Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 1842: Return to Silverwind

Quinlan stepped out of the [Warp Gate] onto a snow-covered rise above the river country of Silverwind, and paused in the cold night, taking stock of a view he already knew.

He had been here before as an enemy.

When he was farming human settlements for XP and souls, he had gone through the duchy’s countryside estate by estate. Silverwind’s nobility had answered with barriers, quick-deployment veils bought on short notice and thrown over every hold that could afford one.

The kingdom’s defenses being erected against him like that was what prompted him to join Elvardia’s invasion to begin with. Knowing it’d take too long to destroy those barriers himself, he used the Elvardian war machine instead of brute-forcing things.

Those days were behind him. The barriers had stopped being an obstacle because he grew powerful enough to destroy them on his own.

Behind Quinlan the rest of the party stepped through: Ayame first, then Black Fang, then Kaede with the cloth-wrapped offerings held against her chest, and finally Chizuru, who stepped out of a tear in space with her spine straight and her dignity pre-assembled, as if arriving anywhere by a method other than palanquin was an affront she had decided to survive.

The gate folded shut behind them.

Below, the ducal seat filled a bend of the river, its gray walls and steep slate roofs picked out by lanterns climbing the slope in ordered rows. Tiled ridges curled at their ends like drawn bows, black against the snow.

Terraced fields slept under snow on the far hills, their white slopes catching the moon. Roads ran toward towns and holdings as thin chains of lamps. It was beautiful country, wealthy country, and even from a mile out it looked wrong.

The road to the western gate crawled with lanterns as carts moved away from the city, the ferries sat idle at their moorings, and watch-fires showed twice the men any peaceful duchy would pay for.

Ayame took position at the edge of the rise, looking down at the city where she had been born, raised, poisoned, and sold.

Her face was composed, and her thumb moved once along the strap of her sword belt.

”The western gate,” she said. ”Let’s walk.”

...

Captain Rin had been the highest-ranking officer in Silverwind’s western quarter ever since everyone ranked above her marched north to Elvardia with the elite muster. For two days now, the north had stopped answering.

She lived on the western wall now. Sleeping in the tower saved an hour of walking, and the hour mattered, because the duchy unraveled a little more each bell and somebody had to be present for it.

Silverwind stretched far beyond this city. Towns, villages, and river ports lay scattered across clan land, every one of them writing to the ducal seat for instructions while the stack of unanswered petitions in the keep grew by a hand-span a day.

What the duchy received instead was rumor, hauled in with the trade carts and breeding in the markets faster than any quartermaster could ration it. The Alliance was dead. The dwarven king was frozen in a mountain of ice. Lady Kaede had conquered Elvardia, Lady Kaede was dead in a field, Lady Kaede had never existed at all and the clan had ruled through a mask.

Rin had given up correcting any of it. She kept the watch rotation full and the wall stocked, because the one point on which every version of the story agreed was that whatever came next would come up a road.

”Captain.” The watchman’s call fell from the tower, flat and careful. ”Party on the western road. Five. On foot.”

On foot was wrong. Nobody with business at a duchy’s gate arrived on foot after dark.

She climbed the tower stairs with her glass in hand and found the road.

The wrongness got worse: no banners, no wagons, no escort, five figures crossing the moonlit road without a trace of hurry, the gait of people accustomed to everyone yielding the road.

She raised the glass. The five entered the reach of the gate braziers, and the skin on her arms tightened before her mind offered any reason for it.

The man at the center was enormous. Two meters and more of him, dark-haired, broad as a gate door, dressed in black that swallowed the firelight, and he carried no weapon. He advanced up their road like it already belonged to him.

To his left was a violet-eyed woman, and Rin’s stomach dropped through the wall, because she had seen those wanted posters a million times.

Every guardhouse in the duchy hung that face. The reward under it could buy generational wealth, yet not many were suicidal enough to try collecting it. The Venomborne Terror was coming up the western road in the open, her face lit by the gate fires, unhurried.

