Chapter 37: The Simp Competition

Gima and George, with their celestial warhorse in tow, took a boat, bypassed the city gate they had entered through previously, and left the city.

They rode on the main road, then followed a small, winding path leading to the hills outside the city. After riding for a full, monotonous hour, they entered the mountainous region. Behind them, Salem City, which stretched for several miles, shrank until it looked like a small, insignificant sandcastle on the azure coast.

A burnt, five-story-high withered tree, looking like a skeletal finger pointing at the sky, came into their view.

“We’re almost there,” George said.

Gima peeked her head out from behind George’s broad back, looked at the desolate landmark, and asked, “Are you absolutely sure we’re not lost again?”

“She said it was under the burnt, withered tree,” George said, looking down at his map with unwavering confidence. “The map is correct. Let’s go take a look.”

Under the withered tree, a small and surprisingly well-equipped army was encamped. A dozen or so tents were arranged in a neat circle around the tree, and banners fluttered in the wind. More than thirty horses were tied up nearby. Soldiers in long surcoats over their gleaming chainmail were chatting and laughing in the camp.

As the two of them approached on horseback, a sentry holding a long, sharp spear walked up and shouted:

“Who goes there? This is a military camp. No unauthorized personnel allowed.”

“We were invited by Lady Liz to participate in an adventure,” Gima replied in her most polite and subservient squire voice. “Excuse me, have you by any chance seen a group of adventurers?”

“Ah, please, come in. The lady said a Bartonian knight would be arriving.”

They passed through the camp and found that this small “adventuring party” was equipped to the teeth. The hunters’ hounds were barking, the archers were stringing their powerful longbows, and a small army of servants were bustling about, carrying supplies.

“George, are you absolutely sure this is an ‘adventure’ and not a full-scale military siege?” Gima asked, her voice a low whisper.

“It should be.”

“And what’s her background? She must be from an incredibly, obscenely wealthy family.”

“I don’t know.”

After leaving the main camp, they saw two men and a woman chatting under the shade of a tree on a grassy hill ahead. A few servants and mules were idling at the bottom of the hill, looking bored.

As they got closer, Gima realized it was less of a friendly chat and more of a one-man theatrical performance.

A red-haired young man was boasting endlessly, his voice echoing across the hills. He was built like an upright, and very angry, bull, wearing a large, heavy breastplate that looked like it had been through a dozen wars, covered in dents and scratches that he was clearly very proud of. His voice was so incredibly loud that even after just leaving the noisy camp, Gima could still hear his completely unbelievable bragging.

“…Goblins are very cunning, you see, but their bodies are weak. Last time, when I was hunting giants in the frozen North, our team was ambushed by goblins while we were sleeping. They actually hid under the snow! I single-handedly stabbed twelve goblins to death with a single, tiny dagger and saved our poor, pathetic guide. But I don’t underestimate goblins. In fact, these little things are very dangerous. They left a very deep, and very painful, impression on me. Do you know how I got this impressive dent in my breastplate?”

The red-haired youth said, dramatically tracing a large dent on his breastplate with both hands.

A debauched-looking poet was leaning languidly against the tree. He was slender, holding a lute, and had skin so fair and smooth it would make any maiden envious. He pouted his pretty lips and said in a bored voice:

“It seems to be—”

Before the poet could finish, or rather, before the red-haired youth could give anyone a chance to answer his own rhetorical question, he interrupted loudly:

“It was a flying goblin! The little thing crashed headfirst into my chest and even tried to stab me in the waist with a tiny, little knife!”

Lady Liz, with her beautiful blue eyes, was listening with her face propped up in her hands. She widened her eyes with a look of pure, unadulterated curiosity. “A new species? A goblin… with wings?”

“It was a goblin thrown by a giant,” the red-haired youth laughed, basking in her attention. “The giants use goblins as living catapult projectiles. Those little monsters, holding small knives and wearing homemade little wings, would flap their arms and change direction in mid-air, crashing into us like angry, green meteors. The giants on the cliff threw a whole tribe of goblins at our team, but I, of course, had already anticipated it. I climbed up the sheer cliff face, got above them, and pushed a large rock down, causing a massive landslide. The giants and the goblins all fell to their doom…”

“That’s… that’s absolutely incredible,” Liz said, her voice full of awe. “Your adventures are so exciting.”

