Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 1002: The Tyrant’s True Power

Marching behind her entourage came a unit of heavily armed mercenaries, though calling them that was akin to calling a dragon a house pet. Their presence exuded an unnatural aura, and two of them were dragging a carriage behind them. It was full of chests.

However, not a single one of these mercenaries was human, or even humanoids. They were summoned, not hired.

Quinlan recognized the truth as soon as he saw them. His thoughts drifted to the description of Jasmine’s class. The second part of it.

[The wealth of the Tyrant of Trade is not limited to gold: it is power, influence, and control, leveraged in ways that defy normal limitations. With enough resources, they can bolster their allies beyond traditional constraints, conjure mercenaries from nothing, or curse enemies with inescapable debts that sap their very lifeblood. A Tyrant of Trade does not beg for power, for they buy it outright.]

Jasmine had summoned these mercenaries using pure wealth and class authority. Magic-anchored contracts bound them tighter than any oath of loyalty.

As soon as she stepped back into her home, the woman spotted Quinlan and beamed with a brightness so innocent it could’ve blinded the naive. As if she hadn’t just trampled economic principles into the mud.

She walked straight up to him before rising on tiptoe to wrap her arms around his neck.

And then she kissed him.

Right there, in front of everyone. This past week had allowed the previously somewhat insecure woman, especially when she compared herself to her fellow sisters, to have her self-image bloom and her confidence rise.

It was a deep kiss, long and lingering, and when she pulled back, her gorgeous eyes sparkled with impish delight.

He blinked, stunned into silence.

"Why do you look so surprised?" she giggled, tapping his nose with hers. "You didn’t expect me to deliver on your expectations? I turned 1,000 gold into 10,000... But I burned a lot of bridges while doing so, and I exploited every loophole I knew of. I can’t do it again, not for a very long time, so don’t expect me to be an infinite-money source, okay~?"

"..."

Quinlan was still speechless.

Ayame coughed from pure shock.

Loudly.

From nearby, Kitsara narrowed her eyes while muttering something about even the single normie in the harem of crazed chicks—besides herself, of course—turning into a badass bitch.

Lucille broke into amused laughter.

Aurora giggled nervously.

Rosie was just eating popcorn while enjoying the show. It was not often the dryad saw her father silenced by pure shock.

And yet, Jasmine stood there radiating satisfaction.

"Is there something on my face?" she chuckled with a mischievous glint in her eyes, clearly relishing in the reaction of her beloved.

Behind her, one of the summoned mercenaries grunted, then fell forward as his summoned time ended. The rest soon followed.

With everyone back home and the event about to begin, it was time to leave.

Part of the girls, led by Lucille, scoured the streets of the capital for the finest noble garbs they could find, and then Blossom stole them using her Void Stalker powers, assisted by the chaos generated by Feng. The pair made a scary duo when it came to such missions.

Yoruha also delivered the items.

Small, elegant, and stylish, the masks barely covered more than the upper face. Just the eyes and a portion of the brow. Black and gold were the dominant colors, with subtle enchantment threads woven through. Each one looked handcrafted by an artisan who loved their craft, but more importantly, each mask was layered in high-level veiling illusions. ℝÁ₦ő𝐁ЕŜ

Ordinary veiling artifacts existed, of course. Full-face masks. Cloaks. Even anti-detection rings. But none of them would survive a second against the probing artifacts placed at the King’s Banquet.

These masks, however, were special. Designed by an ancient nine-tailed illusionist who hated people and sleep deprivation equally.

They wouldn’t just hide someone’s identity. They adjusted it.

When the girls placed them on, the masks flared alive with light, then reshaped the appearance of their wearers. Not drastically, just enough to make recognition impossible. Skin tone shifted subtly. Bone structure adjusted. Eye color changed. Hair shortened or lengthened by an inch or two. All small, precise tweaks.

However, there was a trade-off.

They were single-use only.

Once the enchantment was activated, it would last for a few days. After that, the illusion would unravel, and the mask would revert to an ordinary accessory.

All eleven of them—his nine wives, Iris, who was currently the supposed tenth wife, and Feng, their supposed daughter, with Ayame being the birth mother—wore their masks. Each transformation was slightly different, but they all retained elegance, poise, and just enough detachment from their original looks to not get recognized even by those who had met them before many times.

With the group ready, Quinlan opened a spatial gate.

The portal shimmered into existence, leading right to the capital city’s noble district.

But just as Quinlan stepped forward, something soft landed on his head.

He paused, then looked up.

Balanced perfectly on his head, a small, midnight-black cat stared back down at him with far too much intelligence in its glowing violet eyes. It yawned, stretched, and then curled into a neat circle on his head.

"Lady yoruha, didn’t you say you were going to sleep?" he asked.

Yoruha, now in full lazy-cat mode, flicked her tail—a single one as she made the other eight hidden. "Mm. I was. But I haven’t seen the human king in... oh, I don’t know. Two centuries? Might as well get it over with. Take one good look before he croaks."

Quinlan had no objections. He was glad to have her along.

The group began to move, stepping into Valorian’s noble district’s entrance with each of them cloaked in magic, dressed to impress, and carrying secrets no crown could guess.

But even before they reached the royal palace...

Trouble awaited.

It wore pearls, entitlement, and way too much perfume.

An arrogant noblewomen mother-daughter pair blocked their path.