Chapter 17: Taverns, Tantrums, and Failed Temptations

In a hidden clearing, George summoned his mount. It was a tall, magnificent warhorse, pure white from head to hoof, its holy barding already switched out for something less conspicuous. The horse’s shoulder was even taller than Gima, a fact she found deeply insulting. She needed George’s help just to get hoisted onto its back, her butt landing unceremoniously on the saddle.

At a fork in the road, a blurry, weather-beaten signpost, which had clearly been carved by an illiterate goblin, led them astray. Gima bounced uncomfortably on the horse's broad back for half a day, her insides turning to mush, and only after they managed to find a rare, smelly passerby did they realize they had gone completely the wrong way and had to turn back.

By the time the horse's iron-shod hooves finally clattered on the stone road of some backwater town, it was already late evening.

They came to one of the town’s only two taverns. It was a two-story, red-roofed stone building, surrounded by a low stone wall that looked like it had seen better, and much cleaner, days.

Pushing open the creaky wooden door, they were greeted by a wondrously complex, and instantly nauseating, aroma—a rich bouquet of stale vomit, old leather, and damp mildew that left a lasting and deeply unpleasant impression on the senses. The wooden floorboards underfoot were warped and buckled in several places, slick with unidentifiable liquids. Groups of grimy adventurers were huddled around sticky wooden tables, slurping down bread and watery turnip soup, the broth dripping from the corners of their mouths onto the scarred surfaces. Their clothes and armor were covered in a thick, caked-on layer of dirt, blood, and what Gima could only pray was mud.

Gima’s skin crawled with a thousand phantom bugs. She held her breath, fighting the overwhelming urge to turn around and flee back into the relative cleanliness of the wilderness. She desperately missed her magnificent Demon Lord’s palace, where the marble floors were so polished you could see your own reflection. It was so clean that even if she rolled around on the floor with a maid for half an hour, the maid’s long, white silk stockings would remain completely, immaculately spotless.

George, completely unfazed by the filth, strode directly to the bar like a man who had been born in a barn. A fat, past-her-prime tarven keeper behind the counter looked up, her tired eyes sweeping over the two of them. Her face immediately broke into her best, most professional, money-grubbing smile.

“Well now, what can I get for you, milord? A room for the night, or a hot meal?”

George remained silent, dutifully playing the part of a mute.

“We’ll take your best room,” Gima said, her voice dripping with an aristocratic disdain she didn’t have to fake. “And where is your stable boy? My master’s warhorse requires the utmost care and must be fed only the finest, most expensive oats.”

“That lazy little brat is slacking off again. Don’t you worry, I’ll go kick him out of bed in a minute,” the fat tarven keeper said, winking conspiratorially at Gima. “We have a fine room on the second floor. It’s got a bathtub and even a rug. Five silver a night. All the young lovers from the city like to stay in it for… privacy.”

George shook his head and held up two fingers.

“You want two rooms, milord?” the tarven keeper asked, her smile faltering slightly.

“No,” Gima said smoothly, “My master means that this room is far too cheap to be considered the ‘best.’ He wishes to pay double the price for double the service. The floors must be scrubbed until they shine, and there must not be a single speck of dirt on the walls, or my master will be most displeased.”

George turned his head and shot Gima a sharp, warning look. Gima pretended not to notice, admiring a particularly interesting stain on the ceiling.

The tarven keeper’s smile immediately became much more suggestive, as if she were looking at her long-lost first love who had just returned from the sea with a chest full of gold. “And will you be needing anything to eat, milord?”

Following George’s increasingly frantic hand signals, they ordered onion gravy, a roasted joint of meat, two slices of freshly baked bread, honey cakes, and a spring chicken with herbs for dinner. The total cost was one gold and six silver. The tarven keeper happily took the gold coin and bustled off. A moment later, the distinct sound of someone being violently kicked out of bed could be heard from upstairs.

After they finished dinner, the tarven keeper brought over a glass of fresh milk and handed it to Gima with a sly, knowing grin, winking at her again.

“A good girl like you needs to drink a lot of milk to grow up big and strong, if you know what I mean. By the way,” she leaned in closer, “I also have a special bottle of White Sand wine that I’ve been saving. It’s a very special vintage. Just a small glass will make your cheeks rosy red, and you won’t get drunk no matter how much you drink. It’s perfect for those looking for a bit of… hehe, romantic fun. The waiting list for a bottle is a year long. Two gold coins. Are you interested?”

