Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 669: Blood Oath

The moment Devil extended his hands forward, the air around him shifted. Gone was the aura of a man weighing his choices. What remained was a man who had already decided on the path he would pursue.

His two arms stretched outward, palms hovering over the table.

Then…

No words. No incantation. No hand signs.

Just raw power.

From his palms, earth began to swirl into existence. Grains of dust stirred, compacting, molding. At first, they created a formless mass, before slowly transforming into something very recognizable.

Two figures emerged under his two palms. Their stony visages were hardened into perfect replicas.

Skarnʼs battle-worn snarl was etched into stone with his mane frozen mid-motion as if this image of him was captured during his fearless charge. Under his other palm, Rajahʼs predatory glare stared back at Devilʼs audience as if he were observing hopeless prey, whose destiny was to be hunted by him. Both figures were carved with an unsettling amount of precision. Every scar, every ridge of muscle, every sharp angle of their expressions was perfectly mirrored.

This wasnʼt just a display of magic.

It was a message.

A wave of shock swept through the chamber. Pupils dilated. Spines stiffened. Not a single beastkin understood what was going through his mind.

The two statues took a step forward.

Not with the clunky movements of golems, nor with the sluggish crawl of mindless puppets.

They moved with the confidence and swagger of seasoned warriors.

Exactly like the men they mimicked.

They approached Devil with reverence, taking a deep bow before him as if they were not conjured constructs but sworn vassals tending to their lord.

They reached for his gauntlets, peeling them off, carefully, ceremoniously, as if unveiling something sacred.

The cold metal of his armor clattered onto the table. But the sound was swallowed by the tension that had wrapped itself around the room like a noose.

And then, before anyone could even process what was happening, twin blades of pressurized water manifested in the statuesʼ hands.

There was no shimmer, no distortion. No build-up of magical energy.

One moment, the weapons did not exist.

The next, they did.

Flawless conjuration.

The statues moved their arms.

The blades sliced deep into Devilʼs wrists.

Blood.

Crimson spilled forth, dark and rich, as it ran down his arms.

But he did not flinch.

He simply tilted his hands, letting his blood pour onto the figures.

Scarlet seeped into the stone.

At first, nothing happened.

Then… cracks.

Small at first. Miniature fractures emerged across their surfaces.

And then… collapse.

The figures began to crumble, as if the moment his blood touched them, they had been poisoned by something they were never meant to contain.

First, the fingers. Then the arms. Then the chests.

The statues unraveled before their very eyes, disintegrating into dust, as if his blood itself was an infection, a force of nature.

Skarnʼs gut twisted.

Rajah broke into a cold sweat.

Gorruk watched, wide-eyed.

Silver clenched his jaw, his fury was visibly shaken.

Vargis loosened his grip on his war axe.

Vex giggled, shaking her head in amusement.

Raika scoffed.

Ignis sighed with relief.

And Yoruha…

She stared at the manʼs display with a mysterious smile adorning her lips.

When the last fragment of stone collapsed into dust, the chamber fell into a void of silence.

Not a single voice.

Not a single breath.

It was not the absence of sound.

It was the weight of realization.

A pressure that wrapped around the throat. Suffocating. Heavy.

Because the message had been delivered, loud and clear:

ʼYou were right to fear me.ʼ

But there was a second message conveyed through his actions.

A promise, a prophecy:

ʼThe moment you turn your blade against me, you are done.ʼ

The figures were perfectly healthy, brimming with life that was entirely unnatural of magical constructs. But once they grabbed the blades and cut into his flesh, they disintegrated into dust. By taking up arms against him, their fate had been sealed to that of imminent destruction. ȑâℕổ฿ΕṢ

Silence reigned supreme for a whole dozen seconds until, slowly, his hands rose to his face, and with one smooth motion, he removed his mask.

For the first time, they saw his eyes in their natural glory, without the mask artifactʼs distortion effect being at play.

In those eyes, they saw no doubt. No hesitation. No uncertainty.

They did not belong to a man making a choice.

They belonged to someone who had already decided.

And then, his low, steady voice cut through the silence.

”I swear.”

The words alone carried weight. It had a resonance to it that seemed to vibrate through the very marrow of those who heard his voice.

”I swear on the blood I have shed, the lives I have taken, and the throne I will one day claim.”

He let the words sink in for a single moment.

Then, he continued.

”For the next thousand years, I shall not make a move against the Beastman Confederation, nor shall I orchestrate its fall through hidden hands. So long as your people do not raise their claws and fangs against me or mine… my warpath shall not cross yours.”

By now, the blood from his open wounds had pooled onto the table, spilling over the edge in slow, rhythmic drops.

*Drip.*

*Drip.*

*Drip.*

It was a steady, haunting metronome.

The beastkin inhaled the rich scent. Their instincts demanded they do.

And yet, instead of activating their predatory hunger in the presence of a bleeding, weakened prey, their unease only deepened.

It smelled like human blood.

And yet… it didnʼt.

Their instincts screamed at them—this was something else.

Something more.

”This, I vow, by my blood. By my soul. May all that I hold dear be evaporated into dust should I fail to uphold my oath.”

A pulse.

An unseen force rippled through the chamber.

Not magic. Not divine power.

Something deeper.

Something absolute.

Something… primordial.

And then, he smiled.

Not in anger.

Not in malice.

Just a simple, knowing grin.

That just made it all the more unsettling.

He turned his gaze onto Skarn. Then to Rajah.

And with all the warmth of an old friend, he asked:

”Are you happy now?”