Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 1357  Femme Fatale

He leaned back slightly, watching her vanish into smoke and movement.

”The definition of the two-in-one combo,” he murmured. ”How troublesome.”

Black Fang cut through the next two soldiers in a crossing step, her blade moving once on the way in and once on the way out. As their bodies split and fell away from her line, her head turned a fraction.

Her eyes lifted.

They found him.

Quinlanʼs breath caught for half a beat. A chill ran up his spine and settled between his shoulders. His mouth pulled into a crooked grin.

”What perception…” he muttered. ”She noticed me from that far while mid-battle.”

Impressive did not cover it. She had not slowed. She had not altered her rhythm. She had simply known.

And in that glance, he caught it. Displeasure.

”Are you telling me that Iʼm not at a theatre play, so why am I chilling on the roof and watching the show?” he guessed, amused. ”Wait, I think I got it. ʼGet off your ass and do something useful.ʼ Is that more accurate?”

Her lips never moved. She cut another man down as if punctuation were unnecessary.

Quinlan laughed under his breath.

”Alright. Message received. Iʼll stop simping. For now.”

He rose from his crouch and launched off the roof.

The drop was short. He twisted midair, letting momentum coil through his frame, and landed beside her with one knee bent and one hand brushing stone. The ground cracked outward in a shallow ring.

Quinlan straightened and rolled his shoulders once. Power threaded through him in tight, efficient lines. For once, he did not cause any major spectacle with his motions. Deliberately making no waste. He called on the part of himself that fought without spells, without grand displays. Elemental force wrapped his limbs thinly, compressed and controlled.

A soldier rushed him from the side.

Quinlan pivoted in time, and his palm snapped forward. Wind condensed and burst at point-blank range. The man lifted off his feet and smashed backward into a wall with his armor folding in on itself.

Another came from behind. Quinlan stepped into the strike, elbow driving back. Earth hardened its joint for an instant. Bone gave way. The body dropped.

He moved again, low and close, fists and open hands alternating. Each motion ended with someone hitting the ground and not getting back up. Short bursts of force followed his strikes, fire blistering through gaps in armor, air snapping necks, and stone locking ankles before impact finished the rest.

It cost him almost nothing as far as mana expenditure was concerned.

Black Fang adjusted her path without comment, their movements weaving together without collision. Where she passed, bodies fell clean. Where he moved, they fell hard.

No words were exchanged.

The street emptied quickly.

Black Fang slowed at last.

She turned her wrist and swept the katana outward in a single, forceful arc. The blade cut the air clean. Blood lifted from the steel in a thin red ribbon and scattered across the stones, leaving the edge bare and bright again.

From Quinlanʼs angle, the motion drew a smooth line through her body. Shoulder, hip, step. Everything followed through without excess. Her grip never tightened. Her breathing never changed.

ʼTroublesome. I am liable to begin simping again…ʼ he thought gingerly. When it came to this womanʼs sheer existence, especially when she was on the battlefield, massacring her enemies, Quinlan had to remind himself to keep it together.

To that end, he straightened and glanced around the emptied street, then back to her. ”Where did you leave the rest of the gang?”

She did not answer.

Not even a glance.

Her blade slid back into its sheath with a controlled motion that made it clear she had heard him and decided he would not have an answer to his question.

Quinlanʼs mouth curved, greatly enjoying even this silent exchange.

They faced one another in the ruined avenue. Smoke drifted low between broken storefronts. Bodies lay scattered where the fight had ended, still and uneven. She stood with her weight balanced, posture straight, chin level.

Cold beauty. Proud presence.

Quinlan met her stare without blinking.

”Having fun? Itʼs not often that you can go wild in a city like this…” he asked, eyes flicking once to the red staining her skin before returning to her face.

Her gaze sharpened by a degree. How could she not be here, though?

They had an agreement. One year. He had one year to win her over on his own terms, or, to be blunt, seduce the woman and get her to part her legs willingly, letting his [Blessed Seed] enter her body as intended. Black Fang was greatly concerned with aging, or, rather, ruining her pristine skin with wrinkles; thus, Quinlan could only get a year from her. If he failed the seduction in a year, she won. No excuses. No renegotiation. Heʼd have to become her [Blessed Seed] pump, doing it without any feelings involved.

Quinlan would utterly detest that.

And this tied into why she was here. If she vanished to distant locations whenever she pleased, that year would slip through his fingers without him ever getting a chance.

So the condition had been simple.

She stayed close. At least fifty-one percent of the time, she had to be somewhere Quinlan could interact with her.

That was why Black Fang was here.

Not as his subordinate. Not as a follower. Certainly not as something he commanded.

She was a force of nature that walked beside him because their deal made it so, not because she felt subservient.

Just then, as the two continued to look at one another, her icy presence thinned. Not gone, just eased, like a blade lowered a fraction instead of sheathed.

For the first time since he landed beside her, the corner of Black Fangʼs mouth lifted. It was barely there. A suggestion more than a smile.

”I like it,” she said, answering his question of how it felt to go wild inside a city like this. Black Fang and the Consortium have spent their lives in the shadows. Fighting like this was new to the woman. ”Though I wouldnʼt mind a stronger opposition,” she added with a sincerity that made it all the more horrible, should an enemy hear her words.

She found Greyhaven too easy and wanted more challenge.

Quinlanʼs grin deepened at once.

It carried teeth and intent, the sort that belonged on someone who had just found confirmation that the chaos pleased the right person. Something dark and satisfied curled across his face. ”This is only the beginning.”

For a heartbeat, they matched.

The Primordial Villain, eyes alight with anticipation.

The Venomborne Terror, expression calm, that tiny shift at her lips far more unsettling than any snarl.

Same wavelength.

Same understanding.

Quinlan stepped closer and extended an arm, elbow angled toward her in gallantry. ”Come,” he said lightly. ”Let us finish this together.”

Black Fangʼs eyes flicked to the offered elbow.

Then back to his face.

”When one is overly ambitious, he appears delusional,” she replied.

She walked past him without taking it, boots crunching over stone, already moving toward the next stretch of ruined street.

Quinlan watched her go, then chuckled and fell into step beside her anyway.