Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 1257: High Above Aldoria

The echo of the explosion that resulted from Quinlan’s rocket-like ascent into the skies still rolled through the streets of Aldoria. It was as if they were hit by thunder.

Windows rattled. Icicles broke loose and shattered against stone.

In the two merchant halls that were closest to Quinlan’s departure, rich traders burst forth, clutching ledgers and shouting at guards.

“My roof! My roof! Do you know how much that marble costs?” one bellowed.

“Someone fire a flare! Are we under siege?!” another barked.

“I don’t pay such high taxes for you to let criminals this close to the heart of the county!” Another sent accusatory glances at the soldiers. “I was told if I moved to this district, I and my properties would be protected!”

Patrol horns sounded from multiple directions as armored soldiers rushed through the snow with spears and lanterns raised.

They split into groups, shouting orders, trying to find the source of the shockwave that had left their streets trembling.

At the same time, far above the city’s silver rooftops, two streaks of light burned through the clouds.

Quinlan raised his saber and cut a sharp arc through the open sky. “[Awaken].”

The word carried immense power.

The blue flames along the Soul Reaper’s edge surged outward in a spiral, and from that blaze, fourteen figures emerged. These were soldiers of the soul, blue-skinned and armored in glowing gear.

Their eyes shone like frostbitten stars, sharp and unyielding.

Not one of them flinched despite materializing in freefall. Instead, when they saw their master already descending ahead, they matched his motion: arms tucked, bodies angled, blades close to their sides in perfect formation. They became a synchronized drop, appearing as if they were bullets fired from the same rifle chamber.

They became streaks of blue light, tearing through the dark sky.

Moments before impact, a gust of wind struck them like a living cushion. The pressure slowed their fall into a hovering glide. They landed atop the Winterwood estate grounds.

Hovering a few feet above them, Quinlan lowered himself and glanced toward one of the elites, a short and petite woman with a mask that covered her mouth and twin daggers at her hips.

“Scar. Take those with the best perception skills. No one is allowed to leave this estate through hidden routes.”

The masked woman bowed her head. “Yes, Master.”

Her eyes flicked toward three nearby soldiers. No orders were needed – they understood.

Together, the four of them rushed to find any escape routes, lest the prey of their master escape him.

That would be an unforgivable failure.

They refused to allow such a thing to happen.

Quinlan turned to Vex next. Just like Scar, he, too, did not need to say anything out loud.

The Hexwitch met his look with a sly grin, with her red pentagram eyes gleaming. “Yes, yes. I know. I’ll take the rest of the soldiers so my AoE fanatic of a husband can go wild.”

Her laughter chimed in the cold as she stepped forward, drawing her sword.

Just then, the first squad of Winterwood soldiers rounded the corner.

’We must’ve triggered an alarm, huh…’ Quinlan mused. This was not a shock to him. With their descent, they must’ve been detected by a defensive artifact.

“[Curse of Corrosion].” Vex flicked her wrist, and a wave of hex sigils spun from her fingertips, latching onto the front line. The men stumbled as their armor corroded in seconds, the metal turning brittle and black.

The soul soldiers surged to back her up, with katana wielders moving in quick, precise bursts while archers took the walls and released their spectral arrows that screamed through the air as streaks of blue energy.

Vex spun through the battlefield like a conductor guiding an orchestra, each curse of hers timed to open another path, each strike reinforced by a spectral ally.

Having watched enough, Quinlan, with his wings of wind, shot upward again.

This time, however, only to the height above the Winterwood palace’s spires. He hovered there, motionless for a heartbeat.

Then his eyes closed.

The wind stilled. Even the snow seemed to hang motionless in the air.

He stretched both arms outward with palms toward the ground. The air began to hum. A pulse of mana spread from him in an invisible ring, seeping into the soil below.

He could feel it.

Every vein of rock, every buried root, every grain of compacted earth around the palace grounds connected to him through that pulse. His mana wove into the subterranean lattice like a nervous system being rewired under his command.

Then, he gripped.

The earth responded.

The very crust shifted with a grinding roar that shook the foundations of the Winterwood estate. Snow and gravel lifted in rippling waves as if gravity itself had been pulled sideways.

The magic didn’t just move the ground; it rewrote its density, compacting certain layers while liquefying others, allowing him to lift hundreds of tons of rock as though it were water in his hands.

Slowly, deliberately, he began to raise his arms.

The tremors deepened. Pavement split in concentric circles as walls of stone began to rise.

A vast ring of earth erupted around the palace perimeter, towering higher and higher until it swallowed the outer buildings whole.

Dust spiraled upward, and the sound of collapsing foundations was swallowed by the deep groan of shifting tectonics.

And then, like the closing of a mighty beast’s jaw, the walls met overhead.

The world went dark. No wind, no starlight. Only a sealed dome of stone, vibrating with the mana that held it in place.

High above, within the dome, Quinlan opened his eyes again.

The elemental eyes he sported after his return from Zhenwu shifted, deepened, until they burned with layers of ancient light.

His Primordial Eyes, an ability gained when he unlocked the Primordial Villain class, illuminated the gloom, granting him night vision.

“I did tell Scar to ensure no one left, but I might as well help them out a bit…” he mused to himself. Even now, Quinlan thought that they might have a way to make an escape through means unknown to him.

Who knew if they had a secret family artifact, passed down from generation to generation? What about secret tunnels that he couldn’t sense due to veiling artifacts, or something along those lines?

The chances were not particularly high, but they were certainly there.

The Winterwoods were a family of well-off aristocrats who’ve been ruling over these lands for millennia. Underestimating them wasn’t something he planned to do.

Then, motion.

A volley of arrows shot upward, followed by javelins tipped in silver. The projectiles sliced through the dark like angry streaks of moonlight, reminding him of Sylvaris’ magic.

Quinlan watched them coming at him with a speed that seemed a bit underwhelming to his eyes now. ’… Are they using low-tier gear? No way…’ he thought inwardly before realizing,

’Oh. Yeah. It’s pitch dark in here for them. They probably need a few shots to adjust to fighting in such unfavorable circumstances. Even measuring distance properly must be a nightmare.’

Having analyzed enough, he spread his arms wide, facing the barrage without a shred of hesitation.

“Synchra,” he called, deep and firm voice echoing in the enclosed dome. “My life is in your hands.”