Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 1024: Fury

*Shiiink!*

The soft whisper of a katana being drawn was the only sound she emitted.

In an instant, a sharp crack of displaced air followed. Before anyone could register what had happened, Ayame was already crouched in front of Blossom, katana held sideways like a mirror, deflecting the saliva.

The spit sizzled as it slid down the steel’s edge and fell harmlessly to the marble floor.

She didn’t speak at first. She didn’t need to.

Ayame didn’t blink. Her crystal-blue eyes locked onto the noble who dared raise a hand—or mouth—against her sister. She turned her head and gently placed her hand on Blossom’s back.

“Are you hurt?”

Blossom’s ears twitched. She trembled as she looked up.

“Goldie is okay…” Her voice cracked. She tried to smile, but tears welled at the edges of her eyes. She lowered her gaze. “But the cute dress Master and her sisters carefully picked for her… It’s ruined…”

Ayame didn’t answer with words.

Instead, she pulled a neatly folded silk robe from her storage ring and draped it gently around Blossom’s shoulders. Her fingers brushed through the dogkin’s soft hair as she spoke in a calm, measured tone, one that masked fury barely restrained beneath the surface.

“We’ll get another,” she said softly.

And then she stood.

When she did, she was silent. When she turned to face the noble again, there was no restraint in her expression. No diplomacy. No noble courtesy.

Only rage.

The air in the banquet hall grew deathly still.

Gone was the idle murmur of gossip and clinking glasses. Every noble, every servant, every hidden knight pretending to be a bystander—every single soul turned toward the unfolding scene.

The King’s banquet had stopped.

Ayame stood between the noble and Blossom.

Iris had already marched beside her. Her voice, loud and furious, rang out across the stunned room.

“I asked, what gives?! Answer me before I break the law before the whole royal family’s very eyes!”

The noble, who was still infuriatingly smug, though with a bead of sweat now gathered at his temple, met her and Ayame’s glare.

“Merely a mistake. Your… pet wasn’t watching where she was going.”

His words were met with complete silence.

Not one of the nobles spoke. Not one laughed.

Because now, even they could tell:

This was no longer a social misstep.

This was a declaration.

Blossom shifted under the robe Ayame had draped over her, still on the ground, her eyes trembling as she tried to make herself smaller. Her voice was barely a whisper, meant for no one in particular.

<Ugh… Blossom made a big blunder…>

But she knew why.

She hadn’t been careless.

No. She had been focused.

Her attention had been fixed across the banquet hall, far from where she walked, to track the elusive whispers from the Ravenshade family. She’d already been shifting her senses to notice even the tiniest flickers of breath and tone, trying to catch something—anything—useful for Iris.

Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem, but this room… it was overwhelming.

The sheer weight of perfume, scented oils, and exotic spices layered the air like smoke. It dulled her nose, made her head spin. Normally, she could read footsteps by sound and scent alone, but here? She had to strain just to separate perfume from poison.

So when the noble placed his feet forward, he did so just under her awareness.

And the trap had been sprung.

Blossom barely had time to process it before another jolt ran through the room.

A sharp yelp sounded to the side. It was Kitsara’s.

Her tail had been yanked, hard, by a noble. She spun with a snarl, barely keeping herself from immediately lashing out. The man who did it simply smiled, slow and slimy, as if amused by a child’s tantrum.

Then, as if that wasn’t enough…

*Slap!*

A slap rang out. Not a sound of applause, not a toast, but a palm across skin.

Seraphiel staggered from the blow, her golden hair becoming disheveled as her head snapped sideways. Behind her, a third noble stood, arm still raised and smirking widely after hitting her face from behind.

The three men shared the same expression.

Mocking. Superior. Pleased.

This wasn’t a coincidence.

It was coordinated.

A planned humiliation, executed in full view of every noble in the hall.

Serika’s chair scraped violently as she stood. “What do you think you’re doing!?” she barked with rising fury, her voice echoing through the hall with the sharpness of a woman who’d been tempering her fire for two centuries.

Feng rose right beside her, eyes flaring with cold light. None of her usual cheekiness was present. “Who do you think you’re laying your disgusting hands on, you scum?”

But the nobles didn’t even seem to care as they responded.

“Slaves,” the one who’d yanked Kitsara’s tail said with a dismissive shrug, gesturing with his drink as if stating a weather report. “You brought slaves to the sacred halls of the royal palace’s inner court.”

“You should know very well they’re not protected by the law…” the second, the noble who slapped Seraphiel’s face from behind, added with a cocky smile. “So we did nothing wrong. I don’t even understand why you’re acting as if you’d been wronged to the very core.”

The third, Blossom’s assailant, chuckled. “That’s not entirely correct, Brother… They are protected. Technically.”

He smirked and pulled a small golden chest from his pocket ring.

The lid popped open.

Gold coins glinted inside.

“If a man injures another man’s slave, he is to pay adequate compensation. Healer costs, lost labor, all that.”

He reached in, took a handful of coins, and began tossing them.

One hit the floor under Ayame’s feet.

Another clinked and rolled to Lucille, who kicked it aside with her feet.

A third nearly struck Iris, but was caught by her hand. She crushed it in her palm.

More coins flew toward Serika. Feng. Aurora. Vex. Jasmine.

The nobles laughed.

“See? No harm done. You even get to make a bit of profit thanks to us feeling magnanimous.”

A final coin flew out.

A particularly large, ceremonial one. It was inscribed with the royal crest, magically polished, crafted to represent dignity. It was worth a hundred of the traditional, common gold coins.

It spun through the air as it headed straight toward Quinlan.

It never made it.

The moment it entered the radius of his presence, reality itself distorted.

A wave of pressure burst outward that didn’t feel like a gust of wind or a blast of force. No, it was wrong, as though the very rules of the world were recoiling from something that should not be.

The coin froze in the air.

Wobbled.

Then…

*CLANG!*

It was flung sideways, slamming into a marble pillar, and shattered into glittering fragments.

Silence.

All heads turned.

And now… now they felt it.

A presence that did not belong to this plane. It was not just anger, not mere wrath.

No, it was something older. Something fundamental.

It was rage distilled by trials forged in the soul of creation itself.

It was the fury of the Primordial Villain.

Quinlan still hadn’t stood.

He hadn’t even said a single word since three of his women had been assaulted.

But the room had already begun to suffocate beneath the weight of his immense soul and its primordial rage.

And somewhere, deep within that gathering storm…

Something cracked.

Something old and sealed within him… just began to wake up.