Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 1196: Return to the Living

Author: there was a mistake last Chapter. Serika is high level 50s, not low 60s. I got the timeline mixed up, thinking she trained with the girls for months when Quinlan was away in Zhenwu… Yep, I know.

Now onto the story.

…

Kaede’s body jolted upright with a ragged scream.

“Ghhh!!!”

Her chest heaved, eyes darting wildly around for the woman who had driven her sword through Kaede’s heart. But there was no battlefield, no scent of iron, no echo of screams.

Only silence.

And the perfume of sakura drifted in through a half-open wooden frame.

She blinked several times until her vision finally adjusted to the atmospheric illumination of the paper lanterns lining the walls. She was home in Fujimori territory. Her clan’s main estate.

This room was given to the acting clan leader.

It looked almost exactly as she remembered it from her childhood, though emptier now. The walls were clean wood, polished to a brilliant sheen. A small shrine rested in one corner, holding the painting of her father. His armor and daisho hung behind it, maintained even after his death.

The tatami mats smelled of sandalwood and smoke. The sights and smells that welcomed Kaede here were familiar, grounding, almost enough to convince her the war had been nothing but a fever dream.

Almost.

Kaede’s breath trembled as she reached for her chest. Her fingers met cloth, then flesh once she parted the fabric. There, the ridge of scar tissue welcomed her fingers right where Black Fang’s katana had pierced her heart.

Her hand froze.

She looked down slowly, noticing pale marks running along her arms and legs, lines that traced where the blade had sliced through them.

She shouldn’t have been able to move.

She shouldn’t even be alive.

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she studied the marks closer. The healers of Fujimori were famed for their precision. Reattachment was an art form to them. If their work left visible scars, it could only mean one thing.

“You didn’t make it easy for them, did you? You and your poison…”

Her gaze drifted to the stand beside her futon. Her sword rested there. She reached out and wrapped her fingers around the hilt.

A quiet pulse ran through the steel.

“You kept me alive…” she whispered. “Thank you…”

For a moment, the room was still. Then, a voice – cold and unimpressed – echoed in her mind.

“Gratitude does not redeem failure.”

Kaede’s breath caught.

“You lost focus. Had your heart not hesitated, it would not have been pierced.”

Her fingers tightened around the hilt. There was no arguing with it. Her sword had always been brutally honest.

Kaede exhaled slowly before lowering her gaze.

“You’re right.”

She bowed her head. “I lost my way. I was careless, and I shamed both you and the clan.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then the blade pulsed once more, softer this time. It was an acknowledgment.

“I will not lend my edge to hesitation again.”

Kaede lifted her head. Resolve shone in her eyes.

“Yes. I will not falter.”

Kaede exhaled before lowering the sword onto her lap.

Then a sudden flood of thoughts scrambled through her mind.

Wait.

How did she lose again?

Her memory was patchy at first, like fragments of a bad dream. She furrowed her brows.

“Black Fang… she cut me apart,” Kaede muttered under her breath. “But… why? What made me lose focus?”

Then it hit her.

The battlefield. The chaos. The noise of steel on steel… then a voice.

A voice she had not heard in over a year.

—

“Sister?”

—

Kaede’s breath caught in her throat. The memory rushed back in vivid detail.

From the fog of blood and dust, a familiar figure had appeared. Clad in Fujimori attire, her face bright with relief. It was the same voice that used to call her for sparring practice, the same tone that used to chide her when she made a dumb mistake.

Ayame Fujimori.

Her elder sister.

Kaede remembered how her entire world froze in that instant.

—

“Ayame…” she had whispered.

—

And that single heartbeat of hesitation was all it took.

Black Fang’s blade had sung through the air like a curse given shape. Her limbs were gone before her body even understood pain. Then the steel struck through her heart, and her breath, her sight, her will… it all fell silent.

But the worst wasn’t the cut.

It was what came after.

Her vision swam. Through the haze, she saw Ayame’s face warp. Her eyes turned red, her hair bleached white, and from the top of her head, fox ears sprouted.

The foxkin’s lips curled into a cruel smile, dripping venom.

“What’s with those eyes, bitch? You don’t get to look so sentimentally at Ayame after betraying and selling her into slavery. Die already, you nasty cunt.”

The words echoed over and over again, replaying a dozen times. Each felt sharp as knives to the woman.

Kaede’s hands tightened on her thighs until her nails dug into flesh.

Her expression darkened.

If that foxkin spoke with such venom, then…

“She’s close to Ayame,” Kaede whispered.

This was no mistake on Kitsara’s part. They decided that if Quinlan was going to reveal his true identity, then Ayame being at his side would be quite the small news in respect to the grand scale of his existence. What would change? They would hunt her as well as him?

She was already prepared to face all the danger that came for Quinlan, fully intent on staying by his side until the very end.

Instead, the cunning fox thought it might be interesting to see the reaction of Kaede if she were to be confronted with such news.

Kaede’s heart hammered violently.

Her sister…

Could it be?

Was she part of that group? Led by that strange man?

Her mind darted back through recent memories, frantically searching for threads she’d missed.

The king’s feast… the sea of nobles and masks… the masked women following the noble called Black, which they learned was an alias used by the criminal Devil – or now known as Quinlan Elysiar – who sported the largest bounty for the Greenvale Duchy.

She remembered the women for having quite the flashy appearances. It was hard for them to blend into a crowd, even if said crowd was full of richly dressed nobles.

Natural beauty spoke louder than excessive dresses.

It took a few extra seconds until the image of a short woman in a floral yukata took up center stage in Kaede’s mind. Later, that same figure appeared on the battlefield, this time clad in Fujimori armor.

Black hair.

Short stature.

Small tits.

Katana in hand.

Kaede’s blood ran cold.

“That was…” Her eyes widened. “That was Ayame…”

In her hubris, she assumed that was just another Fujimori.