the power from her pain to enhance herself, moving like a ghost while feeling exhilarated inside.
Aren’t you very strong? Don’t you lead the beastmen army to kill at will? Haven’t you tried to kill me time and again? Ha, look at you today, you’re also in such a sorry state.
The roar of a scorpion-tailed lion echoed in the sky, but Jima had already entered an invisible state and vanished beneath the foot of the mountain in the dark.
Jima ran on her legs for nearly half an hour, drinking the blood from the “blood goat horn cup.” Her wings had begun to heal, but the side effects of the medicine she’d taken started to take effect. Her limbs felt soft and powerless; she flapped her wings a few times and could barely fly a few meters off the ground, even struggling to extend them to hover.
But Jima remained calm, relying on her original escape plan as she slipped up the hillside, using her “Lie Power” to create a false object—a memory item from the Demon King.
A motorless delta-wing glider appeared before her.
Jima grabbed it, facing the wind, gliding down the mountainside, adjusting her position with her weak wings, successfully escaping to a pre-scouted safe area before crawling into a hole in the ground, curling up, and using her last strength to open the entrance to the Dream Palace, almost tumbling into it.
After a wave of dizziness, she landed on a lush grassy field. Jima touched her lower back; it was empty, lacking any extraordinary material. Indeed, the Demon King’s extraordinary material could not be brought into the Dream Palace.
But she had no time to think about that; a soft bed appeared beneath her, and she closed her eyes, falling asleep.
She didn’t know how long had passed.
Jima’s dreams were occasionally filled with the resentful cries of the Mother of Beasts and other times with nightmares of falling into the Mother of Beasts’ hands, becoming her external womb. Sometimes she dreamt that the Mother of Beasts was divining again, searching for the Demon King’s extraordinary material and finding her hiding.
Oh right, the pursuers… the pursuers are coming.
Jima lay on the bed, her legs instinctively wanting to run. Her eyelids struggled before she suddenly awakened.
She sat up and shouted, “Pursuers!”
A familiar male voice came from beside her: “It’s okay, I’m here.”
Jima looked over to see George, fully armored, standing by her bed with a reassuring smile.
Jima felt the pain in her body had mostly subsided and asked, “You’ve been here all along?”
“Yes,” George replied, “How are your wings?”
“Very good.” Jima stretched out her slightly sore wings. “The blood goat horn cup is amazing.”
“Did it suffer a fracture?”
“Mm, the Mother of Beasts cursed it with her wings.”
George looked at Jima with guilt, making her feel a bit awkward. She said, “Don’t look at me like that; I escaped, didn’t I?”
George said, “I suddenly realize my guarantee is useless. I said I’d be here, but if the pursuers come, I still won’t be able to protect you.”
Jima felt even less comfortable, shrugged, and said, “I’m not an ordinary woman; the Mother of Beasts suffered a great loss in my hands, writhing in pain like a maggot, it was quite amusing.”
George said nothing but reached out to pull a strand of hair stuck to her face, revealing a large blood scab on her black hair.
Jima raised her hand, sniffed, and smelled a foul odor. “I need a bath; I’m filthy.”
Checking her personal status, her magic had recovered to sixty-three percent, and Jima smiled. She got out of bed and stood up as usual.
But her legs were even weaker than she had imagined, and she stumbled and nearly fell to the ground. George immediately steadied her.
When he supported her, a sense of reassurance surged within Jima. Along with the thrill of having escaped death, she felt an impulse to celebrate.
She simply leaned against George and said, “Hold me.”
George picked up Jima with ease; she felt as light as a feather.
Jima moved her long legs, noticing her tight pants were tattered, exposing her healed, fair skin.
She said, “George, your armor is quite cumbersome.”
George gently placed her back on the bed, removing his hard armor and bulky clothing, leaving only a linen outfit.
Jima looked at his strong and powerful physique, admiring his handsome face. Her gaze burned with desire, and when George picked her up again, she rested her head on his chest, feeling his body warmth and hearing his steady heartbeat.
In that moment, Jima felt an urge to bear his children.
She said, “George, I’m feeling very weak right now.”
“Mm.” George said, “I’ll take you to the bathroom door.”
