Chapter 122 Chapter 119 Daily Life
In the underground passage, the bard Felix was teaching the songbird Jima vocal knowledge.
“Doremi fasolasi do.”
A pleasant female voice echoed, “Doremi fasolasi do.”
“Exactly, that’s it, the most basic musical notes.” The bard Felix, riding on the heavenly warhorse Old White, wiped the sweat from his face and said, “Congratulations, Miss Jima, you have finally mastered the basics of vocal knowledge.”
“This is really too simple.” Jima spread her wings and flew at low altitude, matching his height as she spoke, “I feel I will be able to sing my own compositions soon, expressing the rich and colorful emotions within me.”
“I’m afraid there’s still a bit of a distance.”
“I understand that, mortal.” Jima waved her hand, saying, “Just like cooking, I picked it up quickly at the beginning, but I need long hours of practice, learning from countless failures to master the technique and create fragrant dishes. So I need to practice more, sing more.”
Suddenly, the background music turned eerie and haunting, filled with the atmosphere of death, as if everyone were marching not through a dark corridor, but through a grim graveyard.
Jima turned her head to look at Frostleaf, who had a “blood-stained puppet” hanging at her waist, which was her own possession. Jima, hands on her hips in dissatisfaction, said, “Frostleaf! When are you going to return my stuff?”
Frostleaf, walking ahead light-footedly among the stone spikes, did not turn around; after releasing a segment of song like that of a phoenix, she said, “When your singing no longer harms others.”
“What did you say?” Jima said angrily. “It’s obvious that it’s just avant-garde, and my technique is a bit lacking, which you all can’t adapt to for a moment. Of course, it’s also my battle song that scares the ratfolk, giving them the stereotype that ‘my song is so terrifying that even the ratfolk would rather die than hear it.’
“In fact, my platinum title is ‘Wailing Banshee.’ Hearing me must cause my enemies suffering. I also have ‘Banshee’s Howl,’ a powerful transcendent ability that ignores enemies.
“So after you hear my song, you self-hypnotize and say it’s so unpleasant that it kills. In fact, I realize I’m a genius, you know? My talent in music is no less than in cooking!”
A soft hum came from the front.
“Hey! Frostleaf!”
Before Jima could finish her punch.
The music of the “Bloodstained Songstress” changed, becoming soothing; it sounded like it was accompanied by a harp and flute.
Ahead, Eve Frostleaf’s long song emerged, melodious but tinged with faint sadness.
Jima understood the Elvish language; the content of the song was about the ancient war when the great whirlpool had yet to be established. The demon army surged into the mortal world, and high elves defended their homeland.
The hero of the song was an elven dragon prince, fighting alongside his dragon against the demon army. Throughout the long war, he had never failed but was eventually corrupted; in the end, his kin had no choice but to kill him with their own hands.
As the song gradually faded away, the audience felt a sense of loss. Jima even saw a dwarf discreetly wiping his eyes; such a sorrowful song easily reminded dwarves of their slowly fading race.
Bard Felix looked on with admiration: “What a wonderful song. Miss Frostleaf must have received strict vocal training since childhood and guidance from famous teachers. Of course, her talent is also exceptional.”
Jima was filled with rage.
She knew exactly the subtext of Eve Frostleaf: this is talent; this is a good song. What do you have?
Hmph, no matter how well you sing, what does it matter? Isn’t it just a good voice and a well-off family?
Always singing other people’s songs, no matter how beautiful the rendition, you are just a high-level parrot.
Just think, spending so much energy and time to perfect a singing voice, only to end up like a portable media player. Unlike me, where songs express aspirations and convey emotions.
The people around unanimously praised her, resembling the look of someone finishing a meal prepared by Jima. Everyone except for George the Hammer, who donned heavy armor, shouldered a double-handed greatsword, and strode silently along the rugged stone path.
Wow, you’re pretty clever, huh? Knowing that making comments at this time might cause a stir in the harem.
Jima harbored malice, her eyes twinkling as she flapped her wings, flying behind George, and tapped on his shoulder, saying:
“George! Do you think Frostleaf sings well?”
A muffled voice came from beneath the helmet: “It’s good.”
Jima smiled brightly and asked, “So is it possible for me to catch up to Frostleaf in the future?”
Her smile concealed a trap.
Jima dared to bet that Eve Frostleaf, the eavesdropper, was surely listening intently. Whatever George’s answer was, he would offend one woman. Hehe, brave warrior, a pure love harem isn’t so easy to bear.
The figure behind the helmet fell silent.
Cunning, very cunning; he immediately saw this was a trap.
Jima asked, “George? What’s wrong?”
George said, “I currently lack sufficient information to draw a conclusion.”
“Hey, I don’t want you to be a prophet.” Jima’s face showed a playful smile as she winked at him. “I just want to know if you have confidence that I can catch up with Eve Frostleaf in singing?”
The butcher Kurtik nearly laughed, turning to Felix and saying, “You think that succubus can have such a problem?”
Bard Felix gazed at George with sympathy and said quietly, “Poor thing.”
