Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 1040: Hospitalized

Queen Morgana shot to her feet.

From two seats down, her youngest son, Caelum, flinched.

The boy’s voice trembled as he stared up at her towering frame. His pale face was shadowed by the memory of events he’d never truly escaped.

"M-Mother...? W-Where... where are you going?"

She didn’t hear him.

Or perhaps she simply didn’t care to answer.

Her hand slipped into her pocket ring, retrieving a slender, jet-black communication crystal. She lifted it to her lips, feeding a touch of mana into it.

A voice answered immediately.

Cold. Feminine. Unhurried. <subtex>.</subtex>

"What is it? Did you get bored with the feast already?"

Morgana’s expression didn’t move an inch. Her tone carried no warmth, no patience. "I want you to come here."

On the other end, the woman scoffed.

"You know I hate gatherings like this. It’s all noise, sycophants, and a room filled with the stink of false smiles."

Morgana didn’t answer.

The silence stretched between the two women, becoming heavier and more ominous by the second.

It told the woman on the other side everything she needed to know.

"Haah... fine," came the eventual reply. Her voice shifted from playful disdain to cool resignation. "If it’s that serious... I’ll come."

"Good."

...

Seraphiel knelt at Quinlan’s side, letting her long golden hair spill over her shoulders as her trembling hands hovered above his gaping wound.

Light almost began to gather in her palms, which would be the first sign of her Dawnbringer’s spell coming to life.

<Don’t...> Jasmine’s voice cut in sharply, and a firm grip closed around the elf’s wrist.

Seraphiel’s head snapped toward her. Tears formed in her eyes. <What are you doing?! He’s about to die! Let me go right this moment. I can heal him!>

<I know you can, Sera. I know it very well... But you shouldn’t.>

The brunette bit into her lip out of pure frustration. A bead of blood trickled down her chin, and the sting only deepened her loathing. Loathing, which was aimed at herself. 𐍂ἁΝỗᛒË𝓢

She wanted nothing more than to shove Seraphiel forward, to tell her to save their man no matter the cost. But...

She saw it.

She understood.

If a strikingly beautiful, blonde-haired elven slave suddenly unleashed a healing spell so unique, so powerful, so undeniably tied to the famed Solace of Devil’s group, it wouldn’t take a genius to connect the dots. Solace stood out like a beacon.

And Quinlan... even now, with his chest torn open, blood pooling beneath him, and death breathing down his neck... had still refused to show all his cards to secure a less bloody victory.

In the entire battle, he never touched the other two elements. He never drew the Soul Reaper.

He was bleeding out because he chose to keep their identity buried.

Jasmine hated herself for doing this, for denying Seraphiel her instinct to save him, but she could feel the conviction that had carried him through this fight.

To ignore it now would be to spit on everything he’d just endured.

Her voice dropped to a rasp.

<If you cast, you’ll risk ruining everything.>

Seraphiel froze. Her gaze darted to Quinlan’s pale face, his shallow breathing... and then she saw it too.

Jasmine’s bleeding lip quivered as she whispered, almost to herself,

<It’s our duty to respect and protect that conviction of his. Even if it means watching our beloved take more hurt than he should...>

Boots thudded against the scorched arena floor as the royal healers descended in a wave of white and gold robes. Their staffs were already glowing with pre-cast recovery magic.

"Move back! All of you, give us space!" one barked.

That was easier said than done.

Blossom’s ears flattened tight against her head as she clutched Quinlan’s wrist, eyes flashing with a feral glare that promised she’d attack anyone who dared try prying her away.

Vex, kneeling on his other side, didn’t even look at the healers. Her nails dug into the arena floor. "That’s simply not happening."

<If they perform below expectations, I’m healing him. I don’t care about disrespecting Quin’s conviction. I’d rather have him despise me than see him die.>

Vex’s response was instant. <Of course you are. Otherwise, I’d wrangle the healing spells out of you myself.>

The healers exchanged tense looks but didn’t waste time arguing. They began their work.

...

Count Vexmore stood a short distance away from the healers’ glowing circle. At his side, the Countess kept her composure in the only way she knew, which was graceful weeping behind an ivory fan. Her slender fingers clutched her husband’s hand with desperation.

Before him lay the ruin of his bloodline.

Veyne’s headless corpse.

Daron’s blackened, unrecognizable body.

And Teral was reduced to a corpse that was barely recognizable as human.

The sight was more than personal grief. It was political ruin. Three heirs, all shattered in a single afternoon. He would have to start again. Produce new children, raise them from birth, and train them from the ground up. It would take hundreds of years before House Vexmore could stand at its former strength.

He felt the weight of that span pressing down on his shoulders. There was no recovery from this in his lifetime.

"There’s a life signal!" one of the healers shouted.

Both Count and Countess snapped their heads toward the sound.

Teral’s body was still as death, until they saw it. A faint, fragile rise and fall in his chest. Barely there, but there nonetheless.

The pair rushed forward until they stood over the youngest son. His face was hidden beneath blackened skin, his armor fused to his flesh, yet breath still shuddered from his lips.

The Countess’s voice trembled, breaking through her usual poise. "How is this possible...? He took that giant explosion head-on!"

The healer working over him shook his head. "That... is a good question, my lady. By all rights, this shouldn’t have happened. Perhaps..." His voice dropped. "Perhaps the Goddess spared him."

At those words, both Count and Countess had their eyes snap wide open before turning their gazes toward the sky.

Then, their hands clasped together and they bowed their heads, offering a whispered prayer of gratitude to the Goddess for preserving at least one thread of their shattered bloodline.

...

"Hubby!"

That was the first word Quinlan heard as his consciousness swam back into focus.

His eyelids felt heavy, but when they finally moved to open, his vision was filled with the sight of beautiful women crowded around his bed.

The moment they saw his eyes open, they leaned in, pressing themselves to him. Arms wrapped around his frame from every direction in a desperate, protective embrace. Their warmth smothered him in the best possible way, and for a moment, he almost forgot the pain in his body.

The only one not clinging to him was Iris. She sat in a chair a little farther away, gaze low, lost in thought. The image of Blossom being assaulted right before her eyes gnawed at her. Her inability to do anything left her feeling hollow and worthless.

"Hehe..." Quinlan let the warmth sink into his bones as a slow grin spread across his face. His arms wrapped around as many of them as he could, and his hands... wandered. A few generous handfuls of plump, perfect asses later, the room was full of feminine yelps, squeaks, and a chorus of amused giggles.

"Pervert!" Serika accused with joyous amusement, not caring one bit about her butt being molested. "You’re the biggest pervert I’ve ever met!"

Ayame snorted, though her voice was warm. "You’d better get used to it... This man is very heavily into asses... Instead of Black, he should be called Assman."

"Lord Assman...? It has a certain ring to it. I must admit, it’s very fitting," the fiery redhead chuckled while eyeing her man.

"Right?" Ayame laughed back.

She couldn’t help but remember back to how much her butt was molested back when she finally gave in and let him roam her body with his hands. Her cheeks rapidly reddened as a big blush formed on her delicate features.

Feng’s voice came next, trembling with emotion. "You dumbass..." Her blue eyes shimmered with tears. Not just from his shameless groping of his women before her very eyes, but from what he’d done in the arena. "Dumbass-man... Okay, that was really not funny, sorry..."

Quinlan reached for the girl’s head and stroked her lush black hair gently. "Dumbass is a fitting title, I’ll admit. But, Jiai..."