Chapter 265 Chapter 259 The Collective Strength of the People, Side by Side with the Divine (Double Update)
Beautiful Palace.
The chaos continued.
Gunfire occasionally echoed from outside.
But George remained oblivious.
Jima’s corpse had stopped bleeding, the open wound on her neck staring at him, her golden eyes dull, and her face devoid of expression. Her horns lay amidst the pool of blood, her fallen black hair immersed in it.
George reached out again, gently shook Jima, and asked softly, “Jima? Jima?”
Jima’s corpse lay with open eyes, motionless, quietly watching him.
Little Jiji beside them opened her mouth but then closed it again.
The communicator on George crackled, shouting: “Comrade George! Comrade George! What’s the situation over there? What’s happening?”
Little Jiji whispered, “Brother George…”
“I know.” George extended his hand to close Jima’s eyes, speaking into the communicator: “Jima is dead.”
“Dead?”
“I was too proud to take care of her, she crashed her neck onto my sword—”
“That means she committed suicide out of fear of her crime, how great!” An excited voice echoed from the communicator: “All of humanity has finally freed itself from her enslavement. I thank you on behalf of all humanity.”
George paused in silence: “Mm.”
“According to organizational regulations, you should now take a photo to thoroughly crush the ambitions of the America interest group. They’re still interfering with our efforts to eliminate the curse.”
“I will follow orders.”
“You sound tired. Fighting the demon king must be tough. Comrade, you need to rest well.”
“Yes, but I don’t want to hear your voice right now.”
George cut off the communication, which he usually paid heed to, but after disconnecting, he sat down on the floor with a plop, gripping his short hair with both hands.
“Brother…” Little Jiji said quietly, “You look older.”
“In a few years, I’ll be thirty, I’m no longer young.”
“I shouldn’t have thought too much of her,” Little Jiji said. “She was far more… resolute than I imagined.”
“You shouldn’t blame yourself. You were not wrong. It was us, especially me, who underestimated her.” George said: “Indulgence does not mean she had a weak will… but I… I…”
Suddenly, Jima’s mature and enchanting corpse ignited spontaneously. George jumped up, cradling the burning body, dashed out of the bedroom, and leaped off the balcony, where there was a fountain below to extinguish the flames.
But while he was still in midair, the body turned to black ashes, dispersing in the wind. George quickly reached out, trying to grasp the falling ashes, but they slipped away too decisively.
After landing, George let out a long sigh, opening his hands to let the remaining ashes fall from his palm. He sat beside the fountain, the canola flowers swaying in the adjacent garden, and occasional sounds of witches shrieking and screaming mingled with gunfire in the distance, along with a plump orange cat biting at his heels.
“Beep! Beep! Beep!”
The communicator issued an urgent alert.
George opened the communicator.
“Emergency notice! Emergency notice! A curse strike is detected on the way, the demon king seems to have revived! Approximately 420 kilometers from you, preparing for a blasphemy ritual, the Thunderclap is heading to your location!
“Please respond!”
George took a deep breath: “I will uphold my duty.”
“Rumbling…”
An armed transport plane from America, with four jet engines spewing blue flames, hovered above him.
…
…
About 420 kilometers away from the Beautiful Palace in the wilderness.
Jima appeared out of nowhere from the night sky, flapping her wings gracefully as she landed on the grass in the woods, the grass swaying because of her wings. Meanwhile, a bald giant crashed down onto the ground like a burst balloon.
Jima looked up, gazing at the American town situated beside the road in the distance.
“This area for confinement is too expansive, almost losing its meaning.”
So large that she entertained the thought of escaping to conduct guerrilla warfare. She believed she could flee outside this confined area with her wings and continue walking in the dreamscape. When avoiding George’s pursuit, she could strike at the leaders of various countries. George and his organization should yield and negotiate with her.
But she quickly dismissed the idea.
The witches had not been entirely captured yet; now was the best time to conduct a small-scale blasphemy ritual to activate her contingency plan.
Besides…
What kind of life is guerrilla warfare? It’s living like a rat in a sewer.
Jima tightened her grip on the axe handle, determined to defend her way of life.
