Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 825: The Event Begins [Bonus]

Quinlan stood at the edge of the raft, the molten river below them bubbling with heat. Tourists stepped off from other rafts cautiously, one foot at a time, clinging to ropes and walkways. He didn’t bother.

Instead, he turned to Feng Jiai, who blinked in surprise as he bent down and—without asking—scooped her into his arms, bridal-style.

”H-Hey!” she squeaked, face rapidly flushing. ”W-What are you doing?!”

”Saving time,” he said, grinning.

And then he jumped, leaping high up into the air. His body had changed since his Core Formation.

Where before, his movement relied on muscle and control, now it was guided by the wind of his own inner power.

His core, a silver inferno within him, cycled qi continuously, refining it and feeding it into his body in a steady stream.

Every breath pulled in elemental energy, every motion was now enhanced. He had become something more than a human, his body freed of old impurities, his channels clear, his energy efficient.

It was like having an engine embedded in his gut—a furnace that made him lighter, sharper, faster.

He landed smoothly on the other side, as if walking down a single step, Feng cradled in his arms like a frightened and embarrassed kitten.

She stared up at him, lips parted slightly, and then quickly looked away, muttering something about putting her down or else he’ll regret it.

He smirked and rudely ignored her demand.

They moved quickly through the packed streets, following the banners and the roaring noise until the arena came into view.

...

It towered above the city, a colossal structure of black stone and flame glass, with immense pyres burning atop its spires. Crimson banners bearing the Fire Sovereign’s crest fluttered in the wind, each embroidered with golden threads and stylized phoenix motifs.

Inside, the arena floor was wide and circular. Dozens of floating platforms circled the upper rim, allowing elites and nobles to watch from private seats above.

Tens of thousands of spectators flooded the stands. Fire cultivators in brilliant crimson robes, merchants with fans, and more modest citizens munching on some snacks. The atmosphere throbbed with heat, excitement, and tension.

At ground level, contestants streamed into a wide staging area, funneling forward like ants toward destiny. There were thousands of them, each one hungry for a name, a title, a place in the annals of history. They ranged from teens barely old enough to wield qi, to seasoned veterans with burn marks etched across their flesh.

At the far side of the arena, seated on a raised dais carved from crystal, were ten individuals.

Some were armored in gold. Others were wrapped in flame-kissed cloaks. Most were men, a few were women, but all of them radiated pressure and strength so potent it warped the very air.

These were the Ten Chosen, the retainers of the Fire Sovereign. If one wished to challenge her, they had to defeat one of these monsters first.

And above them all—seated alone, higher than anyone else—was the throne.

An ornate seat with flame-shaped spires rising behind it. A single figure sat on it.

Serika Vael.

The Fire Sovereign.

She didn’t quite wear an elegant, royal-themed flowing crimson robe with gold embroidery that Quinlan expected her to. If anything, she was more of a tomboy like Kaelira, the sexy, muscly elf. She even had tanned skin, making her bright green eyes and red hair pop out that much more. ŘἁＮ𝖔𐌱Еś

Her presence wasn’t welcoming at all. Instead, she looked like a woman who was bored out of her mind. But even then, she radiated cold dominance.

Her hair was tied into a high warrior’s tail that framed her composed face. She was striking. Dangerous. Her emerald eyes burned with judgment, watching all with a fire that didn’t need heat to threaten.

Instead of a royal dress, she was straight up in a crop top with her chiseled abs and shoulders bare for the world to witness. On her shoulders, two red tattoos shone brightly.

(Picture)

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Honestly, she looked more executioner than empress.

More warlord than queen.

And everyone in the arena knew:

This was the Fire Sovereign.

Not just a ruler of Vulkaris, but its sharpest blade.

Feng whistled beside Quinlan.

”Whew... she’s a very pretty lady. I heard the rumors, but seeing her in person is just different.”

