Chapter 27: Sweet Surrender

“I’m so sorry!”

In the blink of an eye, George had grabbed the paralyzed, whimpering woman in black dress and dragged her out of the room, slamming the door shut with a resounding bang.

The entire room was left with only Gima, standing in a state of shock and utter humiliation. From outside the door, she could hear the muffled sounds of their frantic conversation.

Gima finally snapped out of her daze, her mind a tangled, chaotic, and deeply mortified mess.

I just screamed like a girl. Like a common, frightened maiden. And I was wearing slutty clothes designed specifically to please men, and the damn virgin saw everything. EVERYTHING.

Gima’s already shattered manly dignity was trampled upon once more, ground into a fine, humiliating powder, and then scattered to the four winds.

In the mirror, Gima’s little face was flushed crimson, a pretty pink blush spreading all the way down her neck, her expression a perfect picture of shame and indignation.

I look just like a little girl who was accidentally walked in on by her crush. But the thing is, I want to tear him into a million bloody, screaming pieces!

Gima thought this and shot a fierce, murderous glare at the little succubus in the mirror, trying her absolute best to put on a terrifying, demonic expression.

Unfortunately, no matter how hard she tried, she just looked incredibly, frustratingly adorable, like she was pouting.

For the first time in her long and storied life, she had the overwhelming urge to cover her face in shame. She raised her trembling hands and pressed them against her hot cheeks. The sound of her molars grinding together was sharp and grating in the silent room. 

“Hero,” she whispered, her voice a low, venomous hiss, “you… will… die!”

She would remember this humiliation. She would carve it into her very soul. A gentleman’s revenge can wait ten years. Of course, the main reason was that she had to wait ten years for her revenge. Otherwise, she would have gladly been a villain, since a villain’s revenge is served from morning till night, with no breaks for lunch.

Furious and ashamed, Gima viciously cursed George and anyone even remotely associated with him in her heart. Only then did she feel slightly, marginally better.

“At least,” Gima muttered to herself, trying to find a silver lining in this cloud of absolute degradation, “my resolve for revenge is even stronger now. I absolutely, positively, without a shadow of a doubt, have to kill him.”

With that, she took a sniff of the air.

Mmm, it smells so good! The fragrance of peaches, rich and powerful, filled the room. This scent was even more delectable than before, and not at all overpowering. It was a premium vintage.

Saliva instantly flooded her mouth, and Gima had to swallow hard. She immediately began to absorb the rich energy.

It was so thick, so full of fragrance. It felt like she had taken a bite of a soft, perfectly ripe peach, the sweet, intoxicating juice bursting between her teeth and flooding her senses.

Her mood improved considerably. After the last wisp of lust entered her stomach, she patted her flat belly and muttered to herself with the air of a satisfied connoisseur:

“Tsk, tsk. I never thought you were into such low-brow stuff, you damn virgin. You actually got a reaction just from seeing a scantily clad loli get soaked. Tsk, tsk, tsk.”

Should I just buy this set? Every night, I’ll wear only this and jump around in front of George. It seems to be his kryptonite.

Gima’s face grew a little hot again. She looked at herself in the mirror, as white and helpless-looking as a little lamb.

No, that won’t do. He’ll develop a tolerance, an aesthetic fatigue. It’s like when I saw that 2B character in my past life. I was absolutely stunned at first, but later on, my heart was as still as a deep well. Besides, I’m not even sure if it was my going commando that aroused him, or the accidental splashing, or if it requires a specific combination of both.

I’m just approaching my revenge from a more rational, scientific angle. It’s not because I think it’s too shameful… definitely not.

Having thoroughly convinced herself, Gima immediately put on her clothes, choosing a gauze skirt with a longer, more elegant hemline and a pair of classic black stockings. Of course, this time, she made absolutely, positively sure to put on her underwear first.

Looking at the little succubus in the sleeveless gauze skirt in the mirror, Gima tied a silk ribbon around her fair arm and put on her hat. She looked much more proper now. Because the skirt was longer, it only revealed her calves, and her tail could wrap more comfortably, and perhaps more suggestively, around her thigh.

