Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 1439  Stop Bickering

”No, the demoness is busy draining your loverʼs life essence,” Black Fang let out a low breath and stood. ”This is no demoness but a warrior whoʼs extinguished more lives than I can even imagine…”

”H-hey!” Ayame gasped, unable to believe this woman would make such a joke.

Well… She sent a gaze toward the dome and had to begrudgingly accept that it wasnʼt exactly a false statement.

Hanae beamed at the pair as if she had not just brutally folded them moments ago.

She turned, crossed a few steps, and lowered herself to the ground with grace, legs folding beneath her into a calm seated posture.

”Sit. Both of you.”

Ayame blinked. Black Fang frowned.

”We are ready to continue,” they said at the same time.

Hanae did not open her eyes. ”Later.”

Ayame clicked her tongue. ”We barely got started.”

”You got finished,” Hanae replied. ”Training without thought is how you work relentlessly and remain mediocre all your life. Training with reflection is how every great warrior of every era was shaped.”

Neither of them moved.

”If you do not examine where you failed,” Hanae continued, ”you will repeat the same mistakes with greater confidence and die faster for it.”

Ayame folded her arms. Black Fangʼs reluctance was clear to all. Hanae opened one eye and glanced at them. ”I am the master here. Why do my two terribly young students refuse to listen to the wise one?”

That did it.

With visible reluctance, they sat. Ayame dropped down a little too hard, clearly eager to go for a second round.

She then leaned sideways and flashed a smug grin at Black Fang. ”So how does it feel to finally be called young?”

Black Fang turned her head just enough. ”… Weak one, you seem to forget your place in the pecking order.”

There was a sharp crack.

Both of them pitched forward and faceplanted into the ground.

”Ouch!” Ayame groaned while lifting her head. ”What was that for, granny?!”

Hanaeʼs hand was already back on her knee. ”You will stop taunting your big sister. She is far stronger than you. If you keep provoking her, she will teach you some very real life lessons.”

Ayame muttered something into the ground.

Black Fang lifted her head slowly and fixed Hanae with a narrow stare. She did not speak. The question was clear enough. ʼWhy did I get smacked, too?!ʼ

Hanae met her gaze. ”And you will stop bullying your little sister. Power makes right, yes, but it does not decide conduct within the family. Cherish your sibling.”

Black Fangʼs eyes held for a moment longer. Then she looked away with a quiet huff.

Both Fujimori sisters grumbled under their breaths and exchanged a glance that carried a great number of unsaid words.

”Khm!” Hanae cleared her throat.

Reluctantly, they straightened and settled into place. The noise faded. Breathing slowed. The stone beneath them cooled.

”Now,” Hanae began while closing her eyes again. ”Think. Remember. Analyze.”

Neither answered.

But this time, neither tried to speak back.

…

Kaelira wiped her brow with the back of her forearm and set the piece down on the anvil.

Metal ticked as it cooled.

Björn leaned over it, thick arms crossed, beard braided. He turned the piece once with a pair of tongs, gave it a look, then another.

”Passable,” he said.

Ever the perfectionist when it came to the art of smithing, Kaeliraʼs jaw tightened, hating that remark.

She did not answer. She reached for the next ingot instead, slid it into the forge, and began again.

Heat rolled over her in waves. Sparks jumped. Her shoulders ached, forearms screaming with every strike. When she finally quenched the second piece and presented it, Björn gave the same look.

”Passable.”

Her grip around the hammer creaked.

Hours bled together. Then days. The smithy near Quinlanʼs dome never cooled, never slept. Kaeliraʼs hands blistered and healed and blistered again. Every time Björn demonstrated a motion, the timing was exact. The pressure perfect. When she tried to mirror it, something was always off by a hair.

Too much force. Not enough. Angle wrong by a fraction.

”Passable.”

By the time the word came again, sweat ran down her spine, and her hair clung to her face. She slammed the hammer down onto the anvil harder than necessary.

Björn did not react.

Kaelira sucked in a breath and forced herself to speak. ”Do you think Iʼll ever be able to make a Mythical-grade piece?”

Björn shrugged. ”Who knows.”

That answer stung worse than any critique.

Kaelira hesitated, then said it anyway. ”Is it because Iʼm an elf?”

Björnʼs head snapped toward her.

The forge roared between them, but his stare cut clean through it. ”Insecurity has no place in my smithy.”

Kaelira froze. Then she exhaled slowly, realizing how sharp her words had been. Frustration had gotten ahead of her.

Björn turned back to the forge. ”You grew up in a world where dwarves are spoken of as if we were born with hammers in our hands. As if we have some hidden trait that raises the quality of whatever we touch.”

He snorted. ”Do you think those bastards who popped out of my balls have some mystical ʼ1 grade higher outcomeʼ skill or something?”

He reached into the forge and adjusted the metal. ”No. We are born stubborn. We tolerate heat. We tolerate weight. We tolerate days without sunlight. We take pride in making something real with our hands.”

He glanced back at her. ”That is why dwarves make good smiths. Not because others cannot. But because most do not want it badly enough.”

Kaelira lowered her head. ”Iʼm sorry. I got heated and said something I shouldnʼt have.”

Björnʼs mouth curved into a grin. ”Getting heated is exactly the mark of a good craftsman. Thereʼs nothing to apologize for, lass. Instead of pretending to be calm like the rest of you leaf munchers, you want to be better. You want perfection. I can work with that.”

Kaelira smiled despite herself.

Björn was quiet for a moment. Then he said, ”As for your question of Mythic Grade, I have never seen a mortal create one.”

”But,” he added, ”havenʼt you already made something truly admirable?”

Kaelira blinked. ”What?”

”The armor on the primordial boy. You made it. Part of it, at least.”

Her eyes widened. ”How did you know?”

Björn stroked his beard. ”That armor is unique. It responds to you. Drawn to you like a child to its mother.”

Kaelira let out a slow breath, feeling her shock recede. This man was truly Thalorindʼs greatest smith; his intuition was far too potent. ”Itʼs an Anima armor… Or, rather, I should say itʼs a she, Synchra. We… Or rather, Quinlan decided that she was a girl, and the armor approved instantly. Synchra was created by Quinlan and me with help from someone very unique. A teacher from a closed-off world… His strange class made it possible.”

Björn hummed. ”Anima armor,” he repeated. ”That explains a few things.”

Kaelira opened her mouth to ask more.

But just then, the dome flared.

Pink light surged, thick and violent. The forge flickered. Tools vibrated where they hung.

Kaeliraʼs heart lurched. The tomboy elf was worried for her boyfriendʼs well-being. She spun and rushed to the window.

What welcomed her eyes made her heart skip a beat.

The energy pouring from the dome twisted, deepened, changed.

Quinlan was evolving.

…

Author: Tomorrow, itʼll end.