George quickly waved his hand in refusal.

The tarven keeper’s smile didn’t falter. She continued her blatant sales pitch. “You foreigners must not have heard of the White Sand winery. Their wine doesn’t give you a hangover. It’s an aphrodisiac, you see…”

George waved his hand more forcefully, looking horrified.

“In my master’s homeland,” Gima chirped, “waving your hand like that means you enthusiastically agree.”

The hungry Gima had just spoken when she felt a sharp pain on her head. She looked up and saw George’s hand. Through the small eye-slits of his helmet, Gima could read his expression perfectly. It was the "I'm assigning you much, much more homework" look.

She immediately changed her tune. “But, you know, local customs… This gesture means no. Thank you for your very kind offer.”

The tarven keeper, still smiling, led the two of them up to the second floor and to their room.

The moment the door opened, they were greeted by the sight of a clean, tidy room. The wooden floor had been scrubbed clean, and the mildew stains had been carefully scraped away. Gima’s skin stopped itching. She felt the exhilarating relief of someone who had just escaped from a festering cesspool.

“Have a pleasant evening,” the tarven keeper said with a final, very suggestive wink, and closed the door.

Gima happily stomped all over the clean floor, leaving a trail of dusty footprints. She then picked up her tail and plopped down on the newly changed bedsheets. There was only one large bed in the room.

“Gima!” George said, finally taking off his bucket-helm and revealing his slightly green-tinged, motion-sick face. “My silence does not give you permission to spout such utter nonsense! You’re still young. Why is your head so full of… those things between men and women?”

Gima looked up, blinking her clear, innocent eyes. “I just wanted to stay somewhere nice. It was so disgustingly dirty downstairs.”

“Don’t change the subject! Did your inherited memories teach you all these... bad things?”

“Teach me what bad things?”

“Those… those lewd, erotic, and completely inappropriate things about male and female copulation!”

Gima continued to stare at him with wide, innocent eyes, shaking her head. “No, they didn’t teach me anything bad.” I was already bad to begin with, you damn virgin.

“Then you…”

“I was just curious about what the wine tasted like.” I really am curious about what a cheap, two-gold-coin wine that’s supposedly an aphrodisiac tastes like.

Every word Gima spoke was, technically, the truth. George’s expression softened considerably. “As a young lady, you must be more mindful of your reputation in the future. Don’t tarnish it.”

Although lecturing a succubus about her reputation was like lecturing an old prostitute about the importance of her virginity, George’s words were sincere, and his attitude was deadly serious.

Gima nodded, looking like a well-behaved student who had just been taught a valuable life lesson. Inwardly, she was sneering with the force of a thousand scornful suns.

Tsk, tsk. Don’t think I don’t understand, you damn virgin. You were actually enjoying it, weren’t you? Having a cute little beauty throw herself at you, making all those suggestive comments. You’re just not used to it, so you have to scold me on the surface to satisfy your fragile moral superiority. But deep down, you’re even more thrilled. I can smell it on you.

Gima was sure that George was already aroused. She planned to strike while the iron was hot. It was a bit shameful, but in the face of becoming stronger, a little shame was nothing.

“These clothes are so hot and stuffy,” she complained, pulling off the heavy hooded robe she was wearing, revealing her horns, wings, and tail. Gima was wearing a simple tank top and a pair of shorts underneath, her clean white tail swaying back and forth with a life of its own.

She happily tossed the robe onto the large bed, stretched languidly, her small, leathery wings extending to their full length with a soft fap. She then pulled her feet out of her leather boots, peeled off her socks to reveal her small, pale, and perfectly formed feet, and lay down on her side on the bed, rolling around playfully, making little “ooh” and “aah” sounds like a happy kitten. She looked just like a wild, playful little girl.

That’s right. Gima was selling her lewd service. No, wait, she was bearing a heavy, noble burden on the path to becoming stronger.

Her previous attempt at selling it had been far too blatant. If she continued to be so obvious, George would eventually figure it out. Winking, exposing forbidden places, showing large areas of skin—all too direct, too low-class, and too out of character for her current “innocent but curious” persona.

Gima believed that true seduction lay in being natural, in staying in character. It had to be reasonable and not abrupt. For a succubus who was on the “path to goodness,” taking off her stuffy clothes and rolling around on a clean bed just showed that she was lively and full of youthful energy, right? As for her tail wrapping around her leg, her pale, delicate feet, and the large, inviting bed… anyone who thought anything dirty about that was a huge, disgusting pervert.

