Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 978: Bitter Aftertaste

Ayame’s unit was already mopping up the last of the enemy troops, blades drenched, bodies sprawled across the muddy hills. Dozens of enemy combatants lay broken, most still twitching, others stone-cold. Only a few remained locked in combat, desperately resisting the inevitable.

They didn’t last long.

Because they had returned.

Quinlan burst out of the rift first, announcing his arrival with a loud bang of elemental magic. Vex followed, staggering out with a snarl, half her face wrapped in a bandage from her lost eye. Kitsara and Blossom came next, both exhausted, both still more than ready to kill. Feng dragged herself out last, legs wobbling but her grin ever intact.

They didn’t have to say a word.

Their appearance alone was thunder.

It told the enemy everything they needed to hear: Their last hope had failed.

A brutal ambush unfolded.

The enemy forces were caught between the two groups and got slaughtered without mercy. Even those who threw down their weapons died where they stood. There was no room for prisoners.

Not anymore.

And as the last scream faded into silence, the dust of the battlefield finally settled.

Ayame’s katana hissed as it slid back into its sheath.

That was exactly when Liora, Kaelira’s healer subordinate, and Seraphiel broke through the lines, their eyes wide with alarm.

”Quin!” Seraphiel gasped, leaping forward with light blooming across her hands. ”You’ve lost too much blood! Why didn’t you call for me?”

Quinlan didn’t answer. He just reached out to rest his body against his beloved elven bombshell of a healer, finding it way too difficult to stand upright any longer.

Sera accepted his weight without any further inquiries and began his rejuvenation.

A golden glow pulsed around him as her healing took root. Bones knit together, tissue wove itself anew, nerves reconnected. The process was not one bit pleasant, but he bore it in silence, eyes never leaving the woman who was doing her utmost to keep him alive, appreciating her handiwork.

Liora knelt beside Vex, frowning at the mess of her wounds. ”You should be dead... Lady Vex,” she muttered, trying to keep her hands steady as magic flowed through her, too.

Vex grinned, letting blood smear her teeth. ”I’ve lived through worse.”

”I mean it. You shouldn’t be standing. You shouldn’t even be breathing.”

”Whatever could you mean? I’m totally vibing,” She tried winking, but instead only managed a firm wince. ”Ow! Okay, I got it... You’re the pro, please keep doing whatever you think is right.”

”... I’ll have to take special care of you, Lady Vex. You sustained too many injuries,” Liora said after a moment, her voice quiet.

Vex smiled softly at the healer’s attitude. ”You don’t need to talk to me like that. I might’ve been an insurmountable monster to you, maybe I still am... But don’t forget that I’m one of you now. Part of the madness. So don’t use the fancy speech with me.”

Liora stared at her for a long beat. Then nodded. ”Alright.”

”That’s more like it.”

Two shadows streaked through the air.

Eve landed at Quinlan’s side, kneeling. Her armor was demolished, her expression unreadable behind her soulforged mask, but her loyalty radiated like a beacon. ṙ𝒶ꞐΟ𝐛Ɛs̈

Veyrin appeared behind her, bow resting on his back, his spectral gaze sweeping the battlefield.

His army of one hundred—his level 4045 soul soldiers—had perished. Not due to incompetence. But on purpose. They had held the line until the very end. They did their duty excellently.

”Well done.”

And like that, their battle was over.

They turned away from the prison’s ruins, the shattered battlefield, and the cocooned terror slumbering beneath the broken stone.

There were still prisoners stolen.

A king’s birthday was on the horizon.

And a storm was rising.

But for now...

They returned.

Home.

To the stronghold.

...

The tender light emitted by mana lanterns bathed the harem lounge in warm colors. Pillows of every shape and size blanketed the numerous sofas dotted throughout the room. The girls lounged around in various states of comfort. Some bandaged, others just finally able to exhale.

Vex had a leg tossed over one of the couches while sipping from a bottle far too large for one hand. Seraphiel was curled up on a nearby chaise, massaging her temple with delicate fingers, no doubt fighting off a mana headache. Blossom sat like a cat on the windowsill, one leg swinging lazily, while Feng played with the smoke that was emitted from Quinlan’s cigar.

Lucille reclined in her seat and glanced at a certain white-haired foxkin woman. ”So. How’s Darius?”

Kitsara, sprawled across a mound of cushions with her tails draped like lazy banners, sighed and glanced up at the ceiling. ”He’s... appearing brave. Trying to act all stoic and unbothered. You know, the usual stubborn act.”

”But?” Lucille prompted.

”But he’s hurting. Deeply.” Kitsara’s voice lowered. ”Two limbs gone. It’s not just the pain: it’s what it means. He was supposed to inherit our father’s lands, lead the clans, and stand tall among dogkin warriors. But now he just smiles like it doesn’t matter and tells me to ’focus on helping my new family.’ And, ’He doesn’t need an annoying little sister who’s already been given away to a man worrying about him.’” She snorted bitterly. ”It’s a lie he tells, of course.”

Lucille nodded in understanding. ”Maybe someday we’ll be strong enough to help him.”

The overly simple words hit harder than Kitsara expected.

She looked over at Lucille. A rare, sincere smile crept onto Kitsara’s lips. For once, it wasn’t mocking. It wasn’t playful.

It was soft. Grateful.

”Thank you.”

Lucille just smiled and nodded back.

Laughter bubbled nearby as Feng flicked a gust of smoke at Blossom, whose strong nostrils didn’t appreciate the sudden attack one bit. The doggirl fell out of the window but caught herself easily, and soon retaliated with a pillow attack coming from Feng’s blindside. As the ladies kept the mood going, for a few fleeting minutes, there was peace.

But it was fragile.

Everyone felt it.

The elephant in the room wasn’t the wounded or the ruined prison.

It was her.

Jasmine.

Still trapped under her father’s thumb.

Still imprisoned in that gilded cage.

Still forced to work like a slave; kept out of sight, scrubbed raw, humiliated beneath the weight of control.

They had been too late to free her mother.

And the failure burned in them more than any wound.

Quinlan sat quietly through it all, his freshly healed arm resting across Serika’s and Aurora’s shoulders. He hadn’t spoken in several minutes.

But his eyes were open. Focused.

And when he moved, it was with that same calm intensity that always meant action.

He reached to the table beside him, brushed aside a glass, and picked up an artifact.

He activated it.

The room fell silent.

He brought it to his lips.

”It’s time,” Quinlan said softly.

The artifact flared with light.

And somewhere far away... a young, bright-eyed girl paused.

”Lord Black?!” she asked through the device, blinking fast. Excitement bubbled in her hushed voice. It had been a long time since she last heard this deep, confident voice. Far too long.

”Indeed, it is I, Princess Felicity. How have you been?”