Chapter 82 Chapter Eighty-One Shattered Dreams
The other three carefully focused on the screen, while Jenna kindly dimmed the surroundings and zoomed in on the ogre among the trolls.
He was twice the height of a person, looking like an enlarged version of a strongman, corpulent and robust, with a protruding belly, covered by a large round shield to protect his belly. The remaining details were unclear as he received the human thigh handed to him by a troll and chewed it vigorously, clearly not something wholesome.
The meeting quieted down.
“An ogre,” the Saintess Jenna recalled, “I’ve heard that tribes of these monsters roam the northern grasslands.”
Jemma said, “Yes, they love to eat meat, doing anything for it, often raiding towns and consuming both livestock and people, thus they are called ogres.”
But Jemma deliberately omitted another matter.
The Saintess Jenna continued with the information from Jemma, “They plan to desecrate corpses with the trolls.”
Jemma replied, “I’m afraid they’ll also desecrate the living.”
Except for Eve Frostleaf, who had remained expressionless, George nodded gravely and said, “Shut it down.”
The projection disappeared, and the surrounding light returned.
George raised his eyes to Jemma and asked, “You said they’re mercenaries, right?”
Jemma felt a bit anxious and nodded, “Yes.”
“Then those ogre mercenaries,” George’s eyes sparkled, “can we try to hire them? As long as their demands don’t go against our principles.”
Jenna and Eve Frostleaf were somewhat surprised. When they saw the ogres, they all assumed they were evil enemies like the trolls and didn’t notice that Jemma referred to them as “ogre mercenaries,” thus not considering the possibility of hiring them.
Jemma silently cursed herself for saying the word “mercenaries” too carelessly, and George was too clever, getting straight to the core of the matter.
She said, “I’m not completely sure.”
“Eighty percent is enough,” George said. “Can you talk about the ogre mercenaries? I’ve heard before that they, like all mercenaries, only recognize money.”
Jemma sighed inwardly and pretended to recall:
“I’ll search through the memories of the Demon King… Found it. The ogre mercenaries, like all mercenaries, enjoy looting roadside villages. They don’t necessarily like eating people, but they love meat, and they are very cunning, preferring to attack from the side rather than face-to-face.
“They realize that money flows in faster for mercenaries, and having money means having meat. So there are often ogre mercenaries who like to gather along the trails of war, looking for armies that can hire them.
“As long as they’re offered enough gold or meat, they can be hired.”
George asked, “Anyone?”
“Yes.”
Now that things had come to this point, Jemma decided to be a bit more proactive, saying, “I have a good idea. Before the trolls and the ogres reach an agreement, I’ll find their gathering point and boldly go in, dropping a pile of gold to hire them.”
George said, “I had the same thought, but the ogre camp might be very dangerous. Are you safe alone?”
“As a platinum-tier warrior… I think the same. But it’s for the ogres’ sake; if bloodshed occurs, we might not be able to hire them, and I don’t want to waste precious magical power on ogres.” Jemma looked around, “I need a melee fighter who can stabilize the situation.”
George said, “I can.”
Get lost, you stinky man.
Jemma said, “Your armor is too heavy, and you have to lead them. If you disappear, the already low morale might collapse. I have the following requirements; I need someone lightweight so I can carry them to fly faster.
“They also have to have stealth abilities so they won’t be easily detected, and last but not least, they need to be able to fight. Height and build don’t matter; what’s important is that they can handle some small provocations from mercenaries, including but not limited to breaking noses or landing a punch.”
Jemma hinted wildly at Eve Frostleaf. Although Eve had a gossipy and scheming nature that she really disliked, Jemma genuinely wanted to roll in the snow with her; of course, she didn’t expect just to roll in the snow. Two women executing a mission together, sleeping side by side when it got dark, was entirely normal, right?
To pave the way for future snow-rolling, she thought, a beautiful woman next to her was always good.
Eve Frostleaf looked at Jemma.
Jemma’s tail excitedly swished back and forth, but her face held a serious expression.
Frostleaf’s slightly red lips parted to speak just as—
“I’ll do it!”
A rooster-headed figure suddenly leapt forward.
Jemma looked down and saw the jumping dwarf butcher.
The four of them were standing in a meeting and, to conserve magical energy, Jemma hadn’t activated the “Silent and Tranquil Barrier,” so all their conversation was overheard by the dwarf butcher.
The dwarf butcher, bare-chested, had his sides shaved clean and a tuft of hair raised in the middle. His big beard was split into two and covered his plump belly, which had blood stains that hadn’t been cleaned off. He had two rune-engraved axes strapped to his waist.
Rubbing his hands, he wore a face full of excess flesh, grinning like a middle-aged greasy man.
Such an image formed a strong contrast with the long-legged beauty. Jemma couldn’t help but feel disgusted at the thought of replacing her teammate with him.
