Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 1379  More!

His gaze dipped toward the city as memory aligned with numbers. Officers. Veteran mages. Command staff. Elite guards who had survived more than one campaign. They fell to him or his soul army.

Yet, only a fraction of them rose as Elite Souls.

The rest became Lesser Souls.

Lesser Souls could be used as fighters… Casting [March of the Damned] allowed Quinlan to summon them, but only for a day. Once the twenty-four hours were up, they would become unusable, drifting back to the Goddess to rejoin Thalorindʼs soul ecosystem.

In a pinch, it was good to call on them. But in any other situation, using them like that would feel incredibly wasteful to Quinlan.

But that was not something he had to concern himself with, for there was a second use for those souls.

They made the perfect fuel.

”[Soul Fusion],” Quinlan called.

The Codex reacted instantly.

This was the largest mass upgrade Quinlan ever did, and the scale of it showed instantly.

Pages snapped forward and back in violent succession, no longer turning with calm intent but slamming against one another as if fighting to keep up. Columns of names blurred. Lines of soul count drained and refilled in rapid bursts. Symbols burned brighter, then dimmed, then brightened again as selections locked in.

Quinlanʼs eyes ignited.

Ghostly blue fire filled his gaze, spilling outward just enough to mark the air around his face. His pupils vanished beneath the glow. His breathing remained slow and controlled, but the space around him felt heavier.

He fused dozens of souls at once.

Then more.

Lesser Souls vanished from the Codex by the hundreds, stripped down to raw essence and funneled upward through invisible channels. The flow did not rush. It was precise. Metered. Every fragment was sent where it would produce the highest return.

Below, the battlefield reacted.

Elite Souls lit up mid-strike as blue light flooded through their forms. Stances adjusted on instinct that had not existed a moment earlier.

One of them dropped to a knee, weapon lowered.

”Master… I remember.”

Another followed, gripping her spear with both hands as symbols ignited along its shaft.

”My class…!! It is back, just like it was for Lady Scar. Master blessed me with such a gift…! I canʼt believe it…” A tear of soul light dripped down her cheeks.

A third laughed once, short and sharp, then rolled his shoulders as if shaking off long stiffness.

”I can feel it. This is how it used to be.”

The change rolled outward in waves.

The biggest shift came from the backline.

The mages.

Rank 4 and below mage souls had always been a giant compromise. They fought with raw output and limited patterns. Without classes, they couldnʼt cast spells. It made them, even at high Rank, much less useful than a lower-ranked physical-oriented soul soldier.

That limitation vanished.

A fire mage straightened with her staff flaring to life in her grip. Symbols burned into existence around her hands as spell frameworks locked back into place.

She thrust the staff forward and shouted with utmost exhilaration, ”Burn and empower my master! [Fireball]!”

A column of fire slammed into a street choke point, punching through shields and armor alike.

Nearby, a lightning mage lifted both hands skyward.

”I call upon thee, my storm! Let me finally bring glory to my master! [Thunderbolt!]”

Clouds above the city twisted unnaturally, drawn into alignment. A moment later, lightning fell in a devastating strike, snapping down onto clustered defenders who had just turned to dodge.

Across the city, blue warriors moved with new coordination. Strikes landed cleaner. Archers shot with supernatural precision or power. Fighters struck with mana-empowered slashes that cut through armor. Units that had been dangerous became lethal.

This was not mere reinforcement… This was an elevation.

The soul army had been upgraded, reaching a new height.

High above them all, the Codex snapped shut.

Quinlan lowered his hand.

The glow in his eyes intensified as he looked down at the city he was harvesting.

Then his voice rolled outward.

Wind gathered at his back, carrying sound. Every street caught it. Every wall reflected it. Every defender heard it as clearly as those closest to him.

”More…” Quinlan began.

The word carried immense weight, an unnatural, gluttonous desire for more. ”I need more.”

Another breath. Another push of air.

”To upgrade all of you, I need more. To upgrade you further, I need more.”

The wind rose higher, sharper now.

”To give you the comrades you deserve…”

”I…”

”Need…”

His voice thickened, booming louder than ever before as he shouted,

”More!”

”So much more!”

His gaze swept the battlefield.

”So go, my soldiers!”

”Get me more!”

The wind carried the command through screams, through steel, through fire.

The defenders heard it too.

And for the first time since the siege began, some of them understood something with perfect clarity.

They were not fighting an army.

They were being processed.

But for the Elite Souls, the mood was vastly different. The command of their master settled into them.

Across streets choked with smoke, across rooftops slick with blood and broken tile, across alleys where light barely reached, the Elite Souls reacted the same way.

They smiled.

Not wide. Not manic.

Small, contained lifts at the corner of the mouth. A softening around the eyes. Familiar expressions worn by soldiers who had finally been given tools that let them do their work as they desired.

A swordsman stepped forward through falling ash, blade resting easy in his grip. His posture straightened, shoulders setting as if a long-carried weight had finally been adjusted properly.

A spearwoman twisted her weapon once, testing the balance she already knew was perfect. The faint glow along the haft steadied, responding to her touch like an old companion.

An archer nocked an arrow without looking, fingers moving on memory restored. Her breathing slowed, measured to the space between heartbeats.

Even the mages, newly awakened, shared the same look.

Understanding and approval.

Their master wanted more, and they would give it to him.

Then, as if drawn by a single thought, every Elite Soul turned their head upward for just a moment.

From hundreds of throats, from mouths that had not practiced together, from bodies scattered across the cityʼs broken expanse, a single answer rose.

Loud and clear, boisterous enough to rattle windows and shake dust from ruined beams.

”Yes, Master!”