George carried her swiftly; Jima’s calves swayed with his steps.
“You’ve always wanted me to have your child, right? Now seems like a good opportunity.”
An ambiguous atmosphere enveloped the two. Jima felt thirsty; the flame of her desire burned continuously, just fluctuating in intensity.
George said, “I won’t take advantage of you.”
“Who knew you actually had chivalry at this moment?” Jima remarked, “By the way, aren’t you going to ask where the Demon King’s extraordinary material went?”
George readily inquired, “Where is it?”
Jima chuckled and said, “It’s in my belly; I’ve absorbed the Demon King’s extraordinary material and am about to become the new Demon King, ruling over a region of the demon realm. By then, I’ll have as many beautiful women as I want.”
George’s eyelids twitched as he dutifully said, “Liar.”
“Alright, I’ve already obtained the Demon King’s extraordinary material,” Jima declared. “Given how hard I worked, you should serve your future queen by cleaning me up. You must scrub every bit of dirt off your queen’s body as the most humble servant.”
“Alright.”
Jima inhaled the peach blossom scent in the air and said, “I really don’t feel like moving.”
The bathroom door swung open, and then the sound of water came, like the gentle patter of rain.
…
“Thud! Thud! Thud!”
The hammer struck hard against the nail as Akane, resembling Van Helsing, swung a heavy hammer to drive the nail into the overturned carriage.
Beside him, hiding in the shade of a tree, Vyrin pointed out, “Uncle Van Helsing, it seems you’ve miscalculated.”
“It’s fine,” Akane said. “Strength brings miracles; I refuse to believe this spring board won’t fit!”
“You’ve been at it for a whole morning.”
The wood planks and branches were haphazardly connected due to the nails’ insistence. What should have been a fine carriage now looked as if it had grown cancer beneath.
“I reckon this time it’ll be good,” Akane swung hard, and with a crack, the hammer handle broke, sending the hammerhead flying backward towards Vyrin’s forehead.
Vyrin, with a reflex not matching her appearance, tilted her head and easily dodged.
Akane turned around and asked, “Did I hit you?”
The delicate little girl, with pale skin and rosy lips like a marionette, shook her head.
Vyrin’s small face looked somewhat worried, “Are we going to ride horses?”
If she could, Vyrin would prefer not to have close contact with the witch hunter Akane. Such a dirty, violent wretch—she wouldn’t even want to touch his blood if it were offered to her.
“No need,” Akane heaved, righting the overturned carriage on his own.
The carriage swayed up and down like it was equipped with springs. Surprisingly, it did not fall apart.
Vyrin commented, “This seems like the craft of the greenskins.”
“You’ve seen greenskins?”
“I’ve heard adults talk about them.”
Akane picked up the hammerhead, opened the carriage door, and exaggeratedly bowed to Vyrin, saying, “Please, take a seat, milady.”
Vyrin naturally lifted her coarse cloth skirt, but her hand stiffened as she suddenly realized she should be a simple country girl on the surface, so she forced herself to maintain a stiff posture as she got into the carriage.
Akane took the driver’s seat, urging, “Lovely little horse, pick up the pace, or I’ll paint you red.”
The horse neighed and pulled the carriage, galloping with effort.
On the uneven road, the modified carriage surprisingly stayed stable.
At least when the wheels rolled over rocks, the carriage wouldn’t jolt Vyrin’s little backside again.
Vyrin leaned back against the seat, her legs together, feeling much more comfortable.
“Hey,” Akane suddenly turned his head, banging on the carriage, calling out, “Little White Hair, how’s my craftsmanship?”
“Very good.” Vyrin asked, “Where did you get the spring board?”
“I asked a friend, a particularly stingy black-haired woman.”
Black-haired woman? Could it be that black-haired succubus?
Vyrin recalled the information she had gotten and said, “Can you call me by my name?”
“It’s better to call you Little White Hair,” Akane replied, “You’re too short; you need to grow taller.”
If you had cut fewer times, maybe I could be taller too.
Vyrin said, “I didn’t eat well growing up.”
“Then eat well from now on,” Akane stated, “You need to grow taller.”
After he finished speaking, Akane hummed a tune and continued on the road.