Either living or succeeding. She didn’t want any other options.
“Come, my servants.”
Jima raised her hands, holding the axe-gun as if praying to the sun.
She used her ability to descend, which allows: “You can send an avatar or your main body to descend near your ‘Chosen One’ while calling upon your allies.”
In the past, this ability was used to summon witches to serve her. This was the first time she used it for battle.
More than twenty witches, confused and frightened, descended beside Jima. Some showed genuine smiles upon seeing her, while others looked worried, asking: “What’s the current situation, my master—”
“I escaped captivity by committing suicide, and now I have revived,” Jima said. “You are weak and can only stay by my side for about three hours. If I fail, I will definitely face true death, and you will lose all my blessings, lose your status, and end up in prison. If things go well, you can push the blame onto me and seek forgiveness through confession to avoid punishment.
“But if we succeed, I will turn the tide, and everything will return to how it was. So how do you choose?”
Some witches shouted: “To die for our master!”
The other beautiful witches followed suit, shouting in unison.
Jima stared at a few hesitant witches, saying: “I only want resolute witches. If you do not wish to fight with me, step forward. I will not blame you and will let you go.”
They looked at each other, and one timid witch stepped forward.
Jima raised her hand and dismissed her.
The remaining witches breathed a sigh of relief and stepped forward, and Jima dismissed them all as well, summoning a few witches as replacements.
“Alright, everyone prepare for the blasphemy ritual, gather at the top of this slope.”
“Yes, master.”
One witch with a petite figure, wearing a white dress and surrounded by ribbons, attempted to reach into her pocket when Jima’s gaze shifted away.
Jima immediately turned her head and exclaimed: “Stop!”
The witch in the white dress, ignoring her, strained her arm muscles, trying to press the trigger in her pocket, but her strength soon failed.
Jima almost teleported to her side, pulled out a finger-sized object, blinked, and divined: “A tracker? You are a traitor.”
The witch in the white dress shouted defiantly: “Demon king, you have always enslaved me, but now I have awakened! I am—”
Jima swiftly beheaded her with the axe, “Branch Axe-Gun” opening to reveal its fangs and tongue, eagerly consuming her blood.
Jima grabbed the tracker and hurled it away into the night sky, turning to the witches and saying: “Alright, now there are no more traitors.”
The witches were momentarily stunned, staring blankly at the dry corpse on the ground.
Jima said: “If you still linger here….”
Some witches shouted: “Hurry, prepare the ritual, sisters.”
More than twenty witches finally came to their senses, gathered at the slope’s summit, preparing for the blasphemy ritual, the moonlight casting a mysterious hue over them.
Jima brandished her “Branch Axe-Gun,” which cried out: “More, I need more blood! I’ve been thirsty for so long! Fifteen years!”
Jima patted the axe handle, saying: “You can drink the blood of the powerful later.”
She gazed at the beautiful witches under the moonlight and raised her hand, pointing at a witch wearing a black silk ribbon hat: “You, come here.”
“Master, is there something you need?”
Jima tossed a bottle of nail polish to her, which she caught. Jima raised her hand again, and the witch with the black ribbon happily lifted Jima’s hand, opened the red nail polish, and painted her nails.
There was still some time before the blasphemy ritual began. Jima opened her five fingers, and her phone landed in her palm. She swiped through her phone, noticing the public’s excitement on social media. They had even discussed rational and decent plans for the demon king’s atonement, and lawyers were drafting contracts to restrain Jima.
Jima realized she had been locked down; the heroic sacrifice of the traitor was truly meaningless. Even before her death, Jima sensed the satellites locking onto her position.
Therefore, she posted a message on social media:
“Seeing you all discuss excitedly, I want to ask you, do you prefer dried earthworms with durian flavor or dried earthworms with cilantro flavor?”
Then she scrolled through other social platforms, staring at her account’s post of the “Demon King Captured Image,” gripping her teeth as she translated and sent out that statement, tossing her phone aside.
“Whoosh! Whoosh!”
Somewhere in the night sky, two precision-guided missiles streaked across the dark, exploding in the distance on the hills.
