Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 1520  Pack Your Bags

The people of Whisperfield looked up at the man on the platform.

And for the first time since the siege began, their hearts swelled with a strange, fragile hope for a better future.

Then the hope curdled into a very practical question.

ʼWhat now?ʼ

It moved through the crowd in whispers and glances. Soldiers who had just knelt traded looks with civilians who had just wept. The kneeling was done. The chanting was done. The dead were walking among the living, and a man in crimson-veined armor stood above them all, and the Elvardian Alliance was still outside the dome with their giant cannons aimed at them.

ʼWe surrendered. Heʼs our sovereign. But the army outside hasnʼt gone anywhere. The dome is still up. What happens when it comes down?ʼ

A merchant near the western edge of the square tugged at his wifeʼs sleeve. ”What about our shop? Do we just… go back to work? Under him?”

”What work?” his wife hissed. ”The entire trade district is rubble!”

”Itʼs not rubble, itʼs moderately damaged. I saw the storefront from the barricade and the walls are still standing.”

”The walls are standing and the stock is gone because the soldiers requisitioned everything for-”

”Can we discuss inventory later?”

Similar conversations rippled through every cluster. The surrender had answered one question and birthed a hundred more. What happened to the garrison? Were they prisoners? Were they still soldiers? What about property? Taxes? The courts? The civil administration? Did the church still function? Could the healers still practice?

Quinlan watched it happen. The crowd had gone from terror to grief to wonder to loyalty in the span of twenty minutes, and now it was doing what crowds always did once the immediate crisis passed.

It was getting practical.

He let them simmer for another few seconds before raising his voice.

”Pack your bags.”

The square went quiet.

A beat.

”…Huh?” Count Aldren voiced the question on ten thousand lips.

”Weʼre moving.”

Aldren stared at him. ”Moving.”

”Yeah. All of you. Weʼre relocating.”

The silence that followed was so complete that the distant thud of Elvardian artillery against the dome was the loudest sound in the square. A child somewhere in the back of the crowd sneezed. His mother shushed him with a hand over his face.

”Relocating,” Aldren repeated, tasting the word like week-old bread. ”A hundred thousand people.”

”Yes. This city is going to be owned by the Elvardian Alliance for the time being. Iʼve already negotiated terms with the dwarven commander outside, and part of those terms is handing over the city intact once itʼs been pacified.”

A murmur rolled through the crowd.

”I canʼt afford to outright deny them entry. Theyʼd take it by force.” He scanned the crowd. ”So we leave. We take our people, we take our belongings, and we give them the walls.”

”But…” A woman near the front clutched her daughterʼs hand. ”Moving where? How? Thereʼs an army outside!”

”[Warp Gate].”

The air beside the platform split open.

A vertical tear widened into an archway roughly two meters tall and a meter wide, its edges crackling with pale energy. The crowd jumped backward.

”Weʼll use this spell of mine.” Quinlan gestured. ”Itʼs a doorway. You walk through, youʼre somewhere far from here.”

He studied the gate.

A single archway. Wide enough for one person at a time, two if they squeezed.

ʼThat wonʼt work.ʼ

The math was simple and the math was cruel. One gate, one person per second at best, a hundred thousand people to move. Even if they ran through at a jog, it would take over a day of continuous flow. He didnʼt have a day. He had hours. Kaeliraʼs promise to the dwarven commander sat at the front of his mind like a ticking clock.

ʼI need this wider. I kept hoping the spell would upgrade as I leveled up, but…ʼ

He reached inward. ʼI understand, Soul Records. I should stop waiting for handouts.ʼ

The Abyssal Genesis Physique. The systemʼs description of it had been maddeningly vague. ”Increased potential.” That was all it said. Increased potential for what? How much? In which direction?

He needed to sustain a dimensional gate wide enough for eight people to walk through abreast, and he needed to hold it open for hours. ʼIncreased potential.ʼ

He focused on the gate and pushed.

