Chapter 36: A Small Impulse

The next day, the sunlight was unusually, and quite annoyingly, bright.

But the succubus Gima was not particularly happy. Never mind that she hated the sunlight, or the fishy smell of the sea blowing in from the ocean. Just the sight of George standing in front of her was enough to ruin her mood, not to mention the fact that he was holding a detailed, multi-page, and mind-numbingly boring plan in his hands.

“First, we absolutely cannot expose our identities, so we must be careful to play the parts of a Bartonian knight and his loyal squire…”

“Second, on the premise of not exposing our identities, we must perform brilliantly during the goblin subjugation mission in order to secure an invitation to the banquet…”

“Also…”

“And I’d like to add one more crucial point…”

Gima sat on the bed, her little legs swinging back and forth impatiently, occasionally rubbing against each other. One leg was encased in a pristine white stocking, the other in a devilish black one. She took a delicate sniff, inhaling the faint, but delicious, peach fragrance in the air. She snorted inwardly. A pathetic pervert who gets a reaction to a loli in mismatched stockings. She continued to savor the high-quality, peach-scented air.

“That’s all,” George suddenly said, finishing his speech.

“What’s all?” Gima came back to her senses, pausing her silent, scathing critique of George’s pathetic libido.

“The mission briefing is over. Were you listening at all?”

“No.”

Gima answered with the brutal honesty of the truly bored.

“Then I’ll read it again, from the top.” George looked down at the plan in his hands, ready to begin his encore performance.

“Wait! Sir, please don’t torture my delicate eardrums anymore,” Gima pleaded. “I get it, I get it. We need to stand out in the upcoming simp competition. Don’t worry, my little brain is very smart. I’ve got this.”

“No. You don’t seem to be taking this seriously at all. We must continue—”

Knock, knock, knock.

A sharp knock at the door mercifully interrupted George’s words, and Gima felt a wave of profound gratitude for her now-safe eardrums.

“Sir, the City Guard is here to investigate. They hope you will cooperate.”

“They’re here to rob us, more like,” Gima muttered under her breath.

George handed her a small wooden box. Inside was a pair of exquisite, colored contact lenses. Gima carefully placed them on her eyes and blinked. It felt terrible, like there was coarse sand rubbing against her eyeballs. She looked in the mirror and saw that she had been instantly promoted from a golden-eyed little girl to a blue-eyed little girl.

“My master and I will be out shortly,” Gima called out.

George put on his bucket-helm. He was already fully armed. He muttered, his voice a low, concerned rumble:

“Gima, if we’re exposed, remember to hide behind me. We’ll fight our way out, run to the backyard, get on the horse together, and escape from Salem City first.”

“I kn~ow~. You’ve only told me a dozen times.”

Gima said, putting on a hat. Now she could only hope that the servant had never paid close attention to the color of her eyes.

The two of them left the room and, under the guidance of the servant, went to the first floor, where they met a soldier from the City Guard.

He had deep, world-weary laugh lines and the unmistakable air of a grizzled, corrupt old slicker. He was in the middle of shouting at a fat merchant, his thick eyebrows furrowed, as if the portly man in front of him were the culprit of a grand bank robbery.

“Do you, or do you not, know a cute little girl with golden eyes?” 

“No, no, sir, I don’t know anyone like that.” 

“You’re sweating. Feeling a little guilty, are we?” 

“No, no, it’s just… it’s a bit hot in here.”

“The bank robber was also a rather pot-bellied fellow.”

The old slicker’s gaze swept meaningfully over the merchant’s large, protruding belly.

The merchant quickly shot a look at his male servant, who immediately stepped forward and handed the old slicker a bulging money pouch. There was no subtlety, no concealment. It was as open and aboveboard as buying vegetables at the market.

The fat merchant said, “Sirs, you work so hard for the safety of Salem City. This is just a small token of my deepest appreciation for your efforts.”