The witches preparing for the ritual jolted, and Jima leaned against a tree, looking at her phone with a calm expression: “Don’t worry, they won’t hit us.”
Explosions flickered in the distance behind her.
“And I’m not worried about nuclear weapons being used. The Spark Organization’s infiltration into America isn’t that strong; nobody dares risk collateral damage to the nearby towns by deploying nuclear arms.”
Though the witches were unsure what the Spark Organization was, they cooled down completely after hearing Jima’s words and began the blasphemy ritual.
Jima raised her hand, blew on her red nail polish, and gripping the “Branch Axe-Gun,” proceeded elegantly to the center of the ritual among the witches.
The blasphemy ritual began.
Jima brewed her curse in her heart, uttering disordered incantations, her voice gradually syncing with the witches.
But just seconds after starting, a four-jet armed transport plane screeched in, a beam of light shot down from the several-hundred-meter-high aircraft, and its machine guns whirred into action, spewing flames that struck the woods a kilometer away from Jima, making a contribution to reclaiming land from the forest.
The light formed several words in front of Jima.
“You have lost! It’s not too late to stop now! Your trump card has already been revealed; it’s a man-portable anti-tank cannon!”
Jima was not surprised; it was the product of a fleeting idea from several years ago, the cannon had been dismantled from America’s main battle tanks, and the rounds were depleted uranium penetrators that needed much modification, involving numerous participants, so secrecy was impossible.
Jima’s lips slightly curved up, her incantation did not halt as she kept chanting, her eyes fixed on the woods hundreds of meters away.
A shining figure rapidly approached, wary of the hidden anti-tank cannon and using light to hide its form, disrupting its lock-on.
Jima guessed that he would use “Light Charge” to close in next. What was that charge range? One hundred meters? Two hundred meters? He bore the power of the law, which should make him far stronger than in the original world.
“Bang! Bang!”
Two large-caliber bullets surged toward her, just as they touched Jima.
Jima immediately used “Doll Replacement,” chanting a spell as she appeared in midair.
“You lost! Jima, stop chanting. At this distance, I can close in on you in an instant.” George flapped his wings of light, adorned in plate armor, moving erratically within a hundred meters of Jima.
“And your trump card is on a little slope three hundred meters away.”
What an arrogant man, clearly drawing his holy sword, pointing his blade at me, yet he had no intention of killing me but was attempting to talk his way out. He must have great confidence in himself, how ridiculous.
Jima stared at him, enunciating her curse word by word.
He spoke quickly: “It’s meaningless! Such a small-scale blasphemy ritual, we have long been able to crack it.”
Jima continued her incantation in response.
George, seeming resigned, turned into a flash of light rushing at Jima.
But Jima, flying in the air, merely raised her finger and spat out her venomous words: “Curse!”
The power of the curse surged through the strong medium known as Little Jiji, invading the soul wound opening on George’s back.
He transformed from light to human mid-air, letting out a muffled groan before crashing to the ground. Bright red blood mixed with golden droplets dripped from his silver armor; his back appeared to have been blasted, creating a hole.
Little Jiji materialized beside him, exclaiming: “Brother!”
How could this be possible? Clearly, George was a higher level than Jima; why did the curse easily harm him?
“Fire!”
A flash of fire surged three hundred meters away.
But George anticipated it; he braced himself, suppressing the vile curse, bellowing: “Holy Shield Technique!”
While simultaneously moving his body.
A semi-transparent arc-shaped light shield several meters thick appeared at his side.
Non-magical objects rarely harmed an extraordinary being of his caliber. However, this depleted uranium penetrator was enchanted, inscribed with dark runes.
It struck the Holy Shield Technique, momentarily slowing down, pressing into the shield before ultimately grazing past George.
Jima reached out to Little Jiji, using her as a strong medium, and shouted: “Freeze!”
More malicious power surged into George’s body, pouring out black smoke from his limbs, his soul wound bursting, leaving him temporarily immobilized.
Almost simultaneously, Jima called over the bald giant to her side. Once he appeared, his cannon swung toward George’s unprotected chest, startling him as he turned his Holy Shield Technique around while sending out a white blade.
“Boom!”
