Chapter 46: Slaves
Even though calling her enemy "Master" sent a paralyzing shiver through Gima’s entire body—an act akin to cutting off her nose to spite her face, but when Liz’s suspicious gaze fell upon her, Gima felt her sacrifice was worth it.
“Sir George, you have quite the taste,” Strong said, as if afraid Liz hadn’t grasped the relationship between Gima and George. He even followed it up with a lecherous, “Heh heh heh,” a laugh all men understood.
But Liz simply flicked her hair back and said with a smile, “They all say the appearance of a personal maid represents the taste and heritage of the family. George, I look forward to meeting your family in the future.”
Gima was speechless. She suddenly remembered that polygamy seemed to be the norm in Salem City. To be precise, polygamy was the mainstream marital practice in this world. As long as you were strong enough, even a woman could have a host of husbands.
The poet Disha strummed a mournful tune. “Better to be a hero’s concubine than a beggar’s wife.”
Strong shot him a glare.
Still, with such a blatant hint, George will definitely refuse, right? Gima thought. After all, a moral fanatic like George would never marry the daughter of a slave owner.
But, just as she had that thought that, she saw George nod seriously.
Liz’s smile grew even more brilliant. Gima’s face grew even darker. The noble lady placed a small hand on her slender waist and even gave the little attendant a smile tinged with provocation.
I feel like I’ve triggered Liz’s rebellious streak... and the damn virgin probably doesn’t mind a beautiful encounter that leads to the bedroom with a slave owner’s daughter... Dammit, this is so frustrating. I’ve never had a girl of this caliber throw herself at me in my entire life.
Gima was so sour she felt as if she’d eaten several lemons. The tail beneath her skirt coiled into a tight curl.
They continued on their way. Liz stayed by George’s side, chatting with him. Even though George could only reply with body language, they were somehow able to carry on a lively conversation. During this time, Gima tried to find ways to break up this “cursed pairing.” Following the “mastermind” principle, she provoked Strong’s anger and jealousy.
But it turned out that a simp would always be a simp. The moment Liz gave him a look, Strong, who was as burly as a bull, immediately deflated like a dog. In contrast, George, in his silver armor, appeared all the more heroic.
Strong was useless. As for the poet Disha, Gima didn’t want to provoke this mysterious man just yet. During the earthquake, not only had he not fallen, but he had managed to hide himself, a feat which was impossible without supernatural abilities. Afterwards, everyone had a tacit understanding not to press the matter. After all, supernatural abilities were like underwear—a hidden trump card.
So, Gima decided to start with George.
Finally, she found her chance. During a break, she took George by the hand, led him away from the group, and went behind a tree. It was quiet nearby. Gima looked left and right, making sure no one could hear them.
“George, do you know who Liz is?” Gima asked.
George shook his head. “Not for certain.”
“She’s most likely a direct descendant of the Great Good Master,” Gima said. “That’s like... a supervillain, you know. As a paladin, shouldn’t you be keeping your distance from her, and then taking ten baths when you get back?”
George looked at Gima strangely. “Paladins aren’t babies. Gima, you’re being very strange.”
“Huh, strange?” Gima said. “I’m just... concerned you’ll be corrupted by evil.”
Hearing the lie, George instinctively frowned, then looked at the little succubus before him with even more confusion. He opened his mouth, wanting to remind her of her own race. Succubi were inherently evil. In all the historical records of the various races, whenever succubi were mentioned, they were invariably described with derogatory terms. But he didn’t say it. Instead, he asked, “Gima, what are you worried about?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s a lie. Tell me the truth. I want to know, it’s for your own good.”
When George got serious, the focused gaze from his blue eyes fell on Gima, and she felt a wave of pressure.
Damn it. So direct. Just like the style of the Holy Sanctuary.
Gima thought for a moment, then spat out a partial truth.
“So, are you going to sleep with Liz?”
“Huh?” George was completely taken aback.
“Am I wrong?” Gima asked. “You two are chatting so intensely, she’s already talking about meeting your family and asking what color ball gown you like. This is clearly a straight path to the bedroom.”
“Huh?” George said again. “Didn’t we just meet? Aren’t we just talking about things normal friends talk about? She wants to meet my family, but it’s not like she wants to harm them, so why shouldn’t I agree? And the color of the ball gown, my friends often ask for my opinion on dress colors and the color of their longbows.”
“Your friends?”
“Jenna, and the brothers I practice swordsmanship with.”
Gima was stunned for a moment. If it weren’t for the fact that paladins couldn’t lie, she would have suspected that the hero before her, a virgin on the surface, was secretly a philandering, promiscuous demon, just like his horse.
She asked, “Do you really think so?”
“Of course,” George retorted. “How did you even get to thinking about the bedroom?”
Faced with such a righteous question, the old pro Gima rarely felt embarrassed.
“I... I... my memories tell me these are all steps in a romance that leads to bed.”
George patted Gima’s head. “I understand what you’re worried about now. But remember not to lie next time.”
Gima was instantly on guard. This damn virgin couldn’t possibly think I’m jealous out of love, could he? Ptooey, ptooey, how disgusting.