“What? What are you saying?”
“Hey, George?” Jima tapped on George’s Sharrel helmet, “Why are you silent?”
“Let’s put it this way,” George said, “I—”
“Whoosh.” “Whoosh.” “Whoosh.”
Sounds of something cutting through the air filled the air; the oil lamp hanging on Jima’s chest shattered, and the flames magically extinguished. All the lanterns went dark, and the surroundings were suddenly pitch black.
But Jima could see through the darkness. She turned her head and saw ratfolk emerging on both sides, swinging slingshots in their hands, and shooting at them.
At the same time, she noticed one ratman grinning, wielding a gray long polearm, charging straight at her.
Jima countered with her “Branch Axe Spear,” blocking the polearm with one swipe, then stabbing straight into his body. The ratman’s face showed surprise as he realized that those with lamps might not lack dark vision, but it was too late.
Jima withdrew her “Branch Axe Spear,” and behind her came Bard Felix’s exclamation. She turned to see him protected by a translucent shield, which blocked the incoming lead bullets.
Jima flapped her wings and flew up about thirty meters high. Below, the ratfolk swarmed from all directions toward the “Savior Squad,” at least fifty in number… but only just over fifty.
Most of them were clan rats, with ordinary weapons, relying on slings and crossbows for ranged attacks; she saw no strong ones, in short, they were like level one minions.
Jima blinked and quickly divined; the results came immediately from the rat horde—this meant there were no spellcasters interfering with Jima’s divination.
Above the rat horde, several lines of common text appeared.
“Number: Eighty-six.”
“Melee: Forty-nine.”
“Ranged: Thirty-seven.”
“Magical weapons: Zero.”
Jima concluded that this was a group of minions that could not cause any trouble to the Savior Squad.
And indeed, the three dwarves quickly formed back-to-back; George swung his greatsword, hacking down one ratman after another. Frostleaf drew her bow with incredible speed, and with every breath, two ratfolk fell to her arrows.
Normally, with Frostleaf’s keen hearing, she should have detected this group of ratfolk lacking magical aid.
It must be to help George.
Jima felt a bit displeased; after all, she had rolled in the snow with Frostleaf once, and later wanted to take it a step further, like kissing. But unfortunately, there was no chance. Eve Frostleaf remained as cold toward her as ever.
What an annoyance. Clearly had a chance to deal with that arrogant dragon.
Jima thought this, her eyes locking onto the ratfolk chieftain. She folded her wings and dove straight at him, killing intent radiating from her.
Seeing the danger, the ratfolk chieftain turned to flee into a hole behind him but felt a sudden dizziness and fell asleep. Pain shot through his legs, waking him, and he found a black-haired succubus standing before him, her axe spear’s sharp fangs and long tongue probing into his severed leg, sucking out the blood inside.
He cried out, “Spare me! Spare me!”
Seeing the culprit, Jima’s anger flared; with another swing of her axe, she chopped off his left hand. The axe spear withdrew its sharp fangs and long tongue from the cooked hind leg, reaching for his bleeding wound. Jima yanked back her tongue, shouting:
“Leave him one rat life! Let me drink the blood from his hands.”
The ratfolk chieftain immediately understood that his torment was coming, and he shouted, “Just end it! Make it quick!”
“I won’t,” Jima said with a laugh, swinging the axe again.
“Why?”
“Poor little thing, your timing to appear was just all wrong.”
Seeing George was about to arrive, Jima, for the sake of her own image, ended the ratfolk chieftain’s suffering with an axe, and the sharp fangs and long tongue drained the blood of the ratfolk corpse dry.
Jima let out a breath of foul air, feeling much better, tossing the earlier events to the back of her mind.
The ratfolk were in disarray, scrambling to flee into the hole.
George, like a tiger, quickly caught up, killing one with a single sword stroke.
“George,” Jima called out to him, “I chopped off their leader!”
George nodded after dispatching the last ratfolk, saying, “Mhm.”
“Oh come on, you could at least give some praise!”
“Killing two ratfolk, I find it hard to give you a nice compliment.”
“Forget it, you’re just a wooden man who only tells the truth.” Jima said, “I really envy you; you don’t have to say romantic things to girls to marry so many beautiful women.”
George took out a towel and began wiping the blood off his sword blade as he walked, asking, “Jima, I feel like something’s bothering you. You can talk to me about it, right?”
Jima suddenly realized she had just revealed “male thinking”; her relaxed mind tightened again. She said, “What do you think we should eat tonight?”
George replied, “I think that topic pales in comparison to what I just mentioned.”
“Stop being so nagging like an old lady; you have no sense of boundaries.” Jima said, patting her backside, ready to fly away.
But her tail tightened, a tingling sensation running up her spine, causing Jima to fall to the ground. She turned her head to see George pulling her closer.
Jima looked up and saw George’s serious face as he said, “Jima, you can trust me. I always feel like you’re very resistant—”
“How boring.”
As Jima said this, she stood on her toes and pressed her cherry lips against his mouth, putting an end to the topic.