This armor-piercing round operated similarly to a blow dart, only it possessed horrifying kinetic energy. It forcefully penetrated George’s protective blessings and various abilities, drilling into his armor…
It passed through.
The enchanted depleted uranium round zipped through George’s chest and heart, knocking down several trees behind him, splattering molten metal and blood. This angelic warrior fell to the ground, his wings dropping, the camera on his shoulder tilted skyward.
The bald giant hoisted the cannon, looking hefty and seemingly top-heavy, with the majority of the barrel resting on the ground.
“Brave man, as long as you die, it will suffice!”
Jima continued presiding over the ritual, gazing unemotionally at George lying a hundred meters away.
“Stop! Jima!”
Little Jiji stood in front of the fallen George, arms spread wide, crying out: “You love each other, so why kill each other?”
Poor Little trap.
“Loving each other?” Jima remarked as she threw the “Branch Axe-Gun” at George: “He knows my true nature.”
The bald giant, clad in titanium black armor, leaped up, reaching out to catch the “Branch Axe-Gun” in midair, transforming it into a massive sword.
“Roar!!!”
The bald giant roared, making a downward strike aimed at the injured George.
“No!”
Little Jiji futilely blocked in front of the bald giant, but the giant’s speed was too quick; one sword struck downwards toward George.
“Thud!”
A tremendous sound erupted like an explosion.
George suddenly stood up, wielding the holy sword to precisely clash against the bald giant’s weaker blade, deflecting it.
Such terrifying vitality, even a cockroach would kneel in submission. Even though the depleted uranium penetrator had passed through him, the kinetic energy it carried upon entry created shockwaves capable of pulverizing carbon-based life forms within the realm of reason.
Jima commanded the bald giant to launch an attack, aiming to make every blow deadly. Wielding the dual swords with both hands, he swung at incredible speed. In just ten seconds, they exchanged dozens of attacks.
George displayed swordsmanship that could be deemed great, but due to his severe injuries, he struggled to kill the bald giant.
“Holy Slash!”
A flash of white light flickered.
A burn scar appeared across the bald giant’s face, but that was all.
Jima continued the ritual as George attempted to initiate “Light Charge,” but the bald giant interrupted him with overpowering dark force.
George retreated a few dozen meters, raising his hand to shout: “All good people, please donate your strength to me, to help complete my just cause…”
Jima sensed the terrifying power, saying: “I have deliberately destroyed your camera.”
But it seemed ineffective; George somehow shared his vision.
Orbs of light rained down like a meteor shower, adhering to George, healing his wounds and amplifying his strength.
What new trick was this?
Jima squinted; in the shards of light, it almost seemed she saw many people?
“Jima, I’m sorry,” George said: “From now on, there’s no turning back between us. I borrow the strength of the many to act justly… everyone is watching us.”
Jima displayed a cold smile.
Clearly, the advantage lay with her, yet why did George remain so arrogant? Did he truly believe he would win? Did he really have to throw himself into prison, seeking perfection?
But given such terrifying power, Jima decided to negotiate: “I want to enjoy life; you want to save the world. I could give you the crown fragment and sign some agreement. I could relinquish America’s transcendent political status; you do well, I do well, everyone does well—can’t we do that?”
The bald giant ceased attacking, showing his willingness to negotiate.
“No! No!”
“Kill her!”
A chorus of voices echoed from the light surrounding George, blending together.
George stated: “I can’t let down everyone who trusts me. Unless you promise to never retaliate against anyone, at least do not curse others online.”
“Not possible.”
“Then it’s impossible for me; I must fulfill my duty.”
Public opinion, huh? Jima’s mind started scheming.
George seemed to sense her plot, saying: “Don’t waste your time cursing; you can’t harm the people behind me.”
“Maybe I haven’t laid out the terms with you properly.” Jima flicked her hair: “You know my true form; I’m disgusting, right? But look at Little Jiji, she’s innocent, she’s kind, she’s everything good. She can fulfill your sense of mission to save others, though it’s essentially the same as a client saving a fallen woman’s psyche.
“I can turn her from a puppet into a real person.”
George replied, “Isn’t Little Jiji your cast-off humanity?”