She quickly said, “That’s not what I meant.”
“I understand,” George said with a serious nod. “Liz is just a naive and somewhat vain young lady. I just want to find Nudelhi sooner.”
Your explanation makes me feel like you don’t really understand at all.
Gima opened her mouth to ask more, but when she thought about her own behavior, she really did seem like a jealous little girl, so she shut her mouth.
After their talk, the two returned to the group and saw the poet Disha and the red-haired Strong were still bickering.
“You’re the most useless one here, just squatting in a dark corner, waiting to steal the kill.”
“Better than someone who can only bully weak goblins,” Disha said lazily, a gold coin flipping between his fingers. “Only a child making mud pies at the village entrance would play house according to a novel’s plot.”
“You!”
Strong clenched his fists, veins popping on his arms. Gima couldn’t help but look forward to how spectacular it would be if that fist landed on the slender, elf-like poet.
“Alright, alright, stop fighting. We’re all teammates heregentlemen,” Liz said.
But Gima saw a hint of a smile in the corner of her eye.
She really enjoys watching her suitors fight. In any case, she’s just a woman with a pretty face and a good temperament, but her morals are very questionable. Hmph, I’m not even interested!
Gima’s heart soured as she and George walked toward the three of them. Liz immediately turned to him, the ends of her chestnut hair swaying behind her slender waist. She smiled. “George, shall we set off now?”
George nodded, and the five of them set off again. George, still chatting animatedly, took the lead. Looking at their increasingly intimate backs, Gima wouldn’t have been surprised if they ducked into the bushes the next moment.
Gima, with her sour expression, and Strong, with his jealous one, looked surprisingly similar. The poet Disha looked at the two of them and nodded thoughtfully.
“It’s a pity there’s only one goblin lair nearby. After we go back this time, it’ll be the Rainbow Festival, and there won’t be time to come out and play again,” Liz said. “It would be nice if we ran into something else. I’m very happy being with you.”
George nodded. And so, it seemed, that at that moment, the Goddess of Fate heard her request.
The sound of something rustling in the bushes rang out. George immediately stopped, beckoning to Gima, she then trotted over to his side.
“What’s wrong?”
Liz pressed her back against George’s, while Strong watched, grinding his teeth in secret.
“Someone’s there,” Gima said, scanning the surroundings.
Beside the five of them was a patch of dense grass, as tall as Gima, perfect for hiding and ambushing. George immediately drew his sword. The sound of the blade leaving its sheath startled the unknown creature in the grass, which made another sound.
“An ambush! It’s a goblin ambush!”
Strong immediately howled, raising his small shield and covering Liz with his back. This made Liz frown slightly. She drew her wand, preparing for a reconnaissance by fire. Gima looked carefully. Although the grass was dense, none of it was trampled down.
An ambush my ass.
“It’s probably a wild boar. How could it be a goblin?” She said.
“Child, you have no idea how cunning goblins are,” Strong said gravely.
Gima ignored him and pointed toward the source of the sound. George nodded and took the lead, striding through the grass.
A rustling sound came from ahead, as if the unknown creature was fleeing from them. George parted the grass in front, and Gima saw the true face of the unknown creature.
It was a man and a woman. The man had dark skin and a strong body, dressed in tattered linen clothes. There were whip marks on his back, which was slightly hunched from years of labor. A few arrows were also stuck in there, and a crude long knife, stained with blood, hung from his waist.
A slender, brown-skinned girl was supporting him, trying to drag him away. There were also several fresh whip marks on her neck, and she wore a revealing silk garment. On her exposed, slender waist were several dark bruises.
Gima was all too familiar with this kind of wound; they were pinch marks, the result of bedroom activities.
“Stop! Who goes there?” Strong shouted, rushing over from behind.
The brown-skinned girl turned around, tears streaming from her swollen eyes, down her cheeks, and over the black iron collar around her neck, which was already cutting into her skin. She could only gasp for breath as she said:
“Please... please, have pity on us.”
The more Gima looked, the more she felt she had seen the brown-skinned girl somewhere before. Suddenly, she remembered. Wasn’t this the virgin, brown-skinned girl who was being auctioned off in the market district on the day the damn virgin had taken her out to squander her hard-earned money?
So she actually escaped, but her luck is terrible, Gima thought.
“How pitiful,” Liz said. “Are you being hunted?”
“Yes, yes,” the brown-skinned girl nodded quickly. “Thank you.”
“Your companion looks like he needs to be properly bandaged,” Liz said with a smile. “We can help you.”
Just then, Strong pointed to the collar on the brown-skinned girl’s neck and said:
“Liz, they’re runaway slaves. That man might be a slave bandit! He’s killed someone!”
The smile on Liz’s face vanished instantly, replaced by disgust. She raised her wand, the tip glowing faintly.
In Salem City, runaway slaves only received reports and disgust, not help. No one would sympathize, just as no one would sympathize with a pig that bit its keeper and ran away. Now, the “pig” had run into the daughter of the pig farm owner. This was their misfortune.
So Gima thought.
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