“Oh sure, it’s almost like a fairy ta—”

The red-haired youth interrupted again, clearly on a roll. “Actually, frost giants aren’t the most dangerous thing in the North. What’s more terrifying than giants are the great frost wolves, and the dark elves that crawl out from the deep places of the earth. They…”

The poet rolled his eyes, looked up at the sky as if seeking divine intervention, and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse.

Gima and George dismounted and were walking up the small hill. Gima, holding the massive greatsword, whispered to George, “George, is he telling the truth?”

“It’s all lies.”

Just then, the poet saw the two of them coming up the slope. He immediately stood up straight and waved at them with a look of profound gratitude.

“The brave and fearless knight of Barto has finally arrived! Thank God! My ears are about to be completely filled with bull turd.”

Liz, who had been listening to the story with rapt attention, immediately turned her head, her long chestnut hair swaying behind her slender waist. Seeing the shining silver armor of George, Liz’s blue eyes lit up. She got up from her chair and trotted over, the jewels in her smooth, silky hair sparkling in the sunlight.

She walked right up to George and smiled, her face a picture of pure delight. “You’re finally here! Let me introduce you. This is an errant knight from the great Kingdom of Barto. He is the bravest and most fearless knight I have ever met. His name is George.”

“May the goddess bless you. Good mornings,” George said, his voice a low, pleasant rumble.

The poet’s eyes carefully, and quite critically, sized the two of them up.

“Oh, so you are the famous sewer-kobold-slayer Lady Liz was talking about? Allow me to introduce myself. I am a minor noble from the great city of Deepwater, temporarily staying in this… rustic place for the sake of Lady Liz’s unparalleled beauty. You can just call me Disha.”

The red-haired youth, his story so rudely interrupted and seeing Liz’s enthusiasm for the newcomer, was instantly filled with a burning, palpable jealousy. “My name is Strong,” he said gruffly.

With that, he walked over to George, his big eyes under his thick eyebrows staring intently at him. “So you’re the knight who can kick a half-man-high kobold into a wall with a single blow?”

Before George could answer, the red-haired Strong turned his head to Liz and said with a sneer:

“In my professional experience, he’s going to drag us all down. He clearly has no real adventuring experience. It’s already bad enough that we have to bring a pretty-boy poet who can’t even play the lute properly.”

The poet, Disha, strummed a sharp, displeased chord on his lute.

Liz, on the other hand, gave George a gentle, reassuring smile and said softly, her voice like honey, “I believe in him. I feel very safe when I talk to him.”

Oh, she’s fanning the flames. Looks like I don’t even have to do anything. This is going to be fun.

Gima’s hand, which had been about to make a subtle stirring motion, naturally dropped to her side.

Sure enough, the red-haired Strong snorted and said, his eyes now fixed on Gima:

“Clearly a greenhorn who’s just left home, aren't you? Do you think adventuring is some kind of picnic? You even brought a little girl to warm your bed.”

Gima’s little face immediately darkened. “I am a squire.”

“A squire’s work? Can a little girl like you possibly do it?” the red-haired Strong sneered. “You people think adventuring is too simple. Bringing a barded warhorse, wearing full plate armor, and carrying a two-handed greatsword. Knight, this isn’t a war, you know. You’re going to be fighting in a narrow, cramped goblin cave. Let me teach you what kind of weapons a real adventurer brings. Watch and learn.”

The red-haired Strong said, slapping the small, round shield on his arm, then the two short swords at his waist. “This kind of weapon is the most suitable for fighting in narrow caves. I suggest you two just stay here with the soldiers and wait for us to come back in one piece.”

“My master is a battle-hardened veteran. He has used a greatsword for many, many years. The so-called ‘unusable in narrow terrain’ argument is purely because the user is too weak and unskilled,” Gima said angrily, hugging the greatsword and slapping her small hand on the hilt. “If an enemy gets too close, you can simply grab the lower part of the blade and use it as a short spear, or you can use the pommel to smash their skull in.”

As it happened, she was also a grandmaster of the greatsword.

Liz nodded thoughtfully. “That does make sense.”

