Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 1354  Shift of Focus

The wind tore past them as Quinlan rose high above the rooftops.

Greyhaven unfolded below in broken layers. Streets clogged with movement from undead swarms as they pressed through alleys and squares. Among them moved figures tinted blue; their motions were much smoother and deadlier. They advanced without hesitation, not fearing for their lives.

Humans fought to hold ground already lost. Shields splintered. Spears snapped. Blood ran along the gutters and pooled where the stone dipped, carried downhill by gravity. Above them, elven volleys arced in clean lines, arrows falling in steady rain. The rhythm did not change. Draw. Loose. Draw again.

Cannons thundered from the walls. Dwarven crews worked without pause, blackened hands ramming shot and powder while shouting to one another in rough voices, each blast followed by cheers that praised iron and fire. On top of Quinlanʼs back, Mira clutched his shoulders with all her strength.

Her face turned away, then back again despite herself. Her lips moved without sound at first. Then the words came, carried off by the wind as soon as she spoke them.

”Goddess above…” she whispered, bowing her head as much as the flight allowed, ”I beg you have mercy and guide your lambs who suffer unjustly. Take in the innocent. Grant rest to those who have already fallen. Shelter the lost.”

Her fingers tightened. She pressed her forehead briefly against his back and continued, speaking the way she had been taught since childhood.

Quinlan did not interrupt.

He watched the city with a different measure.

The lines of battle were already decided. The undead were no longer merely pushing but consolidating. The soul soldiers moved to cut off escape routes. Elvardian forces, those that had moved, seeing the devastation theyʼd already caused - mostly due to Quinlanʼs and his alliesʼ rampage inside Greyhaven - had secured the outer districts. What remained was resistance without leverage.

He had killed humans today. Many of them. The number had stopped mattering somewhere past the first thousand. His elite souls worked even now, carving through pockets of defenders that refused to yield… And even those that did.

There was no mercy shown on this day, for even if they were merciful, the survivors were not for Quinlan to deal with. Theyʼd either join the Elvardian war machine as disposable slave warriors, or worse, bolster the ranks of the undead.

So…

They might as well give him XP and join his soul army, no?

That said, he did indeed grant mercy to that one woman who impressed him when she decided to ram into those soldiers, killing them on the spot. He liked her attitude.

And he was low on mana.

So he decided to give her a chance at escape. Maybe if she did, his legend would grow even further. Leaving a survivor to tell the tale of what had happened was a tried-and-true method of bolstering oneʼs reputation.

But the current state was exactly why Quinlan paused the killing, even though heʼd managed to regenerate some mana already.

The remaining resistance offered little return should he join in once again. Scraps, compared to what his efforts have gotten until now. His own forces would harvest a big portion of those without him having to lift a hand. It was a lot more efficient to leave it to them. He could create big bangs and evaporate a large cluster of enemies. But when they were already hiding in alleys, scattered and moving alone, his hunting would be inefficient.

It was best to leave it to his 170 and counting Elite Souls.

His gaze drifted to the orphanage roof they had left behind.

Two nuns. Fifty children. When he saw that, heʼd arrived at this decision.

Instead of farming even when it became inefficient, he could perhaps put his attention toward helping the kids.

Children, just like the soldiers, would either be killed, enslaved, or used as tools for some nasty dark magic. If Elvardia took them, their fate would only be slightly better. Theyʼd likely be treated as useless tools in a smithy or other factories, for the two prideful races did not think humans were worthy of taking on important tasks, let alone human children.

While Quinlan had a heart that could often be cold, he didnʼt wish that fate upon children. If he knew his actions would surely result in a giant setback for himself, such as ruining his relationship with this alliance, then heʼd likely turn a blind eye. But right now, he believed he could help some kids and lousy nuns while also remaining in the good graces of his allies, so why not go for it? He knew that it would not only make himself feel better, for he was a hypocrite, but that his girls - those who would be incredibly guilty if they were to see the aftermath of the siege, such as Lucille, Aurora, or Ayame - could have something to feel good about. Mira shifted on his back.

”Thank you,” she said quietly.

Quinlan did not answer.

Instead, he climbed.

The city shrank beneath them. Rooftops blurred into broken grids. The clash of steel and cannonfire dulled, stretched thin by distance. He pushed higher still, riding currents that bent around him, until the sky cooled and the smoke thinned into pale strands.

He did it deliberately.

Down there, his allies were everywhere. Carrying a nun on his back was already questionable. What he was about to do would be far worse if witnessed.

Mira noticed the change.

Her grip tightened. ”Why are we going so high?” she asked, voice strained by the wind. She twisted, trying to look past his shoulder and at his face. ”And why are you leaving them behind? Those soldiers are still fighting. With your power, you could save so many of them!”

Quinlan adjusted his angle, eyes fixed ahead.

”Focus on the directions,” he said.

The bluntness made her frown. She leaned back slightly, peering at the side of his helmet, then at the empty space where the visor had been moments ago.

”Are you really a hero?” she asked.

He grunted.

”Woman, are you slow in the head? I told you many times I am no hero.”

Her lips pressed together. Her gaze lingered on him longer than before, measuring, doubtful.

Then she exhaled and looked away.

”Fine,” she said. She raised one hand, pointing through the thinning smoke. ”Past that collapsed watchtower. Thereʼs a shelter beneath the old tannery. If itʼs still intact...”

He shifted course at once.

They approached fast.

Too fast.

Quinlan did not slow.

At the last moment, he wrapped one arm around her torso and folded the other tight against his side. The air snapped. The city rushed up to meet them in a straight, brutal line.

Mira screamed. Or wouldʼve, had Quinlanʼs gauntleted hand not reached for her mouth to silence their presence.

Quinlan dropped like a stone, trajectory sharp and exact. No flare of power. No visible trail. Just a sudden absence where they had been, followed by silence.

A heartbeat before impact, he twisted.

Stone brushed past his boots. Dust lifted without sound. He landed on the roof of the building Mira pointed at with his knees flexing just enough to bleed off the force.

Mira wasnʼt so graceful. She nearly folded in half.

The nun sucked in air, choking, hands clutching at his armor as her legs refused to cooperate. Spots danced in her vision. Her stomach lurched hard enough that she gagged.

”Was that really necessary?” she gasped.

”Yes.”