Chapter 23: Arson

Gima’s scalp tingled with a sudden, primal fear. Her first reaction was, He’s bluffing! He has to be bluffing!

George was wearing that ridiculous, vision-obscuring bucket-helm. The eye-slit was just a narrow opening, offering a very limited field of view. He couldn't even see an enemy squatting right in front of him. And she was short and had been standing to his side. How could he possibly have seen her tiny finger twitch? But a Paladin would never lie. He wouldn't violate his sacred, goody-two-shoes oath for something like this.

Wait a minute. I remember that the Paladin class has mastery over the element of light. Could it be that George has some absurdly convenient ability to refract light, giving him a complete, panoramic field of view even while wearing that stupid helmet?

Gima steadied her nerves, forcing her face to show no great alarm. She put on a wronged, pitiful expression. “When I get nervous, my little finger tends to twitch. It’s a nervous habit.”

It was, technically, the truth. But the timing was just too perfect to be a coincidence.

George pondered this, his helmeted head tilted in thought.

“Fine! It was me! I did it!” Gima suddenly declared, pretending to be annoyed and kicking at a stray apple core on the floor. “I’m a big, bad demon, and I just love to watch people die! You can arrest me now! Take me away!”

George took it as an angry, childish outburst. He felt a sharp pang of guilt. “Gima, I think I’m being a little paranoid.”

“No, no, you’re being very vigilant,” Gima said with an air of earnest sincerity that would have fooled a god. “Constantly observing a demon spawn, not letting a single, tiny clue slip by. As expected of the rising star of the Holy Sanctuary, the youngest Hero in history to ever vanquish a Demon Lord. You are truly magnificent.”

“Gima, I…” George felt even more guilty, his resolve crumbling under her praise. “I’m sorry. Just now, like everyone else, I was wary of you simply because of your birth.”

“Oh.”

Gima turned her head away, giving him the tragic profile of a heartbroken, misunderstood maiden.

A heavy silence fell between them.

George couldn’t see Gima’s face, but he was absolutely sure she must be very, very hurt. She just came out of the egg, and the first person she saw was me. She instinctively trusts me, just like a newly hatched chick following its mother hen around… and yet, I doubted her.

Meanwhile, Gima, certain that George couldn’t see her face, let her wronged, pained expression completely collapse, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated, post-disaster relief.

Holy shit, that was close. I almost lost my composure completely. That damn virgin is more perceptive than I thought. Good thing he’s also a massive, guilt-ridden idiot, and good thing my innate succubus talent for acting is top-tier.

Gima raised a hand, surreptitiously rubbed her cheeks to work out the cramps from her intense acting, and wiped away the non-existent sleep from the corner of her eye.

George’s voice came from behind her, full of concern. “Gima, are you crying?”

“Of course not!”

Her voice sounded so stubborn and brave.

George felt even more guilty. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Gima said, turning her head back. She blinked her slightly reddened eyes and gave him a bright, forgiving smile. “I’m very happy just to be by your side.”

George quietly looked at the little succubus smiling at him. Gima’s smile was cute and beautiful, her big golden eyes curving into a pair of crescent moons, her lips revealing her small, white, sharp canines. His heart, which was usually as hard and unmoving as a rock, couldn't help but stir slightly.

He reached out and gently patted Gima’s head. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, like a purring cat.

“Let’s keep moving,” George said after an unknown amount of time had passed, his voice a little thick. “I will definitely help you break the slave contract.”

“Mm!”

The two of them continued to search the room. But Gima didn’t want to just muddle through this and leave any lingering doubts. As long as George’s suspicions remained unresolved, they would fester.

“I think,” Gima said, as if pondering a deep philosophical question, “that by making them apologize, I angered them and led to the… tragedy.”

“Gima, I’m not blaming you.”

“I’m not a spoiled little girl who just throws tantrums, you know. I’m very reasonable,” Gima said, launching into her brilliant, pre-planned defense. “Logically speaking, if a nobleman is offended and just angrily tells the other party to let him go without even demanding an apology, wouldn’t that just show that he has something to hide? I was already giving them a perfectly reasonable way out.”

