Chapter 21: It’s getting more and more bitter

Margaret’s voice pressed in, like storm clouds, sometimes bearing down like a mountain on Jon’s back.

He even hallucinated the sound of his spine going “ka-ba, ka-ba.”

The Moon wavered at the bottom of the pool, while the vine clock on the wall ticked in erratic time.

Jon’s vision flashed with the image of that floral Ring; then the piece of Sacrificial Meat from his childhood that was never fresh; then himself, standing on the High Platform before departure, waving his arm with youthful ambition.

Margaret caught the wavering in Jon’s eyes.

She smiled with disdain, then tidied her expression, her tone suddenly turning gentle.

She clapped her hands, and the Handmaiden, who had been waiting for some time, pushed out a Chariot.

A spirited Red-bearded Steed pulled a Glass Showcase.

Through the crystal surface, one could see a set of heavy, brilliant Enchanted Armor and a chilling Cloud-patterned Dark Gold Greatsword.

No warrior could dislike such fine armor and sword.

The moment the Chariot appeared, Jon’s gaze was drawn in, unable to look away.

It was simply like a Divine Artifact stepping out of childhood fantasies.

“Jon,” Margaret’s voice was gentle for the first time, “I personally chose this armor and sword for you. Don’t you like them? As long as you desire, the armor, the sword, and that Ring—all are yours. You can do whatever you wish.”

Jon stared blankly for a long while before he could bear to close his eyes.

He took a deep breath.

“What do you really want?”

Margaret’s eyebrow arched.

She, too, felt a strange mix of satisfaction and a hard-to-name scorn and disappointment in her heart.

She suddenly realized that rather than Jon yielding, she seemed to anticipate even more to see him remain “unyielding,” just like the never-surrendering Emperor.

Gathering her thoughts, Margaret finally followed the strategy the Handmaiden had suggested, lifted her skirt, puffed her chest with pride, and walked up to Jon.

“What I want is actually very simple.”

Margaret extended her slender, jade-like hand.

Using the tip of a ruby-inlaid filigree finger guard, she hooked up Jon’s chin.

Her sweet voice, laced with coldness and allure, whispered:

“I want you… to be loyal to me like a dog.”

When her words fell, the rear garden suddenly resonated with the clash of armor.

Everyone knelt reverently to the Princess—from soldiers to Handmaidens, to even the Imperial Guard Grandmaster who once taught Jon the way of the sword.

Only Jon remained an anomaly amid the crowd.

With synchronized movements and the clamor of armor colliding like bells, they all lowered their heads in unison, silent.

Yet this silence created an invisible pressure more overwhelming than thunder.

Margaret stared straight at him.

Though clearly shorter and looking up, her proud, scornful gaze seemed to look down from the clouds.

For the first time, Jon wavered.

Wordlessly, he wondered—if bowing to the Princess could save lives, what right did he have not to bow?

Could his dignity really outweigh a human life?

But if he surrendered to power for the sake of the Commoners, in the end, did he serve power or the people?

One minute.

Two minutes.

The ticking in the air gradually returned to rhythm.

Suddenly, Jon asked Margaret a question:

“Your Highness, if your enemy’s four-year-old Daughter stood in front of your foe, vowing to protect your enemy to the death, would you kill her?”

Margaret’s eyelids twitched.

She didn’t quite understand the meaning behind the question.

The Handmaiden hadn’t said this would happen… Unable to help herself, she turned to look at the Handmaiden.

The Handmaiden was also bewildered, pondering for a moment before shaking her head at Margaret almost imperceptibly.

“Eliminate evil to the end,” Margaret replied promptly after the cue.

“If one has become my enemy, then they must accept the resolve of being cut down to the roots.”

The Hero suddenly laughed.

Yet the mockery in his laughter wasn’t directed at Margaret, but at himself.

As if ridiculing his own hesitation just now.

“Your Highness, you said one thing wrong.”

Jon spoke slowly, his eyes growing brighter and his words sharper.

“I don’t want to be a hero, nor do I care if I become a coward.”

“But you said one thing right.”

