Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 1175: The Power of the Primordial Villain

One by one, the outlines of figures took shape beneath the ramparts. Men, women, and beasts. Many were Fujimori soldiers who had fallen earlier in the siege. Some were lionkin from the genocide Quinlan committed while fervently kissing his beloved Hexwitch.

Each form solidified into a body of pale blue color. The sound of dozens of boots striking the ground followed, then hundreds.

Scar stepped forward from next to Quinlan, looking down at the soldiers her master had summoned beneath the ramparts. These were the army he entrusted her with.

She placed a hand on the hilt of her dagger and observed them all.

Her voice rang out. “Form up.”

Nine distinct figures appeared beside her, each one a named Elite Soul. They gathered in formation, silent but ready. Before them, the five hundred lesser souls awaited her order.

The sight drew quiet gasps across the ramparts filled with Consortium members. The shimmer of the barrier light reflected the otherworldly army below, making them look even more outstanding.

“How many is that…?” Rynne whispered, unable to hide her disbelief.

<Hubby, you didn’t tell me you upgraded your other Necromancy spells as well!> Vex whined cutely.

Quinlan said nothing. How could he? He was busy surviving.

As he was watching the enemy lines beyond the wall and his own soldiers appeared behind him below the ramparts, his back was to them. He did not need to look to know how glorious the sight was.

The many gasps and yelps sounding from his fellow criminals told him all he needed to know.

Furthermore, he trusted his Elite Souls with leadership; it was best to leave things to them.

His girls, however, had their own reactions.

Ayame crossed her arms, eyes narrowing at Quinlan.

<You’re a hopeless show-off, Quin. You could have done that standing right here, you know, like the rest of us puny mortals do. Did you really have to hover in the air with Jasmine in your arms like some kind of divine being?>

Quinlan’s only answer was a quiet chuckle under his breath. He didn’t bother hiding his grin when Jasmine looked up at him with a soft laugh. Why would he hold back? Why would he stand on the ground when he could do this? Why would he stand next to Jasmine when he could seat the woman in his hold?

Ayame was just a grumpy woman, as always. She would never understand Quinlan’s impeccable style. To answer her question, yes, it was indeed needed to show off. That was part of what made him who he was.

When the masks came off, so did the need to blend in with the people around him.

He was Quinlan Elysiar, the Primordial Villain, and he was OP as fuck.

Quinlan did not feel the need to be apologetic about it one bit.

Sitting comfortably on his lap, Jasmine raised her hand and began issuing orders of her own.

Her hundred soldiers responded instantly. Together with the five hundred souls, they advanced toward the outer edge of the barrier. But there was a problem. As they were below the ramparts, they couldn’t just enter the battlefield.

There was a wall between them and the Fujimori.

Captain Rynne blinked far too many times to count. Her mind was struggling to process what she was seeing. Five hundred spectral soldiers stood below, motionless yet disciplined, their empty eyes fixed upward, waiting for their command.

Quinlan’s voice broke through her trance.

“Captain Rynne. You’ll either have to open the gates or give our summons some space.”

That was enough to jolt her back into motion. “R-right! Everyone make way!”

Naturally, opening the gates was out of the question.

Her soldiers scrambled instantly. Some jumped off the ramparts to create space, others pressed themselves against the wall, clutching their weapons tightly as they watched the eerie army approach. The sound of marching filled the air.

The Consortium members could only stare as the five hundred souls advanced in rows of ten. Despite their ghostly nature, they moved with the precision of trained soldiers.

Yet, instead of being intimidated, most of them simply felt amazed. These souls did not emit animosity like the undead of Necromancers- ehem, Corpse Animators might. It was common knowledge that the undead hated the living, and if the Necromancer were to lose their grasp of them, then they would blindly attack the living.

But Quinlan’s soldiers did not give off this air.

Instead, they were an attraction that each and every person present would not be able to forget for the rest of their lives.

Scar’s sharp voice cut through the growing murmur. “Divide into ten groups of fifty.”

The soldiers obeyed without hesitation. Ten perfect formations emerged. Behind her, the nine elite souls took their places. Each one would lead a division. Scar kept fifty for herself.

Then, she turned toward Quinlan. Her head bowed deeply. “Master. This lowly one thought of something…”

Rynne nearly lost her balance at those words. She gripped the parapet, eyes wide. Summons did not suggest. They executed. They obeyed. Some could think for themselves – as in they were intelligent – yes.

But their independence was shallow. Their ability to think did not expand to making suggestions; it merely helped them execute their master’s orders better.

Yet this woman, this summoned soul, was about to propose a tactic to her master. Rynne looked at Quinlan and saw him give a single approving nod.

Scar continued.

What she said next left Rynne’s jaw slack.

…

From the point of view of one Consortium soldier standing nearby, it all happened faster than he thought.

The masked female soul gave a sharp motion with her hand, and seven of the elite souls, each leading fifty soldiers, stepped forward. Together with Jasmine’s hundred, they leapt from the ramparts. The ground below shook as they landed before the enemy lines.

Now that the ramparts were cleared, she and many others rushed back to their previous positions to observe with wide eyes. “They’re charging the frontlines…” she whispered, barely believing what she was seeing.

Before anyone could process it, Quinlan raised his hand.

The ground beneath three of the remaining divisions began to rise. A huge chunk of earth tore itself free, forming a floating platform.

The masked female soul stepped onto it with two others, one a human woman carrying a long sword, the other a foxkin archer with sharp, focused eyes. Behind them stood their one hundred and fifty soldiers.

Then Quinlan made a small gesture with his fingers. The earthen platform tilted forward and launched into the air.

It cut across the battlefield like a thrown slab from a giant’s catapult. Several Fujimori projectiles struck it mid-flight, shattering pieces away, sending large amounts of soil scattering in every direction. This was not meant to be an unbreakable method of transportation, best evidenced by the fact that it soon broke apart into dust.

But by the time it happened, it was already too late.

The soldiers were already above the Fujimori backline, right where the siege weaponry and support casters were stationed.

By the time the dust cleared, the masked soul and her two elites were already moving. The foxkin archer drew and released in a single motion, cutting down a line of enemy mages. The woman with daggers tore through the healers before they could even raise a spell.

The Consortium soldier’s throat went dry as he muttered, half in disbelief, “They’re slaughtering the backline…”

On the ramparts, Rynne stared wordlessly at Quinlan. His calm expression hadn’t changed from the start.

That was the day she understood why he was called the Primordial Villain.

Just the mere thought of facing him – especially once he reached a higher level – made the woman shiver from head to toe.