“She just thinks so,” Jima replied. “She was crafted from part of my flesh, alongside a vast power of myth and lies, combined with a curse, specifically designed as a trap for you. It can stimulate your soul wound; you could say her parts are composed of your soul wound.”
“You would prefer to believe she’s a succubus who can be redeemed, an aspect of my lost humanity, making this lie seem more real, leading you straight into the trap.”
Thus, Little Jiji served as Jima’s strong medium and George’s strong medium, directly connected to the soul wound, which made the earlier curse particularly effective.
George exclaimed: “No… no!”
Little Jiji murmured: “So… am I fake?”
“Of course. You were conjured into existence solely to fulfill this hero’s psychological need,” Jima spoke with a cold, cutting tone: “Who else could embody such cuteness, beauty, and fragility, yearning for redemption, yet understanding, and also being a succubus?”
George gripped the sword hilt: “Jima!”
“So, how about this price?” Jima asked: “I give you the crown fragment, you can return to save the world, and you’d also have a well-behaved little succubus beside you; this would be a first in history. I can sign some agreements on account of your strength, allowing me to be a bit hypocritical.”
Before George could respond.
The millions—no, billions—of people witnessing everything through “live broadcast” began to doubt and become agitated.
“You liar!”
“Don’t waver! She’s lying!”
“Kill her, hurry up and kill her!”
Jima tilted her head, stating: “You can lie detection, you know I’m not lying. And let me remind you that even with the power of billions behind you, do you really believe you can kill me?”
Little Jiji suddenly said: “Kill me, brother. I can’t hold you back any longer.”
“Tsk, what a well-designed trap,” Jima complimented. “Voluntary death makes it all the more difficult for the hero to strike.”
Little Jiji retorted, furious: “I am sincere!”
“Sincerity in seeking death stirs empathy even more,” Jima smiled: “But the distant crowd feels no sympathy for you.”
“Kill that baggage!”
“What’s the hero doing? What’s he doing? Knowing she’s the trap, yet hesitating, is this a trick?”
“Must be captivated by her beauty.”
“You called us to help, provoking war with the demon king, yet you stall here!”
“Her face looks like a typical green tea bitch! What’s worth pitying about a green tea?”
Jima listened contently to these shouts, saying: “Which one will you choose, hero? To sacrifice this pitiful little trap in order to defeat evil? Or compromise and return in glory, being the savior?”
Little Jiji intended to encourage George but worried it would make him hesitant.
George trembled, pulling off his helmet and said: “I’m sorry, everyone.”
It seemed his adherence to justice also had its limits.
The cold smile on Jima’s face widened.
More beams of light descended upon him like feathers, his holy sword lightning-fast; with one thrust, it pierced Little Jiji’s chest.
Little Jiji raised her hand as if wanting to embrace George, struggling to show a gentle smile as she said: “Brother, don’t feel guilty… I merely embrace my inevitable fate.”
With that, she transformed into a cluster of light points, vanishing without a trace.
So fast, so decisive, it was so decisive that even Jima felt regret. Why not say a few more words?
If only to drag it out until the blasphemy ritual concluded, they were so close to success.
The light feathers clung to George, cloaking his helmet; he now appeared as an unyielding steel butcher, the voice of righteous authority resounded from behind the mask:
“Demon king! You have always scorned all beings, calling them bugs and ants! Trampling their lives and dignity.” The holy sword pointed directly at Jima: “But the power of billions of ants, when gathered together, can stand side by side with the divine!”
Authority notwithstanding, his voice lacked the essence of his own soul.
Jima’s golden eyes turned utterly indifferent: “Just puppets of the masses.”
“Boom!”
The long-hidden second anti-tank cannon suddenly launched a surprise attack, the shell traveling faster than sound.
Let’s see if the power of billions of ants can withstand a depleted uranium penetrator.
Jima’s golden eyes narrowed.
But the firelight from the cannon’s muzzle was far quicker than the shell.
George turned around, and the holy sword managed to cleave through the enchanted depleted uranium penetrator, dashing toward Jima in an instant.
But by then, the blasphemy ritual had already succeeded, and the black curse energy swarmed out in all directions.
