Chapter 78: Cupid Jima
Two close female servants were shocked to see their master crying loudly. In their impression, a “well-mannered” master had never cried so ungracefully.
Four hundred pounds, trying hard to suppress her sadness, took out a handkerchief and covered her face while crying, collapsing into a chair. The chair wobbled, creaking under the weight. Tears quickly soaked the handkerchief.
“Master, it’s not worth being sad over such a crude man.”
“He’s just an ignorant outsider.”
Wiping her face, Four Hundred Pounds raised her red eyes, holding a sheet of white paper, choking back her emotions as she said:
“He… he… said that seeing me was like seeing a female elephant that learned to walk upright…”
“Gasp!” One maid gasped, “How dare he curse a noble lady so viciously?”
The other maid remarked, “This shows he has a vile heart, wasting such a handsome face.”
Four Hundred Pounds felt slightly better and managed to say without choking:
“He also said that today he felt like a helpless little girl who was assaulted by orcs all day in the wild. Seeing me made his stomach sour.”
“Vile!”
“Filthy!”
Four Hundred Pounds continued:
“He said even if it were the end of the world and only I remained as a female, even if the gods forced him, he would not marry me. Because my appearance is more intimidating than a ‘decayed undead black dragon’!”
After saying this, Four Hundred Pounds couldn’t hold it anymore and collapsed onto the table, resting her head on her chubby arms, crying out loud. The table trembled under the impact.
The two maids approached and said:
“He’s just a superficial man who craves beautiful bodies.” One maid advised, “He will never meet an interesting soul in his life.”
“Exactly, missing out on having a noble soul like you is his misfortune.”
A clear female voice interjected: “Who cares about the inner thoughts of that ugly man?”
The voice belonged to a girl with a pure appearance and a hint of innocence. She had a slender frame and wide bat-like wings that seemed disproportionate, sitting atop the bed canopy, as light as a feather.
A long, slender tail loosely wrapped around her beautifully curved calves, its tip wiggling.
It was Jima.
However, Four Hundred Pounds showed no reaction to Jima’s malicious mockery, nor did the other two; it seemed the succubus girl was just air.
Because this was Four Hundred Pounds’ dream.
Jima entered her dreams at night, guiding Four Hundred Pounds to recall the events of the day and checking on her status as a tool.
“All men are worthless!” shouted Four Hundred Pounds, ripping the letter into pieces. “I want to find friends to teach him a lesson so he knows the consequences of being rude! How dare he slander me as an upright-walking elephant!”
Jima said, “Truly uncultured; it’s clearly a walking sow.”
“Master, shall we still invite him—” one maid suggested tentatively.
“Cancel!” Four Hundred Pounds declared, “Men are no good. I might as well spend that money on ducks.”
“Hey, if you give up like this, how will George discover your interesting soul?” Jima said. “Being ugly isn’t a sin; if you’re ugly, you must have perseverance and show your inner beauty!”
Four Hundred Pounds didn’t hear her words and headed straight for the door.
Jima frowned. With a snap of her fingers, time in the dream resumed its flow, and the three remained frozen in place, moving not an inch.
Four Hundred Pounds was a tool she couldn’t give up.
She had wealth and power. This meant she had the ability to harass George endlessly. Her character wasn’t particularly good, and her appearance was sufficiently unattractive, ensuring George would not fall in love with her.
She was a rare tool.
Logically, given the compliments from the outside world that had built Four Hundred Pounds’ confidence over the years, she shouldn’t have given up after just one day.
Jima thought for a moment and came to a conclusion.
It must be due to George’s extraordinary ability. When he spoke the truth, people unconsciously believed him. He once said that writing is the extension of speech, so his words likely have the same effect.
George’s truths burst the lies that had surrounded her for years, causing her immense pain—pain that led to anger. Her current anger towards George overshadowed her desire.
What to do?
Jima propped her chin on her hand, tilting her head in thought.
Should she continue lying and make her think she wasn’t that ugly? No, George’s truth-speaking ability would repeatedly “burst” lies.
Maybe try Stockholm syndrome to turn her into a submissive. Not very confident, but worth a shot.
Jima snapped her fingers again.
Time in the dream began to flow once more, and Four Hundred Pounds stormed out the door, completely unaware that something was wrong with her dream.
The moment she stepped outside, the cold-faced prince George suddenly appeared, kicking Four Hundred Pounds in the stomach, his foot sinking into her belly. Four Hundred Pounds felt no pain and floated to the bed like a balloon.
Shocked and angry, she was about to get out of bed.
Under Jima’s control, the two maids began to shout:
“You dead virgin, blockhead! What are you doing here?”
“Perverted tail freak! Get out of my beloved young lady’s room!”
On George’s handsome face, a hint of impatience appeared as he placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. In a flash, two silver lights shone as the two maids clutched their chests, screaming, and their bodies disintegrated into falling cherry blossoms.
