Chapter 88 Chapter 87 Provocation
The green liquid has already flooded the potted plant, corroding the withered leaves. The potted plant toppled into the green liquid, and soon, its branches and leaves softened and wilted.
Jima and her companion stood on the stairs, the green liquid had already reached the first step. There were only ten steps in total.
Jima had activated the “Eyes of Desire,” scanning her surroundings. But besides George, she saw no one else’s desire. She wondered how New Delhi monitored this prison.
A pleasant voice came from the copper pipe:
“Still calmly thinking about using extraordinary power to break the stalemate, heh heh, just wait until the water spreads to your neck, then you’ll see how calm you remain. I’ll enjoy my curry rice first and slowly watch you die.”
After saying that, the copper pipe emitted a creepy “smacking” sound.
Jima looked up, her gaze pierced through the ceiling to see seven colorful clouds that were still growing, indicating that more and more people were nearby.
If she used “Group Provocation,” New Delhi must be within the influence range.
Thinking this, Jima faced the copper pipe and said her first line to New Delhi:
“Did you grow up eating shit? You can eat shit-like curry so deliciously.”
As she spoke, in front of George, Jima used her thumb to tease the light green cloud above her head, symbolizing rage. She used her thumb instead of her habitual pinky to avoid exposing herself in front of George and to maintain the image of a “well-behaved succubus.”
On the other side.
Hearing Jima’s provocation, New Delhi was consumed by a surge of anger that rushed to her head.
How dare she say such rude things about delicious curry!
“She’s provoking me, provoking me…” New Delhi muttered to herself, trying to calm down.
Though New Delhi believed the other party was slandering her delicious curry, a surge of anger was boiling up within her, challenging her rationality.
She barely held back her emotions and forced a calm tone as she chuckled:
“Hahaha, don’t think I don’t know you’re using the provocation tactic; an eight-year-old would do it better than you. Just wait for your sour mouth to be drowned in it.”
“Do you really think that pile of shit you made is delicious? If we didn’t need you just now, who would listen to your bragging? Your mom gave birth to a dung beetle, and it eats shit so deliciously. I regret flattering you and abandoning my conscience to praise your crappy curry.”
Calm down, calm down…
Although New Delhi’s forehead was throbbing with anger, wanting nothing more than to stab Jima in the face with a spoon, she still managed to emit a laugh as if she had heard a joke:
“Hahahaha, you’ve made me laugh to death.”
At that moment, George spoke, offering a fair evaluation:
“This curry rice looks and tastes like you ate super spicy hot pot and had diarrhea, and to save food, you scooped it up with your hands and splashed it on white rice. I’d rather eat bugs than this curry rice!”
This harsh truth was forceful and instinctively believable, crashing into New Delhi’s ears like a hammer, shattering her old perceptions.
As George finished speaking, Jima heard the sound of cutlery smashing against a table behind the copper pipe.
She shouted:
“Are you angry or not?”
“You’re looking for death! I’ll use magic to tear you to pieces!”
At that moment, New Delhi wanted nothing more than to smash the chair into those two hateful faces to vent her rage.
Before long, Jima saw New Delhi’s face appear behind the high shooting hole, followed by a flash of purple light. A glowing magical missile screamed out from behind the hole, arcing through the air, smashing towards Jima’s face.
George shielded Jima, and she only heard a few crisp sounds. Then George bent down, his knees buckled, and he leaped straight towards the shooting hole.
“Ha, do you think I’m as stupid as you?!”
The roaring retort echoed, and the stagnant air in the “indoor garden” suddenly began to stir. A strong wind swept through the room, howling, and the plants that had fallen into the water were lifted up, nearly blowing Jima off the steps and into the water.
Jima quickly crouched down, pressing one hand on her hat; facing the wind, she lifted her face and saw George’s figure being blown away, missing the shooting hole by at least seven or eight meters.
New Delhi’s laughter mixed with the howling wind. Then, George’s back suddenly glowed, transforming into a body made of white light, hurtling towards the shooting hole at an astonishing speed, leaving a trail of light on Jima’s retina.
Jima blinked; there was no trace of George in the indoor garden anymore.
So this is how a paladin performs a rush attack; it looks so cool.
The wind grew stronger, and cautious Jima lay on the steps; her feet were already touching the green water. She was just a weak girl, unable to bathe in lava or scrub herself in sulfuric acid.
Her eyes fixated on the shooting hole, where cries mixed with the wind’s roar. She didn’t care whether New Delhi lived or died; she only worried about whether George could save her.
One minute, two minutes; the wind began to subside, but the green water had already flooded the seventh step.
Jima’s back pressed against the boulder, her heart raced, and she started to regret her decision.
It would have been better not to provoke New Delhi; at least in death, she’d have George accompanying her. Damn, that George guy, quite adept at stabbing me, but why wasn’t he pulling through to save me?