The Warp Gate shuddered. The edges of the archway flickered, widened by a handspan, then snapped back. Mana surged through channels that felt too narrow, and pressure built behind his eyes.

He pushed harder.

A channel inside him widened.

It was like forcing a door open against a current, a pressure that flared with pain, a sense that the architecture of his core was being asked to carry more than it was designed for. The Abyssal Genesis Physique responded. He could feel it working beneath the strain, expanding the channel, widening the path, making room for what he was demanding.

The gate tore open.

The archway stretched from two meters wide to eight, tall enough and broad enough that a crowd could pour through six or seven abreast with room to spare. Quinlanʼs jaw tightened. His hands dropped to his sides and he balled them into fists that his gauntlets hid from public view.

ʼThatʼs going to cost me.ʼ

He could feel the drain already.

But a hundred thousand people at seven abreast, moving at a brisk walk with soul soldiers organizing the flow, carrying children, supporting the elderly…

ʼWe can do this.ʼ

He filed the personal cost away and accepted it.

”Slight upgrade,” he said, as casually as if heʼd adjusted the brightness on a lamp.

The crowd stared at the gate that now dominated one side of the square.

Quinlan turned and gestured toward the edge of the platform.

His girls stepped up, smiling at him lovingly.

Quinlan looked to Count Aldren.

”You already know the Count,” he said to the crowd. ”Heʼll be coordinating the civilian and military evacuation, because heʼs the one who knows this cityʼs layout and its people.”

Aldren straightened his torn cloak. The gesture was automatic, the reflex of a man whoʼd spent his life representing authority in public. ”Iʼll do my job,” he said.

Quinlanʼs gaze moved to Velara. ”You already know the Arch Priestess. Sheʼll coordinate the churchʼs people, the healers, the clergy, and anyone currently sheltering in the cathedral.”

Velaraʼs staff pulsed once as she nodded.

He looked to his girls. ”These wonderful ladies are members of my household or are my trusted allies. Together with my soldiers, I entrust them to oversee the process alongside the Count and the Arch Priestess.”

He faced the crowd again.

”We have a few hours. Hereʼs what I need from every one of you. Grab your valuables and your most important belongings. Warm clothes. Bring a few daysʼ worth of rations with you. Then come to this square and step through the gate.”

His voice carried across the plaza.

”What awaits you on the other side is your new start. I have the land prepared for a settlement to be constructed. But I will not lie to you. The first few days will not be comfortable.”

He paused and let it sit.

”We have everything we need to survive, and then to thrive. But it starts with walking through that gate.”

The crowd absorbed this.

A gruff voice from somewhere in the middle of the square cut through the murmur. An older man, a craftsman by the leather apron still tied around his waist, his arms folded and his brow furrowed.

”And what about heat? My family has three children under ten. Am I to march them through a magic doorway to a clearing in the woods in the middle of winter, when nights freeze, and weʼre supposed to, what? Huddle around campfires?”

Several heads in the crowd nodded.

”Not a soul among you will be cold,” Quinlan said. ”Iʼll ensure it personally.”

The craftsman didnʼt look convinced. Neither did the parents around him, or the old woman still clutching her prayer beads, or the soldiers who knew from experience that promises about logistics were the first to break.

But no one argued.

It was hard to argue with the man who had shattered their barrier, conquered their city, raised their dead, and then torn open a door to somewhere else that was wide enough to drive a wagon through. If he said they wouldnʼt be cold, the smart money was on believing him, even if the mechanism was unclear.

Besides, itʼs not like they were presented with a lot of choices. The alternative was accepting Elvardian occupation, which no one present wanted. ʼSave for the slaves…ʼ Quinlan noted and looked toward Kitsara, Seraphiel, and Felicity. The trio were his partners whenever he needed to visit the slave quarters of a conquered city and get the slaves to cooperate.

Thus far, they had pristine track record. Heʼd leave the task to them, for he had work to do right now.

The ladies nodded in response, understanding their task.

At the same time, the dead relatives of the citizens were already moving.