The old slicker nodded, pocketing the bribe. “Mm. You don’t look like the type who could knock out a donkey with one punch anyway.”

Just then, the servant brought George and Gima over. “Sir, this is the only guest in our inn with a little maid.”

The old slicker turned his head. When his gaze swept over Gima’s face, it immediately stopped. He stared at Gima with a brazen, undisguised, and deeply lecherous gaze.

Gima felt his gaze like a glob of disgusting slime, sticking to her face, gooey and cold, flowing down her long neck, sliding over her flat chest, and finally wrapping its slimy tentacles around her stockinged calves.

She felt disgusted and a little nervous. Are we really going to have to scurry out of Salem City now?

The slime-like gaze lingered for far, far too long, until George’s broad, armored back moved to block Gima from his view.

The old slicker reluctantly withdrew his gaze. He let out a low whistle and gave George a sleazy, man-to-man smile that all men would understand.

“A black and white pairing. A nice piece of goods. Where’d you buy her?”

“She is my squire.”

“Lucky you. Didn’t even have to spend any money. And she looks like she’s still fresh, too.”

The air was suddenly filled with the faint, acrid smell of gunpowder.

Gima didn’t notice. She was just relieved. So he was just attracted by my innate alluring aura. Nothing to worry about.

The old slicker took a step to the side, his gaze moving past George and landing on Gima again.

“Cute and charming. Just like the bank said.”

“The bank?”

Gima blinked innocently.

“The Fellen Brothers Bank was robbed. They said the thief was a cute little girl, and a pot-bellied black man,” the old slicker said, his eyes glinting. “Looks a lot like you two. Take off your helmet. Let me have a look.”

George took off his helmet and stared at him with an icy, dangerous expression.

“Not black.” The old slicker was a little disappointed. “But this girl… she needs to be properly and thoroughly investigated.”

“Our schedule is tight,” Gima immediately brought out George’s well-worn cover story. “My master is an errant knight from Barto, on a quest—”

“Kid, I’m not talking to you. I’m talking to your master.”

“She speaks for me,” George said, his voice flat.

“A kid and a mute? What a pair.”

“My master has taken too many lives and is under a divine punishment. He can only speak 140 words a day,” Gima said, her voice full of tragic dignity. “He has already used eleven of his precious words just now. Before you have conclusive, irrefutable evidence, please do not delay my master’s sacred journey.”

“Oh?”

The old slicker’s gaze narrowed, falling on George’s full plate armor, as if seeing what he was wearing for the first time. But he still stood in front of them, blocking their way.

Gima stepped forward and, knowing the drill, took out a prepared bag of coins and handed it to him. “I believe the loyal and hardworking guards of Salem City deserve some… extra compensation for their troubles.”

The old slicker reached for the money pouch, but instead, he “accidentally” touched Gima’s small hand, his rough, calloused palm squeezing hers.

Gima was so scared and disgusted she yanked her hand back and took a step away. The old slicker grabbed the money pouch and smiled, the deep lines around his eyes crinkling. “Nice, nice. Very nice indeed.”

Disgusting cannon fodder!

Gima activated her Eyes of Desire, intending to teach him a painful lesson. But in a moment, she calmed down. If I were to “forcefully stir” him now, he would notice something is wrong. I have to find a good opportunity. I can’t expose myself.

So Gima pretended to be scared and hid behind George’s towering frame.

The old slicker satisfyingly pocketed the money and was about to turn and let them pass.

Suddenly, George’s funnel-shaped iron gauntlet smashed into his face, sending him staggering back.

Gima’s eyes widened, looking at George, who had suddenly, and completely unexpectedly, attacked. In her mind, George had always been a calm, prudent person who put the mission above all else. He would never do something so emotional, so reckless.

The old slicker violently drew the sword from his waist and shouted, his voice a furious roar, “Are you fucking rebelling?!”

