Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 1123: Good Workout

Quinlan wiped the sweat from his brow right before breathing out with the ease of a man who was thoroughly satisfied by effort well spent.

"That was a good morning workout."

With a thought, water gathered around him in cool streams, washing away the grime of heat and labor. He rolled his shoulders, enjoying the relief before directing the same spell toward Kaelira.

The tomboy elf closed her eyes, tilting her head back as she allowed the cleansing flow to pass over her. Grace marked her every movement despite the exhaustion painting her face. She was still brimming with joy from their success, but her lightheaded sway betrayed just how much of her stamina she had spent.

A flicker of fire followed as gentle warmth wrapped the water until it evaporated into harmless steam. Quinlan then glanced toward Rykar, who was now sitting heavily on his stool, no longer standing. "Try not to kick the bucket in the next few days, old man. My wife would be sad."

The old man immediately began grumbling. "Haaah... This is the gratitude of a student who’s taken his master’s inheritance. Hmph. Only because I betrayed his trust back then... Youth these days are so hotheaded."

Quinlan smirked but offered no reply.

He stepped out of the smithy and into the open air, letting the smell of metal and the hiss of steam fade behind him. His eyes traveled toward a patch of bushes at the edge of the yard. The presence of several people was clear to him, their breaths steady but nervous.

He wasn’t sporting exceptional perception abilities, but then again, none of the ladies sported exceptional hiding abilities either. Well, save for Kitsara, but she was far too busy staring.

Naturally, Quinlan had been aware of the peeping toms the entire time, yet he allowed them their amusement. What puzzled him was why they chose to crouch in the shrubbery instead of standing openly beside Serika and watching from close up.

But he shrugged his shoulders, ’To each their own...’

His path carried him toward the abandoned servant quarters, once filled with construction slaves. Now the empty space was anything but silent. Pained whimpers spilled into the air, raw and unrestrained, echoing off the walls of a place that had lost its purpose.

Quinlan stepped into the quarters with one eyebrow rising at the scene before him. The air was heavy with the stench of blood, sweat, and iron, mingled with the hoarse rasp of screams that had long since broken into whimpers. Three women worked in brutal tandem, their motions relentless.

Jasmine and her mother, Gina, had their focus fixed on a man who barely resembled one any longer.

Aurelion’s body was a ruin, his flesh torn and blistered, his limbs twisted at grotesque angles. He was still breathing, though whether that was a mercy or a curse was debatable. No, after a second glance, Quinlan decided that this was not mercy one bit.

The man’s eyes flickered, not fully unconscious yet far from sane. The husband and father who had tormented both women for decades was now reduced to something that only vaguely resembled life, and Quinlan could not help but arch a brow in dry amusement. Wife and daughter had kept themselves occupied for many hours, even working through the night. Their mood did not seem likely to fade anytime soon.

The third figure at work was Iris.

Her hands were slick with blood as she hovered over a woman tied to a chair. The countess of Vexmore, noble of a neighboring county to her birthplace, whimpered and sobbed under her ministrations.

At first, Iris had demanded answers, but by now there was no trace of interrogation left in her expression. Only a sharp, sadistic glint remained in her eyes as she drew out her torment. The countess’s voice broke into a pitiful plea. "Please... this is hell... end it..." Her words were swallowed by another scream as Iris pressed harder.

The bodies of both victims were utterly trashed, skin split open in raw lines, bruises painting them from head to toe, their voices reduced to broken cries. Blood pooled beneath them, the floor a canvas of their agony.

And then there was Liora. The poor girl rushed back and forth in a frenzy while her staff seemed to perpetually glow with healing light. One moment, she was desperately pouring mana into Aurelion to keep him tethered to life, the next she was scrambling back to the sobbing countess, patching her wounds just enough for them to hold out longer under Iris’s handiwork. Her face was pale and streaked with sweat, yet she refused to stop. Over and over, she cast her spells, keeping them alive so the cycle could continue.

She knew that all three women were deeply troubled mentally, and thought it her duty to let them heal in this rather unnatural manner. The priestess didn’t know if the Goddess would approve of her current actions, though...

Quinlan shook his head slowly at the sight. He wasn’t disturbed by the sight, not one bit; he just wished his girls got better mentally.

And then his gaze shifted. It caught on something that silenced his thoughts.

In the window, perched on the sill with her legs dangling outside, sat Black Fang. Her back was facing the room as the cruelty and bloodshed were entirely ignored.

She leaned peacefully against the frame, letting her long dark hair catch the gentle light of dawn. Beyond her, the horizon blushed with the rising sun, and she seemed utterly at peace as she watched it climb higher into the sky.

The contrast was jarring. Behind her, screams and whimpers filled the air. Yet she did not move, did not flinch, did not spare a glance. Her breasts rose and fell in a stable rhythm. Serenity was etched across her features, as though the torment behind her was nothing more than birdsong that she liked to listen to in the morning.

Quinlan stared dumbfoundedly, his thoughts cutting into a single question. Was she finding peace in the wails of the tortured?

Black Fang’s beauty in that moment was undeniable, as always. Her composure was flawless, her serenity unshaken. She was beyond doubt deranged, yet not in a wild or uncontrolled way. She was terrifying in her calm, alluring in her detachment, the kind of madness that drew eyes. The kind of woman men convinced themselves they could fix, even when the truth told them otherwise.

This was the moment when Quinlan stepped into the room.