Cursing inwardly, Jima heard a few “thuds” as the wall quaked. She looked up to see the shooting hole blasted open, creating a half-person-high hole. George, clad in armor, stuck his head out, holding a short spear he must have found, shouting:
“Jima, don’t move!”
With that, he lifted his hand, and the spear shot through the wind like a shadow, grazing Jima’s calf before embedding itself in the step.
Jima, startled, pressed her body against the boulder.
“Quick, grab the rope!”
Tied to the spear was a makeshift rope made of fabric that stretched diagonally across most of the garden, tightened by the wind.
The green water had now reached the eighth step. Jima felt no fear; she jumped up, using both hands to grasp her body, clenching her legs together, climbing upwards with all her might.
The rope swayed, causing Jima to panic as she felt the spear securing it wobble too.
With her middle school-level knowledge of triangles, she knew if the spear fell, she would swing towards the wall, which was not a big deal. The problem was, her legs would submerge in the green water, traversing across much of the garden.
Jima climbed harder, grasping the rope knot. But after climbing less than two meters, the spear fell from the step. She panicked, swinging towards the wall, the green water pressing against her, and she felt her toes getting wet, the next moment could bring searing pain.
Her wings, constrained by her clothing, instinctively flailed. She opened her mouth and shouted, “Pull the rope!”
The rope suddenly pulled up sharply, lifting Jima, and she saw George quickly pulling the rope upwards.
At that moment, her toes began to burn, and without hesitation, Jima lifted her leg, using her other hand to remove her little shoe, tossing it aside.
But just then, the makeshift rope filled with malice suddenly snapped.
The most terrifying sensation of weightlessness spread through her body.
It’s over, I’m going to die!
She screamed, completely losing her reason, shouting:
“George!!!”
With all her might, she reached upward, five fingers fully stretched.
Almost at the same time as Jima yelled, an iron hand firmly grasped her palm, bringing her comfort. Her elbow was pulled painfully, and she slammed against the wall.
With one strong pull, George lifted the already light Jima all at once; he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back into the hole.
Once Jima managed to steady herself, her heart raced in her chest, and she felt a pain in her forehead; wiping it revealed a smear of blood. She must have hit her head against the wall.
She tried to take a step, but a piercing pain shot through her toes. Looking down, she extended her skirt and saw that her right foot, clad in white stockings, had the toenail of her big toe half-blackened and still bleeding.
“I’m injured.”
No sooner had she spoken than George knelt down, reaching for Jima’s foot. A few drops of green water fell onto her white stockings at her calf, corroding them and leaving several holes that exposed her tender skin.
Jima lifted her foot, standing on her tiptoes atop George’s palm.
She caught a faint scent of peach blossoms, a smile appearing at the corner of her lips. Hehe, a pervert who’s tempted by my feet.
George’s hand radiated white light, the familiar warmth flowing through her toes. A warmth rose from her soles, ticklish, igniting a flame in her lower belly, causing her cheeks to heat up as she turned her head away.
This weak and troublesome body must be hungry again; just a little “Group Provocation” and here we are, so weak.
Her toes healed, and George stood up.
Jima said, “Thank you.”
Looking down, she assessed New Delhi lying on the ground. After such a short separation, Jima almost didn’t recognize her. She had a black eye, blood streaming from her nose over her swollen face, looking like someone who had tried repeatedly to assault an irritable female donkey. She was completely naked except for a pair of dignity-preserving boxers.
Seeing the one who almost got her killed, Jima felt a surge of anger.
She said, “Bad person.”
Raising her foot, she tried to kick her down.
“Jima, we don’t have time!”
George grabbed Jima’s hand, pulling her away.
He was right; hurried footsteps echoed throughout the room. Furthermore, George was still unarmed.
Jima stepped barefoot onto the dusty floor. She reached for her head and, as expected, found her hat had already been blown away by the wind. Thankfully, there was still a hood, which she put on.
“Jima, do you remember where the servant placed the sword?” George asked.
“I remember, in the room to the right at the first-floor entrance.”
The ground floor entrance was crowded right now.
“I need to get a weapon first.”
Though retrieving a weapon meant confronting the reinforcements from Shalin City head-on, without a weapon, a warrior’s combat effectiveness would be greatly reduced.
“Go ahead.”
As soon as Jima finished speaking, she saw George kick open a door beside them, then shut it behind him. It was a dusty bedroom with a bed in the middle. George walked over, bent down, picked up the bed, and blocked the door closely behind it. He then brought over a wardrobe, securing it tightly.
“Wait here for me; I’ll get the weapon and come back for you.”
With that, he dashed toward the window.
“Don’t!” Jima instinctively reached for his hand, “I can protect myself.”
George paused, about to persuade Jima.
Suddenly, the blocked door exploded open, a crimson flame scattering everywhere, charred fragments ascending amidst the smoke and shooting out around.
“No!”
Jima heard George’s powerless roar, and she turned her head just in time to see dozens of smoking wooden splinters hurtling toward her.
