Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 1201: The Trials Begin

Felicity awoke to white.

Pure, absolute white.

It wasn’t light, not exactly. There was no source, no sun or candle, just a blank radiance that stretched endlessly in all directions. The air was still. Weightless.

Her brows furrowed as she turned in a slow circle. "... Hello?"

Her voice echoed softly, swallowed by nothing.

’Please don’t tell me it’s boredom I have to combat!’ she pleaded inwardly.

Then, a soft chime sounded.

[Her journey began at 12 years of age.]

Before she could question it, the whiteness rippled and the world shifted around her.

She blinked and found herself standing inside a palace chamber. Marble floors, golden trims, ornate banners... she recognized the style instantly. She’d been here on multiple visits.

The Palace of Ravenshade.

And there, in the center of the room, sat a small girl.

"... Hello?" Felicity tried again, stepping closer. Her voice didn’t carry. The sound vanished into the air, as if the world refused to acknowledge her.

The girl sat cross-legged on a cushion. Her posture was perfect, unnaturally calm for someone so young.

Curiosity prickled. Felicity circled around, crouching to glimpse the girl’s face...

And gasped.

It was her mother.

Queen Morgana.

But not as she knew her.

This was Morgana as a child, twelve, maybe thirteen. She recognized her from old portraits.

Felicity stared, frozen.

Her mother’s eyes slowly opened, accompanied by a triumphant smile.

"I did it."

Morgana reached for the wand beside her. She lifted it, whispered a single word, "[Spark]," and a swirl of flame materialized at its tip.

The spell was flawless. Stable. Controlled.

This was a fire-elemental spell many favored for its broad versatility. It costs very little mana to cast and maintain, perfect for those with little to no investments in the Magic stat.

It could be used to illuminate dark places, mark locations, light a campfire, and many, many more. Some even used it to perform tricks in taverns and earn some coins that way.

Morgana’s eyes sparkled with pride as she admired the dancing fire.

Felicity’s mouth fell open. "She... she cast it with no difficulty?!"

It wasn’t just that. She used a wand, not a staff.

Every mage knew the rule: staves were for novices. They amplified raw mana, compensated for instability, and made casting safer.

Wands, on the other hand, demanded much more precision. Only professionals, those who had mastered control, could use them properly.

And her mother... had done it at twelve. On her first try.

Another chime echoed.

[Your dream is to surpass your mother, is it not?]

"Yes!" she did not hesitate to declare.

[Get to it then.]

Before Felicity, light shimmered.

Two objects formed, hovering in the air. A tall, engraved staff and a slender, crystal-tipped wand.

Her eyes darted between them.

The staff felt safe. The girl always imagined herself starting her journey as a Wizard with a staff and taking the baby steps all conventional mages before her had.

But as she looked at the child, Morgana, still watching her own perfect flame, something hot and reckless stirred in Felicity’s chest.

Her fingers curled into fists.

"Fine," she muttered, eyes narrowing with resolve. "If you did it, then so can I."

She reached out and snatched the wand.

The staff vanished in a glimmer of light. Felicity sat down cross-legged right in front of the younger Morgana, matching her posture exactly.

Her gaze sharpened. Determination ignited in her eyes.

"I’ll become a better mage."

...

Feng’s eyes widened as the girl blinked many times, observing her surroundings that replaced the mansion room she’d been in just a moment ago.

The world had turned still. There was no sound, no color, only a calm, endless expanse of blue water that stretched infinitely in every direction.

She looked down, realizing her feet were touching the surface, yet she didn’t sink.

The water rippled softly beneath her weight.

Tentatively, she bent down, dipping her fingers in and lifting a small pool into her palm.

"Water..." she whispered, and noted with surprise that her voice was trembling. She was suddenly overcome with a strange nostalgia.

Back in Zhenwu, this element had been her path. Her cultivation. Her identity.

And her failure.

In all those years, she had clawed and bled her way through the path of cultivation, yet never broke past mediocrity.

When Quinlan appeared in her world - in the form of a man who had no cultivation base, no spirit roots, no bloodline heritage - hell, he didn’t even know what cultivation was... he had risen higher than anyone. He challenged the world’s top powerhouses, shattered sects, rewrote laws, and even eliminated a freaking god!

Meanwhile, she... barely ascended one realm.

Feng closed her fingers around the water. It slipped through them.

Comparing herself to Quinlan was like pouring poison into an open wound; she knew it. But she couldn’t stop.

"Are you disappointed in yourself?"

The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, rippling through the watery ground itself.

Her breath hitched. She knew that voice.

It was hers.

Her eyes darted around. "Do I have to fight myself...? What a cliche trial!" she muttered, half-expecting a mirror image to step out from the reflection below.

But the voice only asked again. Softer, yet sharper at the same time. It was a tone Feng struggled to place.

"Quinlan said he doesn’t like your class. Do you want to change it?"

Feng frowned. "What kind of question is that?"

Her own voice shouldn’t be talking back. Quinlan said that the trials were supposed to test willpower or something, not hold... conversations.

She stared into the infinite expanse stretching all around her.

Did she hate her class?

Until Quinlan’s outburst earlier, she hadn’t thought so.

The Gremlord of Chaos was a class bound by chance, by manipulation of fortune and misfortune. It was unpredictable, but it had saved her life more than once.

It made her unique. Strong, in its own chaotic way.

So much so that it allowed Feng to punch far above her own weight, far above her level. Sort of like a mini-Quinlan - so long as luck was on her side.

"It is a strong class," the voice affirmed her thoughts. "Do you want to change it? Do you want to alter the path you’re walking on a fundamental level?"

Feng’s lips parted, but no words came. Instead, her memory answered for her. Quinlan’s voice, filled with fury that had burned her more than any flame.

"My Feng Jiai is far too precious an existence to be mocked like this. The Gremlord of Chaos? Depending on luck? Please! That sounds cheap to me, as if you needed luck to be of use. Serika received a badass class, the Solar Fist. Fiery, epic, deadly. So why were you given this piece of garbage? You deserve better than randomness deciding your worth!"

Feng clenched her fist at her side.

Her pulse thundered.

"I want to change!" she declared.

Her voice echoed across the endless sea. "I don’t want to rely on luck anymore!"

For a moment, silence answered her declaration.

Then the voice spoke again. But this time, it wasn’t calm.

It was low. Heavy. To Feng, it sounded... Let down?

"... Disappointment."

Her heart skipped a beat.

Feng’s eyes widened, and her heart flared with anger. "What did you say?!"

"Disappointment."