Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 1125: The Consortium Is Not Done

Quinlan let Iris’s stubborn joy linger for a heartbeat longer before his gaze drifted. At the window, her silhouette still untouched by the chaos behind her, sat Black Fang. The woman remained as she had been, her back turned, legs dangling freely, shoulders relaxed as she watched the sun climb over the horizon. The world could have been burning behind her, and she would not have shifted an inch.

<What can you tell me about that dangerously hot woman vibing in my window?> Quinlan asked dryly.

Iris blinked, then followed his line of sight. Her eyes widened in sudden horror when they landed on the still figure. She inhaled sharply as the realization hit. <She’s been here... this entire time...?> Her voice trembled across their link. <How...? I didn’t... even sense her...>

Quinlan could feel her pulse quicken against him. She clung a fraction tighter, not out of affection this time but instinctive fear.

"It was good to get such a long hug from you. I’ll be going then," Quinlan said aloud. His tone was measured, casual, deliberately breaking the silence in a way that could pass as normal.

He loosened his embrace and stepped back with a smile that looked far more relaxed than he felt. If Black Fang’s attention lingered even for a moment, he wanted nothing in his behavior to betray that he had been speaking with Iris through [Master’s Link]. Better for her to believe that the two of them had simply stood wrapped in one another for silent comfort, nothing more.

He gave Iris a subtle squeeze on the shoulder, then turned and walked toward the mansion.

His expression slipped back into the flat calm that masked his racing thoughts. The forgework weighed on him. He would have liked to finish the armor before making his move, but the piece was still several sessions away from completion. A creation of that magnitude demanded time, precision, and endless focus, and time was the one thing he could not spare.

If he wanted to heed the voices of his women, if he wanted to keep Ignis and his family from being swallowed alive in Consortium territory, then the time to move was now.

Furthermore...

Quinlan would be lying if he said he didn’t feel like shedding some blood.

Ayame didn’t call it primordial arrogance for no reason.

Quinlan understood very well that things were in motion; many big players who had ignored him until now were taking him seriously.

But he was being hunted.

He and his family.

And Quinlan... didn’t like it. Being hunted felt suffocating, and hiding in the safety of his home made it even worse.

Naturally, he was ready to run if the situation demanded it; he wouldn’t risk it all to satisfy his desire to be the hunter instead of the hunted.

But to see how the outside world was holding up and to make his decision on how to proceed, he first had to see things with his own two eyes.

...

Mediator, the acting leader of the Vesper Consortium, sat in the heart of his safe house, deep beneath layers of reinforced stone and steel, where Veil Walker guards lined the walls like silent shadows. Their presence was necessary, for the Consortium had enemies everywhere now, and the acting leader could not afford even a single mistake.

Before him lay a map of the duchy, spread wide across the oak table. Red pins marked strongholds, black pins marked fallen branches, and silver pins marked unknowns. A circle of artifacts sat on the table’s edge, glowing as the other heads connected from their own bastions across the kingdom.

The meeting was in session.

"Any word on Black Fang?" Mediator asked.

Whisper’s voice, who was heading the intelligence department, filtered through his artifact, calm and cold. "None. She has vanished. I cannot confirm death, but her bounty remains unclaimed. If she were truly slain, we would know by now. The kingdom would parade it as a giant victory."

A crash shook the table as Maelstrom’s roar thundered through. The general’s fist had slammed his own desk hard enough to make the connection waver for a moment. "Coward! She fled, that’s what happened! The fact that no one brought her head means she ran. She never cared about the Consortium from the start! I’ve been saying this forever!"

"Or perhaps," Mercy, head of the slavery department, interjected smoothly, "she is injured and requires time to recuperate. Even Black Fang is not immortal."

"Bah! Then she could still contact us!" Maelstrom spat. His voice radiated contempt. "She’s abandoned her post. Her dedication to the cause was always in question."

Mediator’s voice came through the call, silencing them. "Enough. Whisper, proceed with your newest report."

The intelligence head’s voice didn’t wait for a single moment. "Some of our agents have turned, lured by promises from the crown and its allies. I believe I have contained most of the leaks, but the damage is not insignificant. Surveillance has been tightened."

"Good," Mediator murmured. His eyes swept the map before him as he adjusted a pin slightly westward. "Maelstrom, your report."

The army commander’s voice boomed again, first sharp with rage but mellowing into pride as he spoke. "We’ve had to abandon the front. The king’s interference has derailed the war against Greenvale. Our positions are compromised. But make no mistake, defeating us is easier said than done. The kingdom cannot sweep us aside in a season. We have been preparing for millennia, stockpiling strength in silence. Invading our true bastions will demand more blood, more time, and more willpower than even Alexios realizes."

Mediator listened, eyes narrowing as he traced the battlefront with his finger. Then he exhaled slowly, speaking not only to Maelstrom but to all of them.

"Our predecessors worked tirelessly, sacrificing in shadow, so that one day the Vesper Consortium would rise above the underworld and claim legitimacy. This setback is grave, yes, but it is not the end. We have endured worse across hundreds of thousands of years. We will endure this as well."

His voice hardened. "Remain vigilant. Keep your most trusted men at your side. Our enemies will try to sever us from within before striking."

One by one, the artifacts dimmed as the heads severed their connections.

Mediator leaned back in his chair, bones aching beneath his robes. The flickering candlelight caught the deep lines on his face, shadows carving him into something both frail and unyielding. His hand lingered on the edge of the map as he whispered to the empty room, "Alexios, you old fox... I won’t let you ruin my life’s work."

His gaze shifted from the pins and markers to the parchment set aside on the corner of the table. A single drawing stared back at him. Devil. The man with the largest bounty in the Consortium, worth twice that of any department head.

Mediator picked up the drawing, and his thumb brushed across the sharp lines of the face hidden by a mask.

"Where have you vanished to, Devil?" he muttered. He wasn’t angry, as evidenced by the curve of his lips. A weary smile was tugging at his mouth.

A low chuckle followed. "Or rather, I should ask, just what the hell are you? A young man worth as much as Black Fang and I combined... your life certainly isn’t easy."

He set the drawing back down. The weight of years pressed heavily on his shoulders as he finally let his body sink against the chair.

"Well," he sighed, eyes closing against the restless dark, "I hope you won’t get caught. It would weigh heavily on this old man’s soul to see your life ruined because of your association with us."

The candle flickered once, casting his shadow long across the walls, before the room fell into silence.

Unbeknownst to the old man, the man who could be largely credited with the difficult situation of the Consortium was making his move!