Chapter 45: Something Seems Wrong

The goblins scattered, vanishing into every imaginable crack and crevice. The scene of the crime instantly grew much quieter.

The bugbear’s enormous, headless body lay among the rubble, its head covered in dust. A few goblin corpses were strewn across the stone hill, the gruesome wounds on their bodies like silent, gaping mouths, singing praises to the terror of George’s weapon.

Liz looked at the monster corpses littering the ground, unable to stop herself from covering her nose and mouth, her face a little pale. She was deeply struck by the terrifying extent of George’s strength.

It’s pure power, without any supernatural abilities…

At this thought, she glanced sideways with dissatisfaction at Strong, who was picking himself up off the ground alone. She was disappointed; he was still the same braggart he had been as a child.

Liz looked toward George, her heart thrumming with a faint excitement.

The red-haired Strong, meanwhile, was mortified. He desperately wanted to shout at George, Who the hell are you? How he wished that in the next moment, George would take off his helmet in front of Liz, reveal a pair of dragon horns, admit he was a dragon, and say, “Humans and dragons walk different paths. Milady, you’d best give up on this idea.”

He had clearly done his homework. He’d memorized the diaries of the northern adventurers ten times over and had spent a whole month learning from the old adventurer in his own household who had retired after taking an arrow to the knee.

The armor and weapon George wore were a cardinal sin for any adventurer. He shouldn’t be using such a heavy sword, nor should he be wearing a bucket helm. He was supposed to be at a disadvantage. Strong himself hadn’t been wrong at all, right?

But Strong stared at George for a long, long time, his lips moving for ages, before he finally swallowed his words.

Facts speak louder than words. If he kept arguing about right and wrong, what would that even change? His standing in Liz’s heart would only sink lower.

So, who exactly was this... George?

The poet Disha threw down a rope from above. George climbed up, followed by Liz. She lacked the strength, so George knelt, extended a hand to her, took hers, and gently pulled her up.

What a steady hand. And he knelt for me. Even though he says nothing, he’s as polite as a knight from a bard’s tale… Liz’s heart fluttered like a startled fawn, and she stood to the side, her cheeks flushed. She was completely oblivious to the fact that George had pulled Gima up in the exact same way. At the same time, the red-haired Strong refused his help, saying in a low voice, “I can do it myself.”

He gritted his teeth and climbed up on his own.

The poet Disha looked down at the bugbear and the other corpses, casually strummed his instrument, and said:

“I feel as though I am looking upon the legendary hero who slew a thousand warriors with the jawbone of a donkey. It’s a pity we can’t haul the monster’s body up.”

The one who got played like a fool by a whore?

Gima quite liked the poet Disha’s analogy.

Just then, there was a sound of falling rocks, punctuated by the wails of a few goblins.

A troop of soldiers, armed to the teeth, rushed in. Seeing Liz, they cried out in pleasant surprise:

“Milady, are you alright? The old—”

Liz raised a hand with prim dignity, stopping his words. “Tell Rio to come here. My hair is dirty.”

With that, she looked at George, her eyes shining. “A true knight was here. I am very safe. He single-handedly killed a bugbear and rescued me from Deepwater City’s plot.”

“Them? How dare they?”

But the un-melted ice staircase and the corpse of the man in black upon it quietly refuted his words.

“Remember to have the bugbear’s body brought up and made into a specimen. That is George’s trophy,” Liz said, smiling at George. “I hope you’ll like it.”

“I will, thank you” George said. “But where did these men come from?”

Liz smiled. “I have several gems on me that can notify them, and a protective charm my grandfather stuffed on me.”

“In that case, Lady Liz, might I have the honor of knowing your surname?” the poet Disha asked with a smile.

Liz’s gaze fell upon the poet Disha and George, the corners of her mouth turning up. “It’s a secret. You’ll know when you come to my banquet.”

The red-haired Strong stood to the side, unable to say a word despite his irritation.

Liz’s personal maids came over, helped her wash the dust from her long chestnut hair, smoothed it out, and changed her into a new set of clothes. In no time, Liz reappeared before them, dazzling once more. A jeweled net adorned her chestnut hair. She gave a little spin in front of George, the ends of her hair swaying. “I can’t wait for the dance at the banquet.”

“Liz,” the red-haired Strong couldn’t help but say, “Your mother—”

“Better than a braggart.”

The red-haired Strong’s face instantly turned redder than his hair.

Seeing Strong get put in his place, Gima was very satisfied. Heh, that’s what you get for looking down on a child. She felt she had perfectly adhered to the “mastermind” principle, using Strong’s jealousy to cause trouble for George, and then using George to punish the annoying Strong.

Seeing Liz emerge, the surrounding soldiers closed in to protect her, she then waved a hand at an officer. “Please, let your soldiers rest. Right now, I just want to experience the life of an ordinary adventurer.”

“But—”

“It will be very safe with George here.”