She nodded in satisfaction.

“This is much better. It suits the artsy youth George’s high-class aesthetic. And it’s also more conducive to creating a sense of alluring contrast. A slutty bitch showing her thighs and a cold, aloof, untouchable beauty showing her thighs have completely different levels of lethality.”

Half an hour later, George had spent a staggering forty gold coins to buy Gima four complete sets of clothes, including matching underwear for each.

“I know some of the most famous tailors in Salem City,” the woman in black dress purred. “These clothes are still a little ill-fitting. It’s a pity for your girl not to wear custom-made clothes. Would you like to consider it, milord? For a small fee, of course.”

After the woman had learned that Gima was a succubus, she had become more and more enthusiastic, practically vibrating with greed. In her eyes, George must be a big shot from an ancient and incredibly wealthy family. Otherwise, how could he possibly have a succubus as a personal “servant”?

“Not at the moment.”

George just wanted to get out of there with the now mysteriously silent Gima as quickly as possible.

“Please come again!”

The beautiful woman bowed enthusiastically as she saw them off. For some reason, Gima felt as if she were being sent off at her own funeral.

Outside the shop, the street was relatively quiet. Gima turned her face towards George, her eyes on the “Salem City Special Industry Street” at the corner in the distance, wishing she could see the lively and charming young ladies again. If she had the chance, she would love to go back and relive the exquisite experience of "twin sisters personal bathing service."

George looked at Gima’s profile. He felt deeply that his reckless, brutish behavior had left a permanent shadow on Gima’s pure, innocent heart. She didn’t even dare to look at him now. After all, she was just a girl who was a little over a week old.

“Gima,” George called softly.

“Hmm?” Gima didn’t turn her head, still immersed in her flowery, naked memories.

“I’m sorry. I was reckless. I hope you can…” George didn’t know what to say. He struggled for a moment. “I… I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”

Gima turned her head and looked at George’s genuinely apologetic face. For a second, she almost thought that George had actually done the deed and had his way with her.

“It’s really nothing.”

George breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“But, I…” Just then, a hesitant, vulnerable expression appeared on Gima’s face.

“What? You can say anything to me.”

“I only have one question.” Gima turned her face away, her little face flushing a faint pink from the unharmonious images that were still flashing through her mind. “I just want to ask… do you think I’m… wanton? After all, I was wearing such shameful clothes.”

George quickly, and vehemently, said, “No! Of course not! It wasn’t your fault, it was mine. The clothes on your body don’t say anything about your morals. Only your actions do.”

“I only care about your opinion,” Gima said softly, her voice barely a whisper.

George’s heart moved. He said slowly, his voice full of sincerity, “Absolutely not. In my eyes, you have always been, and will always be, a pure, innocent little girl.”

Gima smiled slightly, a dazzling, radiant smile that revealed her small, white canines and seemed to dispel the gloomy shadows from her face. She hugged the greatsword tightly and said with a happy skip in her step, “My master, let’s go a little faster!”

George’s heart warmed, and he quickened his pace.

Hehe. I’m so damn clever.

Gima was secretly, immensely delighted.

The two of them took a small boat back to the inn.

At the inn, they met a merchant who was staying in the room next door. After a simple, and very boring, social exchange, they entered their private room. It was already late afternoon.

After returning from the clothing store, Gima was in an exceptionally cheerful mood.

Gima sat on a chair, holding a pencil and quickly, almost happily, copying her book. The desk was full of brain-dead, mind-numbing books that encouraged people to be good, but in Gima’s eyes, they now looked much more pleasant. She had harvested a big belly of lust, and her small body felt full and satisfied. Gima had a great sense of accomplishment, the kind of pure, unadulterated happiness you get in a video game when you finally fill up a half-empty mana bar.

The chair was a little too high for her. She had kicked off her slippers, and her black-stockinged legs swung back and forth playfully.

Before long, she took a slight sniff and smelled the faint, but unmistakable, peach fragrance in the air.