”Pretty lady?! Feng Jiai, have you gone mad? I believe you wanted to say that she’s an ethereal goddess sculpted to divine perfection, with curves so luscious they could cause any man to weep and nations to fall? Now I understand where the term ’nation toppling beauty’ comes from, damn! Sweet merciful heavens, are you telling me the women of Zhenwu weren’t just sacks of potatoes with hair after all?! Now she’s the kind of snack I wouldn’t mind taking home with me as a souvenir...”

”W-what’s that supposed to mean?!! S-sacks of potatoes with hair?!?!?!” Feng Jiai cried with utter shock, but her face quickly transformed to that of a girl who’d been insulted to her very core. ”Hah??? Answer me!”

Quinlan didn’t bother with the squeaky brat any longer. He was already busy observing the Ten Chosen. Already picturing their flames. Already imagining the battles to come.

His hand twitched, fingers curling as his qi surged through his veins.

This was the path he had to follow to reach the very top.

No more bandits. No more vagabonds.

Only monsters now.

And Quinlan was ready.

Feng Jiai’s brow furrowed once she managed to calm down after a lot of cute huffs and puffs leaving her delicate lips. As she glanced nervously toward the arena entrances, scanning the shifting crowds, the endless faces, her frown only deepened. The roar of the spectators filled the air, but she hardly noticed it because her attention was focused elsewhere.

”He still hasn’t come back,” she muttered, folding her arms beneath her chest. Her voice was laced with worry. ”That old man said he’d find us once the event started. He promised.”

Beside her, Quinlan only shrugged, completely unbothered. ”Maybe he got distracted. Perhaps he finally found a sexy, lonely grandma to keep him company.”

Feng turned to him with an expression of disbelief. ”He wouldn’t-!”

”If he misses the show, then that’s his loss,” Quinlan said flatly, his eyes remaining on the ten warriors. ”I didn’t come here to impress him. It wasn’t even needed for him to accompany us. Frankly, I was surprised he left the shack behind; I expected him to just send us off.”

Each of the ten exuded a pressure so potent it could be felt all the way there. The Fire Sovereign’s chosen. The ones a challenger had to defeat if they wanted even the chance to approach the throne.

”Who are they?

Feng exhaled, glad to have something to focus on besides her own anxiety.

”They’re all in the True Foundation stage. The tier above yours.”

She glanced at him to gauge his reaction, but he didn’t so much as flinch.

”They’ve refined their cores,” she continued, ”transformed them into spiritual foundations. It’s not just about qi anymore; everything becomes one. Their body, their spirit, their element. Every movement they make is backed by full elemental integration.”

Her voice lowered.

”There are fewer than a thousand True Foundation cultivators in all four nations combined.”

That was the moment when Quinlan’s gaze drifted up, past the Chosen, past the crystal dais, to the throne seated higher than all others.

There she was.

Serika Vael.

The Fire Sovereign.

”And her?” Quinlan asked.

Feng hesitated for but a second. ”She’s in the Spirit Tempering stage. The fifth stage. The peak.”

Her voice grew quieter still. ”There are only about ten people known to be at that level. Across the entire world. Only the Sovereigns and a few ancient monsters who are hiding in the deepest sects and clans, cultivating for centuries in silence. They rarely come out into the limelight.”

Qi Refinement. Meridian Opening. Core Formation. True Foundation. Spirit Tempering.

That was the path.

Quinlan was only in the third stage—Core Formation—but he didn’t feel like a lamb walking into a den of wolves.

His core was a rare construct, forged to perfection. His twelve meridians were wide and clear, his body cleansed of impurities during the breakthrough, strengthened beyond ordinary limits. His qi cycled smoothly and continuously now, like a self-sustaining engine.

He was efficient. He was powerful. And, more importantly, he was unique.

He didn’t fight like the others. He didn’t follow the manuals or mimic the sects. His combat style was his own; an unpredictable blend of speed, rapid blows, overwhelming blasts, and raw battle instincts.