The officer glanced at the bugbear’s corpse, which fifteen burly men, their faces red with exertion, were struggling to haul up with ropes. He simply nodded.

After the five of them walked out of the goblin cave, no one followed. They walked through the wilderness, leaving the clamor behind them.

“George, who are you, really?” Liz asked, voicing what everyone was thinking. “If you’re a dragon, I’ll definitely keep your secret.”

The red-haired Strong immediately pricked up his ears, straining to catch the word “dragon.”

George took off his bucket helm. “I am George Hammer, born in beautiful Barto.”

With that, he gave Gima a look, and she continued:

“My master killed too many in the War of Chivalry and was cursed by the gods. He therefore gave up his domain and embarked on a long journey, seeking out monsters to fight. Through adventure, he hones his body and spirit, hoping to win the favor of the Goddess.”

The poet Disha suddenly asked:

“Since you are a knight of Barto, why have I not heard you praise the Goddess once?”

George didn’t speak. It was simple: he didn’t believe in the Goddess, but in the God of Dawn. This lie would have to depend on Gima. He kept his eyes on Liz, accustomed to maintaining eye contact with the person he was speaking to.

“Because he can only speak 140 words a day,” Gima said. “If he spent them all praising the Goddess, my master would have nothing left to say by noon.”

Under George’s slightly intense, focused gaze, Liz’s face flushed red once more.

I understand, that’s just an excuse, she thought. Ever since I met you, I’ve never heard you praise the Goddess once. Is it because you’ve already found your goddess?

At this thought, countless scenes from romantic knightly novels flooded Liz’s mind. Poets loved to praise the traveling knights of Barto. In their poems, countless traveling knights searching for the Lady of the Lake all ended up falling at the skirts of a real-life goddess (and they were both handsome and good fighters, of course).

Liz cupped her crimson face, her heart soaring. Right now, all she wanted was to jump on a fast horse, ride home, and show off to her best friends. A handsome knight, with martial skills so great he seemed to have stepped out of a poem, was pursuing her.

They’ll widen their eyes and refuse to believe me. When the time comes, I’ll invite them all to the banquet and drag out that bugbear trophy. They’ll be so so sick with envy.

“So George, what color of ball gown do you like?” Liz asked.

George thought for a moment and said seriously, “Anything.”

Wow, how considerate. I’ll wear my favorite gown. Ooh, so that’s what he meant, he was just too shy to say it outright.

As Liz thought this, a sweet smile appeared on her face.

The red-haired Strong turned his face away, shaking. The poet Disha smiled faintly and said nothing, a perfect performer.

And Gima, she gradually realized something was wrong.

Has this girl Liz gone into heat? She looks ready to tumble into bed at any moment. No, she was already going to tumble into bed with George. She’s even asking about the color of her ball gown. What’s next, the wedding dress?!

Gima was snapped out of her illusory sense of victory, realizing she had made a colossal mistake. She carefully recalled everything she had done since the start of the adventure and wanted to slap herself across the face.

This wasn’t causing trouble for the damn virgin; this was helping him pick up a girl! By provoking that idiot Strong into getting his face slapped, she had only served to highlight George’s good qualities.

How infuriating. Not only can I not have my fun with the girl right in front of me, but I have to watch him have fun with her. What’s even more infuriating is that I’m the one who helped him with my own two hands.

Instantly, Gima’s expression soured.

Liz was chatting and laughing with George. Seeing Gima’s face fall, she glanced at the dirt-stained dress she was wearing and smiled faintly.

She thought: Jealous? I hope you can face reality. No one likes a dirty, lowly little attendant.

George, who was talking with Liz, suddenly stopped. Liz looked at him strangely. George pointed to his mouth and shook his head.

“Ah, I’m sorry, I almost forgot. You used all your precious words on me,” she said. For the first time, she looked Gima properly in the eye, stared at her grubby little face, and said, “I want to know more about George.”

George gave Gima a look. Gima cleared her throat and said:

“My master is still preserving his virginity for the Goddess, even though he has a Saintess, a woman of noble temperament whom he grew up with. And a beautiful, long-legged High Elf ranger as a dear friend.”

Gima continued, “The three of them used to adventure together, the kind where they slept together every night. They infiltrated an evil little kingdom and worked together to kill its monarch. He also has a fian—ow.”

George cut Gima off with a flick of his finger.

The red-haired Strong grew excited. “I wouldn’t have guessed. You’re quite the romantic knight, Sir.”

Liz’s expression didn’t change. She just smiled and said happily, “George is so charming~ Isn’t it normal for him to be popular with young ladies?”

No way. Even if my head gets smashed in, this Demon Lord is going to break up this cursed pairing today! Gima clutched her head, roaring internally. If I can’t have any fun, neither can you!

She looked at George innocently, blinking her big, aggrieved eyes. “Master, did I say something wrong?”

“Ahem, ahem.” George immediately shot Gima a warning look, telling her not to use that form of address again.