Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

The others said nothing. But the tension in the room sharpened.

Time was running out.

And yet, Quinlan and everyone else knew… he still had more to learn.

…

Stone echoed beneath heavy footsteps, each one as patient and ponderous as the man behind them.

In the center of the arena, Rongtai stood like a statue—broad, bare-chested, legs rooted deep into the tiled earth as though he had sprouted from it. Each breath he took moved his mountainous chest, and when his fist moved, the wind howled from the sheer pressure.

Quinlan met him head-on with fire, water, and wind swirling at his command, his robes singed and torn from earlier exchanges. Sweat glistened across his frame while his muscles were taut with exertion.

And yet…

Rongtai didn’t budge.

A flame-coated strike crashed into the monk’s ribs. Dust sprayed out from beneath his feet. But the man didn’t even grunt.

“Again,” Rongtai said. His eyes never wavered.

From the high terrace overlooking the arena, a trio of ladies watched.

“Is that really necessary?” Feng muttered beside Serika, jaw clenched, one hand resting protectively on her massive blade, Zhang’s Overcompensation. She sat perched on the railing like a cat poised to leap, her narrowed eyes locked with fury on Rongtai’s hulking form.

“You know how he is. Quinlan is having fun right now,” Serika replied simply, arms crossed, and her striking green eyes reflecting the dust clouds below.

Feng said nothing, but her knuckles whitened. The bastard was hitting her rude uncle again. Still, even she couldn’t deny it: every blow made him stronger. Every bruise honed his instincts. Quinlan’s progress was unmistakable. Training with four Spirit Tempering Realm masters—each with a mastery over a different elemental path at that—wasn’t punishment. It was a priceless gift.

She hated that it worked. She wished Quinlan could become strong without having to feel an ounce of pain. Even if he himself didn’t mind being beaten up much, she did. Every time he received a punch or a kick, her little heart contorted, her whole body flinching.

Further behind them, Zephyr snored lightly, curled in the shade like a dog on a lazy afternoon. He wasn’t even pretending to meditate, just lying on his side in a loose fetal position, drool collecting at the corner of his lip.

Free spirited, as always.

“Are you sure he’s still in Wind Nation?” Serika asked suddenly. Her eyes hadn’t left Quinlan. “The invader, I mean.”

Nalai sat beside her, dressed in her combat gear.

“My informants say so,” she said after a pause. “He has not been sighted leaving the borders, not even the palace.”

Serika frowned. “My scouts are struggling to locate him. No contact in days. I don’t like it. It’s possible he’s moved already. Gone underground.”

Nalai shook her head slightly. “That’s unlikely. Everything points to him consolidating forces within Aerynthia’s territory. He’s not finished there yet.”

“Maybe he is,” Serika muttered in response. “And maybe we’re just waiting to be blindsided.”

Below, Quinlan was sent flying, rolling across the arena in a sprawl of limbs and grit. He groaned, then pushed himself up again with fire gathering at his fingertips.

Feng exhaled slowly, loosening her death grip on her sword. She hated watching it, but she couldn’t look away either. This was what he wanted.

And what he needed.

She was just beginning to slip into thought again, wondering how many days it had been since they arrived, when the air shifted.

It was subtle at first. A slight pull. A whispering tension.

*Click.*

The double doors at the far end of the arena began to open.

A deafening boom split the air.

From the far end of the arena, a monstrous surge of power erupted in the form of an elemental vortex roaring to life, all four elements combining as one. Flames screamed, water surged like razors, jagged stone spears tore through the ground, and blades of wind sliced toward the center of the battlefield right where Quinlan stood.

Time slowed.

Rongtai’s eyes narrowed. His foot shifted.

With a grunt that cracked the ground beneath him, he moved.

Quinlan barely managed a step before a wall of solid muscle collided with him, shoving him aside like a leaf in a storm. The Avatar hit the tiles hard, but not nearly as hard as the blast that followed.

The elemental storm slammed into Rongtai’s chest.

The monk’s feet dragged backward, carving twin trenches through the arena floor. Fire licked across his torso, steam hissed from scorched skin, stone shattered against his ribs, and wind cut gashes across his shoulders. The monk groaned a low, guttural sound of pain.

It was the first time any of them had ever heard him make a sound like that.

Feng’s breath hitched.

Her heart skipped a beat.

The skin that Quinlan couldn’t bruise… was blackened and bleeding.

“R-Rongtai,” she whispered, knuckles pale on her sword hilt.

But the other sovereigns were already in motion.

“Stay here, Feng Jiai,” Serika said before she leapt from the viewing terrace, her blazing form flashing like a comet as she dove down.

Nalai followed in silence.

Even Zephyr—once curled in slumber like a lazy kitten—was gone, only the warm swirl of a breeze was left in his place.

Each of them had felt it.

The tremor in the air.

The presence that didn’t belong.

Feng turned sharply, eyes darting toward the source of the attack.

Just then, a low, rich chuckle rolled through the open doorway.

Ominous. Playful. Arrogant.

A silhouette stepped into view. He was tall, draped in shadow and crimson. His eyes glowed, like coals in a dead hearth.

“The remaining Sovereigns…and the Avatar. All bundled up together in one room. How lucky for me,” he purred in a terrible voice before tilting his head, grinning like a wolf.

“Or is it truly luck?” He laughed, and the arena shook with it.

Behind him, figures emerged. Each radiated dark qi, corrupted and fierce, their auras pulsing with battlelust.

The Invader had arrived.