George picked up the fallen funnel-shaped iron gauntlet from the ground and, with another swift swing, hit him hard on the back of his hand, knocking the sword to the ground. George advanced on him. The old slicker pulled out a dagger and frantically stabbed at George, but it only made a screeching, pathetic sound against his heavy armor.

The old slicker felt as if a fortress was pressing down on him. Unconsciously, his back hit a wall. George reached out and pressed on his chest, his fingers digging in. A sound like fingers cracking came from his ribs, which were on the verge of breaking.

“This is a duel,” George said, his voice a low, dangerous growl.

The old slicker could hardly breathe. He was both shocked and terrified. He felt that with just a little more force, the other party could crush his entire chest cavity.

“I… I don’t want to fight! I don’t want to fight!”

George grabbed him by the collar with one hand and lifted him directly, effortlessly off the ground.

The old slicker screamed in terror, “Help! I… I’ll give you back the money! I’ll give it back!”

With that, he fumbled to take out the money pouch from his pocket and threw it on the ground.

“Apologize. To her.”

“I’m sorry! My lady, I’m so sorry!”

Only then did George let go.

The old slicker gasped for breath, his heated brain instantly cooling down. He felt he was truly, monumentally stupid to have provoked a Bartonian errant knight. He didn’t even bother to pick up the money. He grabbed his sword, said another pathetic “sorry” to Gima, and scurried away like a frightened rat.

George smiled at Gima, picked up the merchant’s money pouch from the ground, and tossed it to the merchant. Then he took out a gold coin and gave it to the servant. “For your trouble.”

The servant took the gold coin with a pained expression. “Sir, you were too impulsive. Perhaps you are not afraid, but you have brought a great deal of trouble to our small shop.”

“That’s right. Young people should be more tactful. Don’t just think about showing off in front of women,” the merchant said, handing the money pouch to his male servant. “This is the experience of someone who has been there and done that.”

“Then I’m truly sorry for you. If you have the guts, go complain to the people who extort you. If you don’t, then just keep your tail between your legs and your mouth shut,” Gima said coldly. “And a little reminder for you: the last time my master got angry, he stormed a palace and killed a small country’s king with a single blow.”

The merchant shrank back and immediately closed his mouth. The servant forced an awkward, terrified smile and saw the two of them out of the inn.

As soon as they were outside, Gima immediately said to George, “George, you were so impulsive just now! You scared me! What if that guy goes back and gets reinforcements?”

“There was no other way.”

“Huh? I thought you had some brilliant backup plan.”

If there’s revenge to be had, it should be me who takes it, secretly and with style. What’s wrong with the virgin today? Is he on his man-period?

“Gima, I’m sorry,” George said, his voice surprisingly soft. “But when I saw him touch your hand, and he was still smiling… by the time I came to my senses, my iron gauntlet had already smashed into his face.”

“You stood up for me? For me, a naturally seductive succubus?” Gima looked at George strangely, a new and unfamiliar emotion stirring in her chest.

“It’s not your fault,” George said. “And next time… I probably still won’t be able to help it.”

“Alright. Next time, I’ll wrap myself up so tightly you won’t even be able to see my nose.”

Gima turned her face away, feeling a little warm in her heart. She hugged the greatsword tightly and looked at the small boats passing by on the canal. After a long time, she suddenly said in a small, almost inaudible voice, “Thank you.”

Her voice was so small that it was immediately drowned out by the noise of the street.

“Hmm? What did you say just now?”

“Nothing!” Gima turned her head, a bright, mischievous smile on her face. “I said, that young lady the other day was so pretty. I can’t wait to see her again!” And her pack of slobbering simps.

If the simps all ganged up to attack the virgin, it would be a truly spectacular sight.

Gima was a little excited, and her little finger couldn’t help but twitch. She was absolutely determined to add a little fuel to the fire of the upcoming simp competition and create some interesting new difficulties for George, just to vent the frustration she had felt yesterday.

As for the fleeting feeling of gratitude she had just felt, it had long been thrown to the winds, forgotten and ignored.