Chapter 3: My Cheat System?

After being “rescued” by George, Gima silently followed him out of the secret chamber.

The corridor beyond was pristine, clean of everything but a layer of dust. The epic scene she had imagined—a glorious, hundred-round battle between George and her loyal retainers, the tunnel littered with their mangled corpses—was conspicuously absent.

The answer was as obvious as it was infuriating: betrayal. Even with soul contracts, if another Demon Lord or some other powerful entity had interfered at the moment of her death, the contracts wouldn't have stood a chance.

Betrayal was, of course, the demonic way of life.

But she was still indignant. She had treaties with several other Demon Lords! All she had ever wanted was to live out her days in peace with her maids, to be a harmless “shut-in Demon Lord.” Was that too much to ask?

Gima opened her mouth, wanting to grill George on how he’d found this place. But she quickly closed it. A newborn succubus would have no way of knowing such top-secret demonic business.

They emerged from the burned-out husk of the Demon Lord’s castle.

Gima and George, each on horseback, traveled along a winding path through the blackened, desolate wilderness. In the distance, the dark, ruined castle on the mountain—her former home—grew smaller and smaller.

Time, she learned, had passed much faster than she’d thought. According to George, nearly half a year had gone by since he’d “defeated” the Demon Lord. Which meant Gima’s thirty NTR flags had all been delivered and were now sitting squarely, and quite unfashionably, on her head.

“The Demon Lord was a truly lecherous man,” George reminisced, completely unprompted. “I was so incensed by his casual evil that I paid a great price to slay him with a single, decisive blow. After the battle, my own power dropped a full level. People often ask me if I regret it.”

“To be honest,” he said with a thoughtful look, “sometimes I do. Because the Demon Lord wasn't as strong as I thought he’d be.”

Beside him, Gima, who was pretending to listen with rapt attention, silently clenched her tiny fists so hard her knuckles turned white.

A heroic smile then bloomed on George’s face. “But then I think, if I hadn't gone all out from the start and the Demon Lord had sensed something was wrong and escaped, how many more innocent women would have suffered? I would have regretted that even more.”

Gima’s face twitched violently. The desire for bloody, brutal revenge churned in her chest like a pot of boiling acid. She forced a sweet, angelic smile and handed him a freshly printed "Nice Guy" card.

“Mas—George, you really are a good person.”

George just smiled, accepting the compliment as his due. “Gima, what are your plans for the future?”

Ah, the question she’d been waiting for. It was time to launch Phase Two of her master plan: cultivate the image of a tragic, tormented succubus striving to overcome her inherently evil nature.

“Actually, George,” Gima began with practiced hesitation, “I’ve had this… strange urge a few times on our journey. When I see your back, I get this overwhelming desire to stab you in the neck. And sometimes, I really, really want to deceive you.” Especially when you’re bragging about how you so heroically murdered me.

George heard the unmistakable ring of truth in her words. He nodded sagely. “That’s not your fault. That’s merely the evil in your bloodline tempting you. But the fact that you can confess this to me honestly, that you trust me, makes me very pleased.”

“I’m scared,” Gima said, her voice trembling. “I’m so worried. Can you… can you help me?” You can start by becoming my personal revenge-seeking weapon.

“Gima, you see? You’re a good person too, deep down. You have a basic sense of right and wrong,” George declared, puffed up with righteousness. “Don’t worry. I will be your guide on the path to goodness. I will help you conquer your evil nature!”

“When we return to the Holy Sanctuary, I will persuade the bishops to give you a chance to reform. And I will travel with you to the ends of the earth to find a way to break this slave contract.”

“Oh, thank you ever so much.”

As she spoke, Gima saw a smug, self-satisfied look on George’s face—the kind a man gets when he thinks he’s successfully reformed a prostitute and saved her from a life of sin. She sneered inwardly.

Hook, line, and sinker. Just as I predicted. Paladins rely so much on their ability to detect lies that they’ll believe any truth you feed them, no matter how you frame it.

This George was too simple, too stupidly earnest. He was the perfect tool. The future of her grand revenge plan looked brighter than a supernova.

Just as Gima was gloating, George pulled a thick, heavy book out of a saddlebag and handed it to her. Gima took it, her arm dipping from the unexpected weight. She looked down and saw the title: The Holy Sanctuary’s Sermons, Eighth Edition.

“Since we have nothing better to do on the road, Gima, you should flip through this,” George said with a benevolent, soul-crushingly kind smile.

“Huh?”

“Well, since you want to overcome your evil nature,” George continued, completely serious, “this book will be your compass on the path to goodness. It’s how my father taught me when I was a child. He made me memorize fifty pages a day. But since this is your first time, you only have to memorize twenty pages before we rest for the night. See? I can be reasonable.”

Gima cracked open The Holy Sanctuary’s Sermons. The pages were a nightmare of dense, fly-speck-sized text, crammed so tightly together it made her head spin.

Twenty pages of this?! That’s more grueling than studying for my college entrance exams!

“I… I… can’t read,” she blurted out, her first, desperate line of defense.

“Now, Gima, you’re lying,” George said, shaking his head with the gentle disappointment of a patient teacher. “I know children don’t like to study, but today I’m going to teach you a lesson called ‘Your Word is Your Bond.’ When you make a promise—like promising to overcome your evil nature—you must keep it.”

Instantly, Gima felt like she’d dug her own grave, jumped in, and then pulled the dirt in on top of herself.

“I… I’ll read it,” she mumbled, already plotting to slack off.