To his right was a small woman in dark traveling clothes with a katana at her hip, and it was old Sergeant Daiki who made the sound, a strangled thing from a habitually silent man.

”That’s...” His knuckles whitened on the parapet stone. ”Goddess! That’s Lady Ayame. The one who...”

He didn’t finish. Nobody who had served under the old lord ever finished that sentence.

The whisper traveled down the wall anyway, low and disbelieving.

”The traitor.”

”She’s alive?”

”She came back...”

His name reached the wall by itself, whispered down the line like fire through dry grass, because every rumor out of the north had put the same figure at its center. He was the man who opened dwarven fortresses like ration crates, the man the elven race had knelt to, and the man the entire war had bent around, broken around, and ended around.

”The Primordial Villain,” someone said, and the words cracked in the middle of it.

Bells rang down the wall, and drawn steel caught the torchlight along its whole length.

”Seal the gate!” Captain Rin’s orders cut level and clear over the noise. ”Bar the walk-door! Archers, hold! Nobody looses! Runner to the keep, now!”

Good orders, correct orders. She knew exactly what remained of the last walls that stood between that man and a thing he wanted, and she gave them anyway. The job was the job, whether or not it could be done.

Up the road, the Villain tipped his head back and considered the wall with mild interest, faintly bored, and that boredom frightened her worse than any war cry in her memory.

Rin filled her lungs to demand a parley.

”Stand down.”

It was small. Level, worn, and small, and it went through Captain Rin like a blade through a paper screen, because she knew it, and she refused to know it.

Across the training yards, it had rung like a drawn bell.

Lady Kaede had used that same level tone to take the oaths and accept command of the finest army the duchy had ever mustered at eighteen, already matching ancient monsters of the highest level.

A slight figure stepped out from behind the Villain’s arm, and the refusal collapsed.

She wore traveling gray. Her hair was bound low like a servant’s, and she carried the thinness of long illness. She held a funeral bundle to her chest with both hands. Wine flask, incense, folded ash-paper, the shapes readable through the cloth to anyone raised inside these walls.

Down the length of the wall, bow arms slackened one by one.

The understanding arrived in Captain Rin all at once. There would be no relief column, because there was nobody left to send one. There had been no word from the north because the north was finished.

The war her duchy had spent bracing for had been over, so completely over that their lady, their invincible lady, was walking home on foot in servant’s gray at that man’s side of her own will. The order Rin had prayed nightly to receive from her chain of command had finally come up the western road.

And it was surrender.

”Open the gates,” Lady Kaede demanded.

Rin’s mouth worked. Protocol had one rung left on its ladder, and she grabbed for it: the figure at the rear of the party, ancient and immaculate, regarding the wall as if it had been raised for her inspection.

Her voice cracked, and she let it. ”Elder Chizuru! Honored Elder, what are the clan’s orders?!”

The Elder’s gaze rose to her along the wall. An entire dynasty of replies assembled behind her sealed lips and died there as she glanced toward the man and the traitor, neither of whom so much as looked back.

Then Elder Chizuru of the Fujimori delivered unto the garrison of Silverwind the full and complete doctrine of her clan.

She nodded. Once.

Down the wall, hardened soldiers went gray. If whatever happened in the north had shut the mouth of that woman, the one their grandmothers had feared, then it was beyond asking about. And still nobody reached for the winches, because opening that gate felt like signing a treaty none of them had been allowed to read.

”Captain.” Lady Kaede spoke again, and for two words the drawn bell came back into her voice. ”Gates.”

The wall obeyed her. It had been built to. The winches turned, the last nerve of the garrison broke without a single arrow loosed, and the gates of Silverwind groaned open.

Rin descended the tower stairs on legs she did not fully own and held herself at attention as the party passed beneath the arch.

The Villain went by close enough to touch, noticing her as a passing storm notices a fence post.

The Venomborne Terror looked at no one at all.

Beyond the arch, Silverwind learned.