George thought about it. It was true that Gima’s actions at the time had been quite logical and well-played.

“As for why they got so angry, isn’t it simple?” Gima said with a righteous huff. “They’re used to being arrogant and lawless in Salem City. Just because they were a little suspicious, they wanted to search us and even surrounded us like a pack of dogs.”

“When they realized they were actually afraid of an out-of-towner, it’s only normal that their fragile pride would be wounded and their anger would flare up. They just didn’t have a chance to calm down.”

Because George had killed them far too quickly, and to ensure their mission wasn't exposed, he hadn't let a single one escape.

“That makes sense,” George said, completely convinced. “People are not always rational. I’ve seen a man, in a fit of pure anger, jump off a cliff into the sea just to prove he wasn’t a coward.”

As soon as George’s words fell, Gima felt a warm current rise from her abdomen, swirling in her stomach, warm and toasty and incredibly satisfying.

This is… Gima knew exactly what was happening. She silently called out her personal system and looked at the message log.

>DM: Your brilliant conspiracy has completely deceived the vigilant Hero, leaving no loose ends or lingering doubts. You may now attempt to advance to the next class.

>Your next class is: Nightmare. According to your succubus inherited memories, to advance to the rank of Nightmare, you will need one whole stalk of dream-grass and the nose of a dream-eater as the main ingredients, with strong, high-proof liquor as the base… to create a magical potion. You must drink it all at once when you are at your absolute sleepiest.

My first class advancement, and I already need a potion? Dream-grass, a dream-eater’s nose… thankfully, those aren’t incredibly rare or priceless materials. They can be bought with money, but I’ll probably have to special-order them. I’ll have to ask about the price. It definitely won’t be cheap.

However, with George by my side…

Gima glanced at George.

This guy is a lot of trouble. He’ll definitely ask a bunch of annoying questions. I’ll need to find a chance to act alone.

Fortunately, as long as I can buy the materials, with my masterful alchemy skills, I should be able to create the “Nightmare” potion myself. It’s not like I haven’t done it before during my previous, much more glorious advancements.

Gima continued to look at the information log, pretending to be searching for a secret mechanism on the floor.

There was only a short, tantalizing line about the Nightmare class.

>Nightmare: The absolute master of the dreamscape. Can dominate the desires of others through their dreams, appearing and disappearing like a ghost, completely and utterly unnoticed.

It seems very suitable for being a magnificent mastermind behind the scenes, pulling the strings without anyone knowing. A sense of keen anticipation rose in Gima’s heart. But I really hope it also strengthens my physical body. Right now, my current body is so pathetically weak I’d have trouble fighting even a single, unarmed goblin.

>DM: With your complete mastery of the Apostle of Desire class, you can now not only stir the desires of others, but also stir them in reverse, causing a powerful negative, or nullifying, effect.

What does that mean? Stir in reverse? If I reverse-stir the lust of a pervert, will he immediately go limp? And if I reverse-stir the wrath of an angry enemy, will they instantly become a coward?

For a moment, Gima’s mind was filled with countless, wonderful possibilities. If George weren’t right next to her, she would have already run out into the street to find someone to experiment on.

After searching for twenty minutes, they had found nothing but some loose change. All they knew was that a mage named “Nudelhi” might know who could break the slave contract. Or perhaps, that was just their wishful thinking.

Before leaving, Gima was still planning how to convince George to burn down the entire crime scene. After all, they had left too many traces. For example, the distinctive sword wounds on the bodies could allow the enemy to deduce the type of weapon used, narrowing down the search considerably.

George was very kind. He might not be able to accept the act of destroying corpses to cover their tracks.

“They deserve our pity. They were just a group of poor souls selling their lives to the Great Good Master for a bite to eat,” George sighed, his voice full of compassion. “They were sons, fathers, brothers. They didn’t deserve to die. I only hope their deaths were not painful. I pray to the Lord of the Morning, asking for His divine light to guide your souls.”

