Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 752: Desperate Battle

Dark energy surged down the steel, carving hexes into the air with every swing. She lunged, striking faster than thought, and for a moment—just a moment—it looked like she had the edge.

But Leohtar parried with monstrous ease.

Her blade sparked against his axe, but he didn’t give ground. Each of his swings tore shockwaves through the battlefield. Dust, rubble, and force swirled around them as her cursed blade clashed again and again… until I saw her footing stagger.

She was giving everything.

And it still wasn’t enough.

I didn’t know her exact level, but she was in the early 60s if I was being generous, but considering her young age, she was likely in the late 50s instead.

Anyhow. I didn’t allow myself to stare any longer. If my elemental powers weren’t enough… if fire and earth and raw power couldn’t so much as slow this beast down, then I had no choice.

I took a breath.

Let the fire fade.

And reached instead into the cold, heavy vault of death that I carried in my soul.

The newly awakened Necromancy.

Not just the idea of it—the system of it. The intricate, evolving architecture that had taken root within me since I became its rightful heir.

My hand lifted of its own accord, driven by instinct rather than conscious thought.

“[Necromantic Codex].”

A cold wind brushed against my fingertips.

Then, it appeared.

An immense tome burst into existence before me. It was leather-bound in writhing black, etched with cryptic syllables that bled what I could only assume to be soul-light from between the seams. To my great surprise, I didn’t need to hold it because it floated above my palm just like the Soul Reaper.

When the pages flipped open, they didn’t just rustle—they whispered. Knowledge of spells and other details that were useful for a necromancer to start out on his journeys. Lines of foreign script slid into place, then reshaped themselves into something I could understand.

Too much. Too fast.

‘I don’t have time to read this whole thing!’

Sitting down and thoroughly studying this new power wasn’t an option, so I hurriedly flicked through the pages. The battle raged in front of me; metal rang against metal as Vex gave that goddamn monster everything she had and more. But even when hit by her curse hexes, the Sunfang didn’t seem to be too bothered by them. It was as if he only received a reduced effect of them.

Eventually, the pages obeyed my will and flipped themselves to the section I was searching for:

[Soul Ledger – Souls of the Damned]

The first section was massive. It was a list that scrolled with no end in sight.

— Lionkin Soldier (Level 9)

— Lionkin Hunter (Level 6)

— Lionkin Chef (Level 4)

— Lionkin Apprentice (Level 3)

— Lionkin Scout (Level 5)

— Lionkin Scout (Level 5)

— Lionkin Scout (Level 5)

And so on.

No names. No individuality. A million faceless echoes of the battlefield. Just weak, indistinguishable masses. Souls too degraded to retain their personhood. Tools… not people. Ř𝒶N∅ΒĘṥ

I turned the pages until the list stopped.

[Elite Soul Archive – Ascended Souls]

— Foxkin Archer (Rank 1)

— Human Warrior (Rank 1)

Only two?

I blinked.

The archer… That had to be Silver’s son, Prince Veyrin, the one I’d put down in our duel to the death. But the human? I had no idea.

It struck me how different this section was: their levels were gone, replaced with ranks. The book now judged power on its own scale. Ranks were not a classification that was used by the Soul Records, as far as I was aware. It was the humanoids, the mortals, who used ranking to categorize themselves, such as the ranks of the Consortium or the Adventurers’ Guild.

Anyway. I needed something more expendable. Cost-effective as throwaway tools: used once, then forgotten.

Something to hurl into the jaws of death.

Just long enough for me to get to Vex and drag her away from here.

I clenched the Soul Reaper in both hands and saw its edge flickering with its trademark ethereal blue flames. It was visibly raring to go, to be allowed to showcase our new power.

Far be it from me to be the boring one. It was time to roll.

“[March of the Damned]!”

Mana roared from my body—over 600 points, every last scrap I had left, funneled straight into the saber.

The flames along the blade brightened, howled, and then exploded outward in a brilliant flash of spectral blue.

From the soulflame, they came.

Not corpses. Not walking dead. But soul-forged echoes.

Lionkin Swordsmen were tall, muscular, uniform in their grim visages and ethereal armor. Their blades glowed with the same blue hue as my own weapon.

Lionkin Spearmen were almost identical in build, and their halberds and shields rose with mechanical synchronicity.

Lionkin Archers pulled spectral bows without strings.

Each one was clean, minimal, and efficient. A template.

Their eyes blazed with empty purpose: there were no thoughts, no logic, no hesitation present.

They were soldiers born of death, and I had stripped away their pasts to mold them into weapons.

Dozens of them.

My breath caught in my throat as a nasty headache was creeping up on me, signaling that I was in danger of fainting due to my extreme mana expenditure. It was never a smart idea to let your mana reserves reach exhaustion, for it could introduce many side effects.

But I wasn’t given a choice, and the Soul Reaper was more than happy to receive my donation as it pulsed with each release, spitting forth unit after unit of spectral warriors. They fanned out in perfect formations, standing between me and Leohtar Sunfang like a translucent phalanx.

Just as my mana reached 0, the hundredth of them were summoned, each between levels 20 and 30. This was the sweet spot I decided on: not too costly but sturdy enough to restrain him for a few seconds with their sheer numbers and stats.

”Go! Hold him down!”

My summoned minions surged forward in sync, following my command down to the letter.

And with a throbbing head and a rapidly beating heart, I ran for Vex.

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