“What does a little brat like her know about real combat?”

When I was cutting people down with a two-handed sword, your mother was still sucking on a pacifier, you muscle-bound oaf.

“I wasn’t talking to you. Why are you interrupting? Mind your manners. George, are you always this silent?”

The poet, Disha, sighed dramatically. “A shy knight. What a wonderfully romantic theme for a poem.”

Treating me like servant? Oh, you’re dead. You’re so, so dead.

Gima took a deep, calming breath.

“Poor George was cursed by a powerful witch for killing too many people. He can only speak 140 words a day,” Liz’s beautiful blue eyes shone with a deep, and very convincing, sympathy. “But he was willing to use his 140 words to talk to me.”

In that instant, Gima saw the pink whirlwind of jealousy in the red-haired Strong’s chest swell from the size of an orange to two large, throbbing apples.

George nodded and pointed at himself. “My squire. She understands me. She answers for me.”

“How amusing. Never mind. With my vast adventuring experience, I can take care of one more person dragging us down. At least he can be a meat shield.”

The red-haired Strong felt he had gained the upper hand and decided to back down, so as not to leave a bad impression on his beloved.

Gima glanced at George and saw that he was completely unfazed, his expression as calm as a tranquil lake.

What is this? Zen? It’s almost infuriating.

As the saying goes, it takes two to tango. As long as George remained so frustratingly zen, she wouldn’t get to see a good show, she wouldn’t be able to vent her frustration at having her hard-earned money squandered, and she wouldn’t get to see this insufferable braggart Strong make a complete fool of himself.

A bed-warmer? Your entire female lineage are bed-warmers! How dare you! Wielding a sword in front of a Demon Lord! You have no idea who you’re talking to!

“Alright, alright, let’s begin our little adventure,” Liz smiled, completely unaffected by the palpable tension. Gima could tell that Liz was actually even happier now. Her eyes had been shining with a mischievous light the whole time.

“Next time, try to be on time, greenhorn,” the red-haired Strong said, patting George condescendingly on the pauldron. “It’s okay to be a greenhorn, but your attitude has to be good, you know? If we say noon, you should try to come a little early. And later, just listen to what I say, and you might learn something.”

“I’m not late,” George said simply.

As soon as his words fell, the long, drawn-out sound of a bell came from Salem City in the distance.

“One, two, three… twelve. Ha! Our little knight in a can is very punctual,” the poet Disha said, strumming a cheerful and simple tune.

The red-haired Strong glanced at the poet but said nothing.

The organizer of this little adventure, Liz, said with a bright smile:

“Alright everyone, I’m so glad you could take the time to play this fun adventure game with me.” At this, a smug, triumphant glint appeared in her eyes.

“Recently, Salem City is holding a grand banquet to celebrate the Rainbow Festival, and my family has been fortunate enough to be invited. My mother told me I could bring a few good friends with me. And I think that a friend who can give me a happy, exciting experience during our little adventure must be a good friend, even if we’ve only known each other for a few days.”

Tsk. Isn’t that just a fancy way of telling the three simps to try harder? Do you really think you’re worthy of them?

Gima kicked a small stone with the tip of her boot.

“As for what kind of banquet it is, that’s a little secret,” Liz said, her eyes sparkling with amusement. She pointed at the red-haired Strong. “Strong, you absolutely cannot say a word.”

“Yes~”

The poet Disha sighed dramatically. “In all the great poems, the childhood sweethearts can never be together in the end.”

The so-called childhood friend never wins against the mysterious transfer student. But please, for the love of all that is unholy, don’t fall for the damn virgin. You’ll be a widow for the rest of your life.

Gima was even more unhappy. She stared at Liz’s beautiful face and her graceful, slender waistline.

If Gima were to say what was worse than having her harem destroyed and becoming her enemy’s slave, it would be having to follow the damn virgin around and watch him have all the luck with women.

“Everyone, get ready. We’re setting out now.”

“Sir, I, as the designated logistics personnel, will just stay here at the camp and wait for you all to return. Have fun!”

George nodded.

“Oh, right. Little girl, you should come with us too.”

Gima, who was about to make a hasty retreat, pointed at her own nose in surprise.

Liz nodded, her smile unwavering. “Yes, you.”