“Doesn’t this suit me perfectly?” he said. “You, George, forcibly dragged me off the battlefield before; now you must make it up to me.”
Get lost, ugly man!
Jemma immediately shouted, “No!”
“Why?”
The dwarf butcher placed his hands on his hips and asked, “I don’t wear armor, I’m light. I can fight; I’ve been a butcher for ten years without a scratch.”
“Who would take a stinky—dwarf to sneak around?”
“Prejudice!” The dwarf butcher snorted. “You didn’t even notice me just now!”
“The ogres are huge; you’re small,” Jemma said. “Attacking you is like attacking a dog.”
“Ridiculous.” The dwarf butcher angrily picked up his axe in protest. “I once wielded an axe against a group of ogres raiding a town, yet they couldn’t provide me with an honorable death, and I hacked them all to death.”
George didn’t speak, which indicated the tale was true.
Jemma certainly couldn’t accept it and turned to Eve Frostleaf, saying, “I don’t trust him; I trust my friends more.”
Eve Frostleaf didn’t respond immediately, seemingly deep in thought.
“Only elves and humans would engage in deceitful acts.” The dwarf butcher said, “I can swear on my ancestors that I will never betray you!”
George asked, “What’s your name?”
“Gotrick,” the dwarf butcher said, lifting his head, “named after the Supreme King who once beheaded the elven king.”
During the Longbeard War, the elven king riding a dragon had his steed killed by a dwarven ballista, and the Supreme King of the dwarves led his guards to behead the opponent.
Such a painful memory was a sore point for the proud elves.
Jemma eagerly looked at Eve Frostleaf, and indeed, the latter frowned, making the atmosphere colder. Jemma felt more secure.
Eve Frostleaf couldn’t help but feel more and more displeased with the dwarf; she really wanted to shave his beard. If only he weren’t right in front of her eyes, she said:
“George, he can join us.”
Jemma was stunned.
Eve Frostleaf continued, “I can stay behind to deter the trolls’ attacks.”
George thought this made sense and said, “Alright, Mr. Gotrick, swear an oath, and then you can go on the mission with Jemma.”
Jemma raised her hand, “I oppose! I strongly oppose!”
George said, “Let’s vote.”
The result was three to one; Jemma was forced to embark on the mission with the dwarf butcher.
In the evening.
The sunset bathed the snowfield, with the snow reflecting an unusual shimmer.
Jemma felt as if her bones had been pulled out, sighing and hunching as she walked step by step in the snow.
In comparison, the butcher Gotrick was impeccably clean, hopping excitedly like an eight-year-old child, humming a butcher’s song.
Being clean was Jemma’s requirement. Although Gotrick was quite unhappy about it, he still took a bath in the snow.
Jemma was still puzzled as to why Eve Frostleaf didn’t take her side. Damn it, beautiful women had such complicated thoughts.
“Hey, succubus.” The butcher Gotrick, shouldering his axe, said in a gruff voice, “Stop dawdling; we have to move on.”
“I don’t want to carry a shrunken version of an old man while flying.”
“Who are you talking about?”
“Whoever admits it is whoever.”
The butcher Gotrick said, “You succubus don’t understand aesthetics. Look at my beard, silky and smooth.”
His big hand raised his beard.
“Well, you better hope those ogres can’t use fire,” Jemma said, “or else your precious beard might get hurt, and there will have to be a second Longbeard War.”
“You, succubus, know too much.” The butcher Gotrick replied, “Forget it; I won’t argue with you. With your skinny arms and legs, it’s clear you’re the type of demon full of lies and ill intentions.”
Jemma didn’t feel like quarreling with him.
After walking for over twenty minutes, an ogre and a dwarf finally set off.
Jemma finally managed to recover from the shadows of her shattered dreams, straightened her back, and said:
“I’ll scout ahead to locate the ogre camp. You find a place to hide. If the trolls discover us, I can’t help you.”
Without waiting for Gotrick’s response, she took a run, flapped her wings, and soared into the air, blending into the sunlight and disappearing without a trace.
On the other side.
In the shelter.
After arranging everyone, George noticed it was already dark.
Rarely having time, he gave the armor to the dwarves to repair and walked alone to patrol the stone walls while being on guard against night attacks.
A silver shadow silently appeared beside him. George realized it was Eve Frostleaf; she was very close to him, looking from behind like a couple walking on a night road.
She wore armor, fully equipped, but her tied-up silver hair spilled out, cascading over her back, hanging in front of her hips and waist.
George thought of the fresh green leaves of spring.
He asked, “Is there something wrong?”
“Are you happy to see me?”
“Happy.”
Eve Frostleaf’s eyebrows slightly lifted as she said, “I have a plan to ambush the messenger.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Apart from the ogre messenger, it can buy Jemma some time,” she said. “But it’s dangerous for me to act alone; we would be a good match.”