“I’m indeed a country bumpkin, my ambitions aren’t that great or lofty.”

“I don’t wish to serve your authority, nor your wealth. I only know that no one is born to die, and since I’m here, I cannot turn away.”

“Your armor and sword, give them to someone else.”

With that, Jon left Margaret standing with parted lips and a dazed look, passing through the kneeling Loyal Hounds of the Princess, and walked away into the open.

“What… is he even saying?”

Margaret muttered in confusion.

The Handmaiden gave a wry smile.

“Your Highness, he refused you. That last question he asked…”

“What, did I answer wrong?”

Margaret raised her brow.

“No, it’s the answer that’s wrong.”

The Handmaiden immediately lowered her head, answering respectfully.

“That’s more like it.”

Margaret nodded in satisfaction, but as she came to herself, she felt somewhat dispirited, half-teasing, half-complaining.

“Little Ananna, your method isn’t good after all. Shall we try another?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the Handmaiden Ananna replied helplessly.

“In any case, we’ve seized his lifeline. He’ll yield eventually.”

Margaret’s tone was unconcerned.

But the Handmaiden Ananna wasn’t so optimistic.

In the matter of the grain merchants, it was clear others were involved.

Their motives were not simply to force the Hero to bow.

At that moment, she had a vague premonition that changes regarding the food supply would happen soon.

—

When Jon returned to the Army Camp, night was already halfway over.

He looked down at the ankle-deep dirty water, thinking of everyone sleeping in such an environment, and his mood sank.

Having refused the Princess, the grain merchants would surely not yield either.

Buying grain was no longer possible.

But Jon didn’t regret it.

The “enemy’s daughter” question he’d asked earlier didn’t hold any special meaning.

He simply wanted to test whether the Princess was worth following.

The answer, clearly, was “no.”

This showed that the direction pointed out by the Princess would likely conflict with his choices.

If so, then this so-called “bowing” was only turning short-term pain into long-term suffering.

He would have to find another way.

Soon, Jon returned to his room.

As soon as he opened the door, he met the eyes of the cute “young girl” Pupu sitting on the table.

“Ah… ah…”

The young girl called out twice, as if in greeting.

After a moment, she jumped down from the table and ran over to hug his calf.

The tension of the whole day loosened all at once.

Jon looked down and laughed twice, his eyes suddenly stinging.

For some reason, he felt a simple happiness—like “I’m home, I can finally rest.”

He picked up Pupu and placed her on his shoulder.

Jon first washed his face with clean water, then changed out of his rain-soaked clothes.

He suddenly realized he hadn’t fed Pupu in a long time.

Although she would drink water herself when thirsty, there was still a lack of “ceremony.”

There was definitely no Honey Water available, but this was no problem for Jon.

He still had some Sweet Wine left.

The flavor was sweet, so Pupu would probably like it too.

Jon poured a small bowl of sweet wine, dipped his index finger in it, and, as usual, offered it to Pupu’s lips.

And “Lily,” as usual, clung to his finger and began licking from top to bottom, as if eating a big popsicle, focused and content.

But…

Maybe it was because “Lily” was becoming more human-like.

Today, the gesture felt… more and more suggestive.

Pupu didn’t seem bothered, but Jon’s own face flushed red, and he felt too embarrassed to continue feeding.

So he took out a Soup Spoon, planning to use it to feed Pupu instead.

But unexpectedly, “Lily” suddenly grabbed the Soup Spoon while he was distracted, threw it to the floor, then sat there in a pitiful duck pose, eyes brimming with tears, as if begging Jon to keep feeding her.

Jon’s face turned even redder.

Hesitantly, he dipped his finger in the Sweet Wine again and brought it close to Lily’s face.

This time, Lily seemed eager to please, hugging his finger and licking with even more enthusiasm and sensuality.

Her semi-transparent pink tongue lightly traced every groove, scraping up every drop of wine, bringing Jon a faint, pleasant itch.

Her tiny mouth sucked from his fingertip to his knuckle, occasionally making “pop” sounds like tiny kisses.

Pupu’s greedy and entranced expression was the very picture of “bedroom eyes.”