“Good.” George nodded in satisfaction. “I’ll be supervising you closely before we go to sleep. If you don’t meet the standard, you’ll have to copy it out eight times. But since you’re so small… let’s make it five.”

Gima’s face went dark. She was his slave. If he told her to copy the book, she had absolutely no power to resist.

That evening, in a forest of withered, skeletal trees, a campfire burned brightly. The former Demon Lord Gima was diligently copying a book on a stone slate, her small hand red raw and aching. Every character she etched sent a fresh jolt of pain up her arm. She paused to rub her fingers and checked her progress. Only ten pages done.

She was about to lose her goddamn mind. She turned her head, her big golden eyes reflecting the flickering firelight, and cast the most pitiful, heart-wrenching look she could muster at George.

George, who was polishing his sword, adopted a rare, stern expression. “No. Not a single word less. I will check it meticulously.”

When I get my strength back, I’m definitely chopping off your limbs AND your holier-than-thou head… Gima turned back and obediently continued her torturous work.

When she finally finished, Gima felt like her right hand was no longer attached to her body. To maintain her carefully constructed persona, she couldn’t even throw a tantrum. She could only suppress her monumental rage and hand the copied pages to George.

“Mm, very good.” George scanned the pages, handing back her "Nice guy" card with interest. “Gima will surely become a wonderful person in the future.”

He actually threw the nice guy card right back at me! That absolute virgin! Gima’s eye twitched. She rubbed her right hand, wincing with each touch.

“You’ve missed two pages entirely. And you skipped several paragraphs in many places.” George frowned, a hint of disappointment in his voice. “Hold out your hand. Cutting corners is not a good habit, you know.”

Gima cursed him with the fire of a thousand suns in her heart. She obediently held out her hand, palm up.

George raised his own hand. Gima braced herself to be slapped, but instead, he simply took her hand, his thumb and forefinger gently pinching her reddened index finger. A pure white halo spread from his fingertip, and a warm, soothing power washed away the pain completely.

Gima was slightly stunned. She pulled her hand back and flexed her fingers. The pain was gone.

…Fine. In the future, I’ll only chop off his head.

George smiled kindly. “Because you cut corners, you will now copy it all again, from the very beginning.”

Prepare to be drawn and quartered, you damn virgin! Gima picked up the yellowish paper and miserably, hatefully, started copying the book again.

An hour and a half later, Gima finally finished and collapsed onto a canvas bedroll. George sat meditating by the fire, keeping watch for the night.

Before she drifted off, Gima asked one last, probing question. “George, what if everyone at the Holy Sanctuary wants to burn me at the stake?”

“They won’t.”

“But what if they do?”

“Then I will honor my promise.”

Gima fully believed he was stupid enough to do just that. Only then did she close her eyes, a small measure of peace settling over her. Weariness washed over her, and she was about to fall asleep.

Just then, a line of text materialized in her vision, glowing with a faint, ethereal light.

>Personal System Initializing... Complete.

Gima’s spirits instantly revived. She almost wanted to cry with joy. Her cheat system was finally online! Her grand revenge was finally within reach! She had only been with George for one day, and she already felt like she was on the verge of death from sheer boredom and frustration.

>Data updated. Open personal interface?

Gima screamed ‘YES’ in her mind.

>Name: Gima
>Alignment: Neutral Evil Attributes... (Gima immediately skipped this boring part)
>Alluring Aura: As a succubus, attracting the opposite sex is your instinct. Your every move, your every glance, can stir the hearts of others.
>Succubus Talent: You have an astonishing, innate talent for acting and lying. You can easily learn how to be a qualified "two-faced bitch."

Who the hell wants to seduce men?! With this cheat system, I’ll never have to seduce a man in this or any other life!

Gima quickly navigated to the part she cared about most: Supernatural Abilities.

>Succubus Supernatural Abilities: [Locked]. You have not consumed the power of lust and therefore cannot activate your supernatural abilities. It is recommended that you consume at least 5mL of chestnut-flavored liquid.

...

Gima’s expression became incredibly complicated. She peeked over at George, who was still kneeling stoically by the fire. He wasn’t bad-looking, she supposed—maybe one-tenth as handsome as her glorious former self—but to have to beg him for his "chestnut-flavored liquid"...

The mere thought of begging her sworn enemy for his "essence" filled Gima with a shame so profound it felt like a physical weight.

But to regain her strength, she had to have the resolve to endure any hardship. The ancient King Goujian had once eaten his enemy’s feces to survive. Thinking about it that way, drinking a little bit of that liquid didn’t seem so bad.

No, still can’t do it. I’m a real man, dammit!

Gima turned over, continuing to frantically scan her personal information, hoping to find a more "harmonious" and less humiliating solution.

>Racial Trait: As a pure-blooded succubus, your natural food source is derived from lust. Therefore, chestnut-flavored liquid is the most common and efficient food. Chestnut-flavored liquid is not the ONLY food.

Gima breathed a huge sigh of relief and read on.

>Besides chestnut-flavored liquid, you can use supernatural abilities such as "Lascivious Dream" to harvest the lust of others for your own sustenance. The text ended there.

So, if she didn't want to consume the chestnut-flavored liquid, she had to use her supernatural abilities. But to unlock her supernatural abilities, she needed to… consume the chestnut-flavored liquid.

Gima’s face was a mask of pure, unadulterated despair. She checked the system again and again, confirming that she hadn’t missed some crucial fine print. She agonized for what felt like an eternity but just couldn't bring herself to cross that final line of masculine pride. Finally, utterly exhausted, she began to drift off.

“This is all that damn virgin Hero’s fault…” she muttered, falling into a deep, troubled sleep.