Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

“Hmm…” Yoruha mused lazily for but a mere second. “I won’t. Neither I nor Celeste has any remaining family in beastkin lands, their future is of no concern to me. The only reason we traveled to the summit was to learn what was going on exactly. Information is invaluable, remember?”

“I see,” I said dejectedly. “I’ll introduce Ronan to you before we depart; he’s my main architect. He’ll make a home that’s to your liking.”

“I appreciate the gesture, but I brought my whole home with me. It’s in our pocket rings.”

Hearing her words, my eyes moved toward Celeste, who very acutely understood what was going on in my head and flashed me all ten fingers of hers. There was a ring on each finger.

“Haaah…” I sighed, greatly burdened by this news.

Yoruha’s amused but also accusatory tone sounded from atop my head. “Let me guess, you hoped to take the bag full of gold coins in exchange for building me a little shack and call it an architectural masterpiece.”

“… I wouldn’t dare, Lady Yoruha.”

“Hmm…”

…

Ayame moved—not with reckless abandon, not with desperate fury, but with sharpened clarity.

She watched.

For thousands of deaths, she had lunged blindly, hoping to land a single strike.

Now, she only observed.

Hanae’s movements were not random. They were precise, deliberate, honed over an eternity of mastery.

She always walked toward her with the same measured pace.

She always stopped at the exact same spot.

She always reached for the hilt of her katana and took up her stance.

And at that moment, a faint, nearly imperceptible current of electricity danced across her scabbard.

That was it.

That was where the storm began.

So, Ayame followed.

For the next thousand deaths, she did not charge. She did not swing.

She replicated.

She stepped where Hanae stepped.

She gripped her hilt as Hanae gripped hers.

She took up the stance, aligning her body with the storm’s rhythm.

And for the first time, she looked inward.

For years, lightning had been a foreign force within her veins—borrowed power, destructive and untamed, a last resort that left her broken after a single use.

But Hanae…

Hanae wielded it with grace, with elegance, with perfect control.

She never wasted a single volt.

Never more than necessary.

Never excess.

Ayame closed her eyes.

Her father’s voice echoed in her mind, warm and proud.

“And… I dream that one day… one day, there will be another who wields lightning as she did. Not as a crude, destructive force… but as a part of their very existence.”

Quinlan’s voice followed.

“I believe in you, my beautiful samurai. If I’m going to be the strongest being in the universe, it’s only natural that my second-in-command becomes the greatest wielder of the sword.”

Kaede’s smirking face surfaced—her sister, her betrayer. The one who had stolen her victory with poison, forcing her to lose not by skill, but by treachery.

Then, at last, she saw herself.

A little girl was staring into the mirror, clutching her wooden katana, whispering to her reflection over and over again.

“I will become the strongest samurai to have ever lived.”

“I will become the strongest samurai to have ever lived.”

“I will become the strongest samurai to have ever lived.”

Lightning sparked in her heart.

It was not wild.

It was not unstable.

Her eyes snapped open.

Hanae took her stance.

Ayame did the same.

The storm ignited.

And this time, when Hanae lunged, Ayame moved in time.

She met Hanae’s blade with her own. Sparks burst in the air, steel ringing against steel.

For the first time, she was not left behind.

For the first time, she did not die a dog’s death.

Hanae’s eyes flickered with surprise.

But Ayame was already past her.

Her sword cut through lightning.

Her blade struck deep, piercing Hanae’s heart.

Time seemed to hold its breath.

Hanae did not stumble.

She did not resist.

She simply smiled—small, serene… proud.

Then, without a sound, she vanished.

[Ding!]

[Class: Samurai -> Skysplitter.]

[You have earned the right to step on the path of the true blade.]

Ayame swayed on her feet. Her body screamed, muscles locked in exhaustion, but it was her mind—her very soul—that had been utterly drained.

She collapsed to her knees.

Her breath came in ragged heaves as she lifted her gaze to the heavens.

She had done it.

Her lips parted, barely able to form the words.

“I did it, Father…”

For a moment, she saw his face, his warm, proud smile, the way he ruffled her hair when she was little, the way he spoke of grand dreams as if they were inevitable.

Then, another image filled her mind.

A man, grinning with far too much confidence, his crimson eyes gleaming with mischief. The same man who had placed his faith in her, who had told her she could become something greater than even she dared to believe.

Ayame chuckled weakly, her chest rising and falling with each labored breath. A warmth bloomed in her heart, a warmth that had nothing to do with battle or power.

Truth be told, she’d been anxious for a while now. Quinlan was growing way too fast. Even with his [Blessed Seed] granting them increased XP gains, letting them remain close to him in level, the rest of his combat prowess was leaving all of them in the dust.

Ayame didn’t mind Quinlan fighting a distance away from her, she understood he needed space to be effective as the Avatar of the Elements. What she couldn’t accept was how little need he had for her in recent times.

She was starting to feel more and more like a sidekick, a comic relief, and a wife who should soon retire from the battlefield to instead bear his children and govern his estates, for she was no longer useful, no longer had she the right to stand side-by-side to him, just like Ignis’ wives. Once proud supporters of the Ashbringer were now his mere maid-roleplaying lovers.

Quinlan joked around and congratulated the man for having impeccable taste upon learning of this quirky relationship, but if Ayame was being honest, she got goosebumps when she heard what had happened with Ignis’s previous battle partners.

The Ashbringer was also a genius in his own right, a lesser version of the one-of-a-kind prodigy that Quinlan was. His wives had an eerie resemblance to the role she and the rest played in Quinlan’s life, according to Ayame’s mind.

The samurai woman’s stomach churned at the mere thought of having to suffer such a miserable fate. The life of a dutiful wife anxiously awaiting her husband’s glorious return from battle was not her desired life; it sounded like pure hell in her mind.

But…

“Hehe!”

Ayame smiled from ear to ear, brighter than she ever did before.

“I can stand next to that smug bastard proudly once more…”

Her fingers loosened around her sword.

Her eyelids grew heavy.

She let herself relax, her body giving in to the fatigue, but there was no fear, no regret.

Only satisfaction.

Only warmth.

Only the promise of a better tomorrow.

[Skysplitter – The Sword That Sunders Heaven]

[A warrior beyond mortal limits, the Skysplitter stands as the ultimate student of the blade with potential like no other, an unstoppable force of nature whose every strike carries the weight of the storm itself. No longer confined to mere earthly technique, they wield their sword capable of severing anything—flesh, steel, magic, and even the sky itself should the Skysplitter manage to live up to their innate potential.]

…