“Ahem. George, I know you’re very kind,” Gima said, trying to keep a straight face. “But while you’re muttering all these nice prayers, could you please stop what you’re doing for a second?”

“Aren’t we in a hurry?”

As George spoke, he casually sprinkled a thick layer of incendiary jelly on the face of the man with the white scar. The bodies had been piled up in the center of the room, and to ensure a thorough, evidence-destroying burn, George had also dismantled the wooden counter and piled it on top of the corpses.

Do you have any idea how dissonant you look right now? You’re like the Texas Chainsaw Massacre killer, holding a chainsaw with the expression of a benevolent saint while chasing his victims.

Gima’s mouth twitched. “Yes, yes, you’re right. We are in a hurry.”

George lit the fire, recalled his celestial warhorse with a whistle, and the two of them quietly left through the back door. Behind them, thick black smoke billowed from the general store. Alarmed people rushed to put out the fire with buckets of water. Fortunately, the fire did not spread.

Two hours later, Gima and George were in a small boat, bypassing the island in the center of Salem City where the nobles lived, and heading towards the affluent White Sand District near the temple area.

The Fellen Brothers Bank was located in the White Sand District. Every day, hundreds of accountants, sea captains, and wealthy merchants came to the banks in the White Sand District to conduct financial activities, or to purchase and experience Salem City’s most famous specialty product—slaves.

The influx of high-end clientele brought a steady stream of wealth and prosperity to the White Sand District. The ground here was clean, and massive banyan trees lined the canals, their long, trailing roots dipping into the water, sucking up the rich “nutrients.” It was said that the banyan trees had been specially modified by alchemy.

Gima stepped from the small boat onto the clean, paved street. Looking at the well-dressed, elegant passersby, she breathed in the air, which carried a faint, pleasant floral fragrance. She felt refreshed all over, taking a deep, cleansing breath, finally having escaped the stinking, festering cesspool known as the Tinder District.

Gima just wanted to wash herself thoroughly from head to toe and then collapse onto a soft feather bed for a good, long, restorative sleep. If she could rest her head on the white-stockinged thighs of a beautiful elf onee-san, that would be even better.

“Gima,” George’s muffled voice came from his helmet. “We should probably go to a district that better befits our current status.”

Gima had already inquired about the various districts of Salem City. Without a second thought, she had dismissed the more affordable South District and headed straight for the expensive and luxurious White Sand District.

“Huh? Sir, although the noble district certainly befits your high status, it’s all private residences. They don’t welcome outsiders.”

“What I mean is,” George said patiently, “our travel funds won’t last very long if we stay here.”

“A good place to stay means a good mood, and a good mood is conducive to travel, right?” Gima said, hugging the greatsword and skipping ahead towards a fancy-looking inn.

George shook his head wearily and led the horse after her.

Of course, Gima hadn’t chosen the White Sand District just for the sake of luxury. She had chosen to find an inn here for a very simple, and very strategic, reason: a branch of the Fellen Brothers Bank was located in the White Sand District.

And she, the great Demon Lord Gima, had an anonymous account at the Fellen Brothers Bank. In that account, besides a lovely, and very large, sum of gold coins, there was also a pile of low-level magic equipment, meant to help her get through her weak, transitional period.

But the most precious thing inside was a single, unassuming key. The miscellaneous low-level magic equipment was just a smokescreen. She had hidden the key to her main treasure vault among them.

Although the Fellen Bank claimed that they put customer confidentiality above all else, and Gima had opened their most expensive and secure type of account, she was still worried the Great Good Master might use some special, underhanded means to get to it. Times were tough in Salem City, and the Great Good Master was spending a fortune, mobilizing every adventurer he could find to locate her vault in the hopes of obtaining her “inheritance” to get through the current crisis.

She didn’t completely trust the Fellen Bank either. The sooner she got the key to her vault, the more at ease she would be.