In the shower of petals, the cold-faced prince George coldly remarked, “Ugly women are only worthy of becoming fertilizer for flowers.”
After saying this, his blue eyes shot a cold glance at Four Hundred Pounds. She faltered and asked, “W-What do you want?”
George stepped forward and pressed the cold blade of his great sword against her neck, saying:
“Ugliness has no value for existence.”
Jima controlled her, beckoning with her finger to quench her fierce anger.
The effect was evident; Four Hundred Pounds collapsed like a lump of soft flesh on the bed.
“I… I’m sorry, I know I’m fat. I won’t bother you again,” she pleaded.
George leaned closer, pulling out a dagger and pressing it against her chest, saying:
“Before you die, let me see if you have a heart filled with true love.”
“No!”
As the dagger pierced, it unearthed a radiant pearl.
The cold-faced prince George finally revealed a slight smile, saying:
“How interesting, you actually love me. I shall spare your life.”
Saying this, his hand reached toward his pants.
Four Hundred Pounds trembled with excitement, tears in her eyes, saying:
“George, you finally know my love for you. I actually doubted you were a scoundrel. Come, punish me, punish me, ah!”
Jima covered her churning stomach with one hand and turned her head away.
Discordant sounds echoed in the room.
Unable to contain her curiosity, Jima peeked and quickly averted her gaze. The scene was akin to a hero wielding a massive sword, carving a tunnel through a mountain of flesh.
The effect was astonishingly good.
Four Hundred Pounds shouted:
“As long as my heart is true, you will definitely love me! I understand! I understand!”
A wicked smile crept across Jima’s lips:
“This time, the dead virgin will undoubtedly be desperate.”
She could envision it.
George, downtrodden, would come to plead with her, trying to rid himself of Four Hundred Pounds. At that point, she would play coyly, hesitantly proposing the idea of pretending to be a couple.
With tool Four Hundred Pounds as a backdrop, successfully trick George into feelings, acquiring a loyal hero. Sending him to fetch crown fragments, leveling materials, and shielding her until she regained her strength.
Then she would crush him beneath her feet, shocking him, making him roar, regret, and finally despair.
“Ha ha ha ha!”
Jima couldn’t help but laugh out loud. In her laughter, it seemed she could see her harem being rebuilt, filled with all manner of flamboyantly dressed maids.
“Jima… Jima!… Jima!”
“What are you laughing at?”
It was George’s voice!
Startled, Jima’s eyes flew open as she sat up abruptly from the straw bed. Upon seeing George’s face, a guilty Jima pushed back against the head of the bed, her eyes wide with fear as she looked at George.
“Am I… scary today?” George questioned, touching his face skeptically.
Awake? What dream was I just having?
“Whew~~” Jima patted her slightly rising chest, “You scared me to death.”
“I can’t be that scary.”
“As a succubus, being frightened by the noble and righteous hero is quite normal, isn’t it?”
“The sun is practically burning my backside.” George said, “Last night you said you couldn’t sleep on this bed at all.”
Jima’s gaze fell onto the bed beneath her, a cloth with a few faint yellow stains—this was the cleanest cloth in the entire inn, with a layer of straw underneath. On the ceiling, several pesky mosquitoes lingered.
Meanwhile, George was sleeping on the floor, wrapped in a layer of carpet.
An itch surged in her arm, and Jima couldn’t help but scratch the red spots on her pale arms. She complained:
“It’s so itchy! Why would a demon be bitten by mosquitoes? So unscientific.”
“What is science?”
“You can think of it as ‘being logical.’”
“Let’s hurry, today we need to visit the mages.” George said, “In the evening, we’ll switch to a better place.”
“Great!” Jima exclaimed, leaping off the bed.
Her stomach growled, indicating a lack of “energy.” This meant she had done well during her dream visit last night.
Originally, she had intended to fleece George for food to fill her stomach. But seeing he was already in armor, she recognized she had missed the best opportunity to do so.
As she washed up and dressed, she opened her “personal information panel” to check her task log, discovering that she had visited Four Hundred Pounds’ dream last night.
Not sure if it was successful. As she brushed her teeth with salt, she asked:
“George, did you see Four Hundred Pounds this morning?”
“No.” George’s face displayed a look of having survived a disaster, “She should have given up.”
It seemed I didn’t inform Four Hundred Pounds about the inn where George was staying during my dream yesterday.
Jima’s heart sank suddenly, struggling to recall, but her memory was fuzzy.
It hadn’t happened yet; either it was due to my poor dream design, or I forgot.
She wanted to slap her forehead.
After finishing her washing and dressing, Jima began to help George put on his armor.
Once they were both ready, George stepped out first.
He said, “Today is truly a delightful day.”
Saying this, he opened the door, and a shadow fell over him, causing him to shut the door immediately.
Jima asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Looks like it’s her.”
George took a deep breath; he had been breathing deeply a bit too often these past few days.
Jima repeated: “Today is truly a delightful day.”
At this, the tip of her tail perked up cheerfully.
