Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 1281  Peak Elf Body

Quinlan and Ayame stepped out of the little home in the side of the now-empty and lifeless smithy. Technically, Rykar could use his knowledge to craft things, but interestingly, the old man never even attempted to pick up a hammer ever since he landed in the world of Thalorind.

He seemed to retire once and for all, intending on having nothing to do with the profession besides passing everything he knew down to his two heirs, the carriers of his legacy, besides his two daughters, of course.

The grumbling old man was spending a lot of time meditating when he wasn't busy chiding Quinlan and Kaelira. Well, mostly Quinlan. The tomboy elf was the perfect model student who not only had a great desire to soak in all the knowledge an old master like Rykar had acquired and now was willing to give away, but she was also very naturally talented.

Quinlan… Well, after creating an Anima armor, no one could argue that he was talentless. The issues more so stemmed from the fact that the two men had quite the rocky past, and as both of them were more stubborn than a hundred mules each, they kept throwing insults at one another instead of moving on.

Though truth be told, this was their way of moving on… If Quinlan was still angry about what the old man did, he would not accept his guidance.

And, if that wasn't enough not to jump at each other's throats… Having the old bastard's daughter in his bed at night was the perfect peacemaker. Whenever Rykar was getting on his nerves, he liked to remind the old man of the facts.

That usually shut the old man up, who got busy grumbling a thousand curse words under his breath. The loud hammering of the smithy then shut the annoying noise out, letting Quinlan focus on sweating out a new great work together with his sexy partner, watching her abs glisten in the fire.

And, yes, while Quinlan could technically use the smithy, he had no desire to do so. For him, smithing was something he did together with Kaelira, or he did not do it at all. Part of it was that they shared the same inheritance, with Quinlan getting the latter part, the finishing touches. As such, if he tried to make the process from the start, he would produce one hell of a miserable piece.

But in reality, that mattered little. Kaelira was a busy woman who did a lot of smithing in his absence, so he could work on something she'd already produced even if she was out of commission for the time being.

Perhaps in the future he'd change his mind, but for now, being in the smithy meant working together with his tomboy elf while having a roasting contest with the old bastard.

Leaving the place, Quinlan moved with a steady stride, but his shoulders carried a lightness he couldn't hide. Every few steps, a spark slipped through, an eager bounce in his steps, a faint upward pull at the corner of his mouth. He kept trying to force his face back into its usual collected look, but the excitement and sheer giddy joy kept leaking through.

Ayame shot him a long, narrow stare, one sharp enough to cut. The kind of look a woman gave her man when he pretended to be stoic while practically skipping.

"Someone's very happy…" she muttered. She lifted her chin with that practiced, annoyed-girlfriend composure that she'd so perfectly mastered over the months spent together.

Quinlan didn't even attempt to hide it. "How can I not be happy? Kaelira is one hell of a woman."

Ayame clicked her tongue. "Yeah, you've been into her for a long time. Basically, ever since the heavy armor came off her all the way back then."

"How can you fault me?" he replied, his voice picking up with energy he didn't bother hiding. "Have you seen those beyond sexy abs, Ayame?"

He didn't stop there.

"They're carved in a way that should not be legal. You can see the lines even through her shirt. Not vague outlines either, they're properly pronounced. Defined. The kind that says she has been swinging hammers and training her body for centuries without ever skipping a day."

Ayame raised an eyebrow, already regretting this conversation, but Quinlan was far from done.

"And the best part? She didn't sacrifice her femininity to get them. Not even a little. Her hair is always clean and cared for. Her skin is soft, even though she works with metal every day. And she still has that gentle shape at the waist, the kind that makes the whole thing look even more unfair. She's basically the definition of a woman who trained for centuries but still kept every bit of her feminine charm intact."

Ayame stared at him, watching her man passionately rave about another woman's torso with the same intensity most, more normal men reserved for legendary treasure they dreamed of acquiring.

"… You're utterly hopeless," she muttered.

He turned his head to look at Ayame. The open admiration on his face made Ayame release a slow, defeated breath. She rolled her eyes.

"As for your question, yeah, I have seen her abs, of course… She's not exactly hiding them."

Quinlan lifted a hand and began tracing shapes in the empty air, fingertips brushing nothing in particular… But Ayame knew exactly what that gesture meant. He was very clearly touching Kaelira's abdomen in his imagination, molesting each line of muscle as if it were right in front of him.

"She's an elf," he continued, as if presenting a flawless argument. "An elf with a peak body. And that hair - short, just to her shoulders - but she still manages to look so damn feminine. How?"

Ayame finally stopped her annoyed girlfriend act, struggling too much to maintain it. Her mask crumbled in a heartbeat. A smug grin spread across her face as she watched him get completely lost in his own obsession with the female form.

"I wonder what a certain elf with none of the features described would say when she learns her lover is so happy to finally get an elf with a 'peak body,' was it?"

Quinlan froze with his fingers still curved as if gripping an invisible waist. He blinked once.

"You misunderstood."

Ayame didn't even try to hide the grin now.

"Seraphiel is the peak female elf, no doubt. She has that long blonde hair, the kind that moves even when she barely does. A lithe figure that still… shapes well where it matters. Her thighs are incredible. Her breasts? Supple yet perky. Her butt? The heavenly pillow. The whole body? Simply perfect."

He kept going, hands now gesturing wildly because committing to the rant was the only way out of Ayame's horrible accusation.

"And despite her cheeky quips, she's such a serene, beautiful woman. The kind of presence that softens everything around her. A real healer, not just by class, but by existing. Putting my head on her lap while she sings in Elvish? That fixes things inside me I didn't even know were broken."

Ayame's grin stretched even wider, sharp and delighted. "That was a nice rant, Quin, no doubt. But I don't get your point. Are you saying your second elf lover isn't a 'peak female elf' or whatever? Kaelira doesn't have any of those incredibly soft, feminine things you listed for Seraphiel. Maybe some nice curves, sure, but that's about it."

Quinlan turned his head slowly, eyes flat and unimpressed. The shift in his expression was small but clear. By pushing this topic, Ayame had stepped into dangerous territory, and she knew it perfectly well.

"Ayame. You know I love you to death and beyond, but…" Quinlan loved to joke around with her, but he hated the topic of comparing his lovers. To him, they were all the perfect women. Even suggesting otherwise was blasphemy. "You're asking to be spanked, aren't you?" he asked, voice low in a way that made it impossible to tell how truly angry he was and how much of it was just him acting ominous on purpose.

Ayame's smugness receded. Just a little.

Quinlan's mouth curved up dangerously. "It's been some time since you were shown your place."

That did it.

He was not playing.

Ayame's bravado faltered, the confidence slipping just enough to betray her. Her cheeks warmed, and she looked straight ahead as if hoping the nearby greenery would swallow her.

Quinlan didn't let her escape the moment. His hand came up and caught her ponytail, fingers curling around the long, dark hair with precise control.