Her lively display naturally attracted George’s attention.

Heh heh. Let me see how much lust you, you hypocrite, are generating, while you pretend to be so righteous on the outside.

Gima rolled across the bed until she was right next to George. Their eyes met. George’s eyes were as calm and still as a deep, unrippled well. Gima’s little nose twitched, sniffing the air. She could only smell the faintest, almost non-existent hint of peach fragrance. For her starving, cavernous stomach, that little bit of lust was equivalent to a single, sad potato chip.

“Remember that you have to memorize thirty-five pages today,” George said, completely unmoved.

The hopeful smile on Gima’s face instantly collapsed.

Her grand, masterful lewd-selling operation was a massive, catastrophic failure.

“Oh.”

Gima angrily got up from the bed, pulled the great, brainwashing tome of religious superstition from her backpack, and plopped down at the desk. She accidentally sat on her own tail, and the sharp pain made her grimace.

One unlucky thing after another.

She gritted her teeth, rearranged her tail, opened the book, and stared at the words on the page with a murderous glare.

George didn’t seem to notice her mood. He was busy with something behind her.

Gima managed to read through one soul-crushingly boring story in the book, her fingers gripping the cover so tightly she was tempted to just rip the whole thing into tiny, satisfying pieces and throw them into the fireplace.

What kind of bullshit story was this?! Why should the protagonist have to give all his money to the poor? He was poor himself! He gave away so much that he had to sell his own sword! He was a veteran, skilled in combat. Why didn't he just go rob someone to get the money? Even the author couldn’t stand it anymore and had him conveniently dig up a pot of gold for a forced, unsatisfying happy ending.

Gima’s little legs swung back and forth in agitation.

The thought of having to copy and memorize several of these bullshit stories made her already irritable mood even worse. Just then, her stomach contracted and let out a loud, insistent gurgle.

“Gima, are you hungry?”

It’s all thanks to you, you damn virgin.

“No, I’m full.”

“No, you’re not. You can tell me if something is wrong. Don’t worry about it.”

His words were filled with a persuasive, magical power. But Gima would rather die than tell him that she needed his lust.

Heh. With your brain completely washed by your stupid religion, if you knew the truth, you would never have a single lewd thought about me again. Out of a sense of heroic responsibility, you would probably just offer me your “chestnut-flavored liquid” in a cup. And even if this great Demon Lord has fallen so low, I would never, ever eat your “chestnut-flavored liquid”!

“My good brother, I really don’t want to talk about it.”

George didn’t press her further. Instead, he flipped through the book in his hands, 21 Days to a Well-Behaved Child: From Beginner to Expert. He was trying to find the reason for Gima’s mysterious unhappiness in the book.

Meanwhile, Gima was getting more and more restless under the torment of her gnawing hunger. The thought that she couldn’t activate her supernatural abilities without lust, that she couldn’t level up and become stronger, and that she would have to be bullied by George for the rest of her miserable life… the more she thought about it, the angrier she got.

This virgin must be made of stone! I’m a succubus, and I tried so hard to sell my lewd service! He’s a healthy young man, and he didn’t even get hard! As expected of a virgin. He must be a pathetic young man who can’t get it up! He’s probably broken!

He can’t even get it up himself, and he’s holding me back from getting stronger! It’s an unforgivable, heinous, and capital crime! When I get my revenge, I’ll have someone drain him dry, drain him until he bleeds!

If I can’t get any lust out of you, you damn virgin, do you think I can’t seduce other men?

She couldn’t sit still any longer. She slammed the book shut, jumped down from the chair, grabbed her hooded robe from the bed and put it on, and stomped towards the door.

“Gima.”

“What is it?” Gima immediately stopped in her tracks.

“Since you’re going out, could you ask for directions to Salem City?”

Gima was even more annoyed. “Okay, Master!”

With that, she slammed the door shut behind her.

“How strange. Gima is very irritable today.”

George muttered to himself, flipping through his book. His eyes lit up when he found a keyword, and he immediately began to read.

The page read: When a child is playing and is called to do chores, pray, eat their green beans, or other things children are unwilling to do, the child will often become irritable. If the child is unreasonably irritable and refuses to communicate, the following methods are very effective.

For a boy, pull down his pants and give him a good spanking on the bottom. He will become obedient.

For a girl, she is most likely on her period. If not, then a good spanking on the bottom will also make her obedient.

George nodded thoughtfully.