George must have been moved when he saw this scene just now. He’s getting turned on by my cute, swinging legs!

Gima unhesitatingly absorbed it all into her stomach, assessing the taste and quantity. It was enough to satisfy her daily needs. In other words, she had escaped from the brink of starvation and was now living a comfortable, well-fed life.

It hadn't been easy. Gima sniffled a little, feigning emotion. As it turns out, stockings are indeed a woman’s best and most powerful weapon.

That evening, George held The Sermon Guide and checked Gima’s homework. He nodded, impressed. “Very good. Only a few minor mistakes. And you memorized five extra pages. I’ll add three points for you.”

Seeing George take out his little notebook and, right in front of her, solemnly cross out the -9 and write a new, much more respectable number, -4, Gima stood on her tiptoes. She estimated that she would have to fight for at least a week to exchange for a single day of freedom. The extra two points, she noted, were for good conduct.

But Gima wasn't in a hurry. Because for now, she didn’t even know how much the potion materials cost, or if they were even available for purchase in this city.

“Also, we have a problem now.”

George sat at the table and pulled out a much flatter, much sadder-looking money pouch from his backpack. He untied the opening, and the metal coins clattered onto the table. There were yellow, silver, and copper coins, a pitifully, tragically small number.

Gima climbed onto the chair and sat down. She counted thirteen gold, ten silver, and twenty-three copper.

Their daily living expenses were nearly one gold coin for the two of them. Gima estimated that in less than half a month, they would have to scurry out of this nice inn to get their deposit back.

“Uh, should I pitch in some money?” Gima asked.

Yesterday, when they had run into the soldiers, Gima had looted some gold coins from them. George, in his infinite generosity, had given her ten gold coins. She now had ten gold and seven silver, making her, at this moment, significantly wealthier than the great hero.

“No need. I’ll find some work first,” George said with heroic determination. “Looking for work at the Adventurer’s Guild should fit the character of a Bartonian errant knight, right?”

“Well, actually…” Gima hesitated.

“If you have something to say, just say it.”

“Never mind. I’m not too sure either,” Gima said, changing her tune when she saw she had piqued George’s curiosity. “It’s normal for a Bartonian knight to travel and accept contracts as an adventurer. But the Adventurer’s Guild… I don’t think it’s suitable for you.”

It was definitely not suitable. When Gima was a Demon Lord, she had also experienced the services of the Adventurer’s Guild and had been very, very disappointed.

First of all, the Adventurer’s Guild was not a unified, professional organization. It was organized by the local adventurers and was essentially no different from a tanner’s guild, a blacksmith’s guild, and so on. There was no unified quest rating system. The good, high-paying quests were always given to familiar faces first, not to newcomers. In a sense, the Adventurer’s Guild was more like a corrupt, nepotistic social networking organization.

“I see,” George said. “Well, I’ll have to go take a look tomorrow anyway.”

“You haven’t experienced it before?”

“I’m usually introduced by someone,” George said. “If that doesn’t work, I’ll just look at the public notice board.”

The next day, and the day after that, Gima held George’s sword as they ran around for two days without much success.

The first time, the Adventurer’s Guild required George to pay a five-gold-coin membership fee and promised to give him a “novice quest.” The so-called novice quest was to go into the wine cellar of a fancy hotel and clear out the big, oversized rats.

After some tense negotiation, the receptionist was finally convinced that George was a battle-hardened knight. She promised that as long as he paid ten gold, she would introduce him to a high-paying quest to hunt down runaway slaves. For the sake of justice, George refused and could only turn and leave in disgust.

Finally, George found a quest to clear out the kobolds in the city sewers from an inconspicuous, dusty corner of the public notice board.

Gima also finally got a chance to be alone. On the pretext that “the sewers are far too dirty and smelly, and I’ll only be a burden to you,” and promising that she would absolutely, positively not sneak out to play, she stayed behind at the inn to “take care of” George’s warhorse.

She patiently waited for George to be gone for a full hour, then put on her hooded cloak, preparing to sneak out of the inn and finally get some real work done.