Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 1008: Private Invitation

"Especially in your case... since your identities are hidden."

Quinlan nodded wordlessly and accepted the first. So did the rest of the group.

But instead of tucking them into their sleeves or belts like most nobles would, an unexpected glow danced across each of their hands.

Twelve rings lit up.

In perfect synchronization, each of them deposited the identifier into their personal storage space.

A hushed gasp swept through the nearby servants, and then from several nobles still gathered in line. The whispering was instant.

"Did all of them just...?"

"Impossible. Those were dimensional rings, weren’t they?!"

"Just one is worth hundreds of gold!"

"They even gave one to the child?!"

Eyes locked on Feng in particular, the youngest among them. Her ring was glowing a brilliant silver on her thin finger.

Smirking, Feng held her hand high and let the last traces of mana sparkle visibly off the ring’s surface. "Oh, is it such a big deal~? I wasn’t aware... Mama gave it to me when I wanted to take my porcelain teaset with me to the flower garden, but found it too heavy~" She spoke her smug nonsense regarding what she thought entitled noble brats should act like loud enough for the crowd to hear.

*Whack!*

Ayame’s palm came down on the back of her head with practiced, maternal efficiency.

"Stop showing off. Humility is a virtue."

Feng yelped, rubbing her scalp. "Yes, M-Mom!"

Ayame gave her a satisfied nod. "Good. I’ll give you a katana of your choice when we get back as a reward."

"With no restrictions?!"

"Hmm... I suppose not, but it should cost less than a thousand gold, or the rest will come from your allowance."

A sea of gasps came from the crowd, hearing the number Ayame threw out as a reasonable reward for merely acceptable behavior.

"Okay!" Feng cheered and lowered her hand with the ring on it, no longer showing off.

The Skysplitter, naturally, was already well acquainted with how she should act to play her role of a rich noble mom.

The attendant, eyes wide, bowed again so fast her voice nearly cracked. "I-It was an honor to serve you. Please, enjoy the festivities."

Stormlord simply walked forward again, and the gates creaked open and then groaned shut behind them.

Their guide said nothing as he led the way down the polished streets of the noble district. He took the straightest possible route, ignoring the lavish mansions lining the avenues, the merchant pavilions stocked with luxury wares, and the music playing in the far-off courtyards. 𝐑₳ℕȎʙƐS̈

No time for sightseeing. No time for detours.

It was a direct line to the palace.

Quinlan couldn’t help but find it strange. As they passed an elegant plaza carved with the emblems of the great houses, he spoke up. "You’re escorting us as if we were criminals you’re afraid to let go without supervision in the noble district. We might not be Central nobles, but the way we’re being treated is not right. Our plan was to take a look around first. Walk the district. Stretch our legs, explore a bit."

Stormlord, for the first time, lost a bit of his edge in his tone.

"That was not His Majesty’s intention. When I informed him of your arrival, he asked me to bring you to him as soon as possible."

That stopped the group in their tracks for a half-step. Even Quinlan’s heart skipped a beat out of pure surprise.

He had expected a formal dinner where they’d be seated far from the royals. A few polite words could be exchanged between them and the king during times of respite that happen at lavish feasts like this, so the participants can properly digest the meals. That’s when people stand and chat, which was the time they expected to exchange a few lines of pleasantries with the king at most. Maybe a little toast in their direction, recognizing them as Felicity’s friends. That was how these things were done.

But a meeting in the palace?

Before the party officially started?

It almost sounded like... an invitation to a private meeting.

Ayame’s spine straightened instinctively. Aurora adjusted her posture with tension flickering in her soft eyes. Even Seraphiel’s usual nonchalance turned alert.

Quinlan reached up to adjust his tie, smoothing it with care.

The women began subtly checking themselves as they walked. Compact mirrors appeared with quiet flashes of mana, and a set of final checks began taking place: eyeliner corrected, hairpins moved into place, and a dab of powder to control the shine of their delicate faces.

None of them wanted to be caught unprepared. Not in front of the king, the Alexios Valorian, the Warrior King of Myths and Legends, who’s been ruling over the Vraven Kingdom for nearly a whole millennium.

The royal palace loomed before them sooner than they preferred, standing both radiant and ancient.

And the meeting none of them expected... was just minutes away.

They passed through the palace gates under the silent gaze of the Royal Guard, led by members of the Aegis Vanguard, all of whom bowed deeply the moment Stormlord stepped past the threshold.

They weren’t alone. Maids in flowing ivory uniforms, servants in deep blue tunics, and even scribes rushing by with stacks of documents, each and every one of them paused to offer a bow. Heads dipped. Hands crossed at the waist. No one spoke.

No one dared.

The echo of their footsteps down the obscenely luxurious halls was the only sound. Light filtered in through stained glass windows, painting them in shades of violet, emerald, and gold. Murals of kings long passed adorned the ceilings above them. Each painted figure seemed to gaze down in judgment, measuring the worth of those walking beneath them.

But they weren’t led to the throne room.

Instead of the great staircases that arched toward the audience chamber, Stormlord took a turn down a quieter wing.

Quinlan caught the shift immediately. He frowned but said nothing, his mind racing. None of this matched what he expected. No royal guards manned the route. No red carpets. No trumpets announcing names.

Whatever it was he didn’t know, but one thing was for certain: this wasn’t a show of power.

Eventually, Stormlord stopped before a modest archway carved from wood.

Soft sunlight poured in from the opening, warm and natural.

Beyond it, an idyllic garden bloomed. The kind of place that didn’t seem to belong in the center of a fortress-palace at all. A stream trickled along a pebble path, weaving between flower beds overflowing with colors, wild lilies, wind orchids, and moonroses. An ancient sakura tree stood proudly in one corner with its pink petals drifting slowly down.

And in the middle of it all...

A single man stood with his back turned to them.

His hands were clasped behind him. His posture was calm, at ease, but the space around him felt different, as if the air itself was holding its breath.

He wasn’t surrounded by advisors. He wasn’t seated on a throne. He wasn’t flanked by royal guards.

He was simply waiting.

Stormlord stopped at the arch and bowed his head. "Your Majesty," he said softly, and took a respectful step back. "I’ve brought them."

The group froze.

Their eyes locked on the figure ahead, cloaked in sunlight, surrounded by blossoms, and realization hit them all like a thunderclap.

The Warrior King stood before them.

And he was all alone.