Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 1285  Troubled Count

"What do they have to say?"

Black Fang asked with a tone that was as flat as stone.

Orianna turned her head slowly and stared at the woman wryly. "I just woke up from a state of death that lasted for months, yet you think I already contacted them? What kind of workaholic do you think I am?"

Black Fang didn't move. Didn't blink.

Her face was a wall.

Orianna held the stare.

Black Fang continued… staring.

Not a twitch.

Not a shift.

Just two ancient women engaging in a dramatic, emotionless duel of who could look more unimpressed with the other's existence.

Ayame paused her plotting of 'Arrogant Primordial Lover Behavioral Education'.

Vex's lips curved into a giant grin as if witnessing an art piece.

Raika looked confused, then intimidated, then confused again.

Quinlan stood there, wondering if this was some kind of prehistoric dominance ritual.

Eventually, Orianna broke.

She snapped her eyes away and spoke in a rush.

"They have been looking for you. The situation is pressing. The Consortium is slowly being brought to the brink of collapse. The reserves we've been accumulating for millennia are running out, and our manpower is decreasing as well."

Silence.

Every eye drifted to her, many of which were beyond amused.

Yep.

She had already begun working.

Quinlan found her report a bit of a surprise. He thought they were still doing well even after his two-month-long nap, but it seems the fight with Greenvale, without having the ability to recuperate from the Fujimori losses, was bleeding them behind the scenes.

Honestly, Quinlan was incredibly impressed with the syndicate's performance already. This was a war he himself lit the flames of almost single-handedly, manipulating both sides so chaos would ensue.

He hoped that in chaos, he could gain immense benefits, and looking at his level, soul army, and more, it was safe to say that his efforts had paid off, and he wasn't even done yet.

But he couldn't allow the syndicate to collapse, as that would mean the end of the fun ride. It was to end when he so decreed.

Vex and Ayame turned toward Quinlan at the same time.

They didn't need to say what was on their mind.

Their expressions said exactly what Quinlan had just concluded.

'For our own benefit… we need the Consortium alive.'

Breathing room for the syndicate meant more opportunities for them.

More battles to third party.

More chaos to utilize.

More levels to gain.

More souls to harvest.

He met their synchronized stare with a slow, knowing smirk.

"Let's put our new friends to work, shall we?"

Two pairs of eyes, one playful and excited, the other calm and sharp, gleamed with the same ominous glint as his.

A silent agreement.

A shared appetite.

And just like that, the next phase began.

…

Eric Winterwood flipped through the stack of parchment slowly, page after page marked with losses.

Names.

Ranks.

Costs.

The study was quiet except for the faint scratching of his pen and the steady presence of the woman beside him.

Sarra stood at his right shoulder, back straight, eyes forward. She was his sole elite guard who was 'spared.'

Enslaved, like him, yes.

But also spared, in the sense that she still breathed.

Eric set aside another sheet.

Over a dozen elite guards dead.

Forty-three standard guards.

Two barracks collapsed.

The west watchtower flattened upon landing.

Training yard destroyed.

Stables gone.

Quinlan hadn't entered subtly. He had arrived like a falling star, bringing with him a big bang. Eric's estate had taken the brunt of it.

He picked up the next parchment, featuring estimated reconstruction costs, and let out a slow breath.

"Approve the funerals," he said. "Full rites. Compensation for every family. No exceptions."

The clerk standing at a respectful distance bowed and scribbled down the order before handing it off to Eric's butler, who scurried away to begin doing good on his lord's order.

Sarra shifted slightly where she stood.

"It isn't my place to speak such things…"

She paused, not sure if she should say what was on her mind. It wasn't exactly professional.

<Go ahead, Sarra,> Eric prompted, using [Master's Link] so the clerk who wasn't enslaved didn't catch it. <I might be your lord, but now I'm a slave as well… Our stations are the same.>

Sarra looked at him but easily ignored the mental command, refusing to treat him as an equal.

"What I wanted to say is that I'm proud of you, my lord."

Eric looked up.

Sarra wasn't wearing her usual stoic mask. Her eyes were softer, gentle even as she watched him.

She didn't need to explain any further, as Eric understood her meaning immediately.

He didn't have to do any of this. Yes, the contracts of the fallen soldiers said they were to be compensated with a paid-for funeral and those they leave behind would be taken care of, but there were asterisks.

There were always asterisks when it came to contracts.

He could cite manpower collapse, infrastructure loss, and financial strain. His entire estate was in tatters.

No one would blame him for cutting corners, at least the man he answered to, Alastair Greenvale, certainly wouldn't.

He leaned back in his chair and studied the woman beside him.

"If I remember correctly," he said, "you were born in… the Outer Slope mining village? The one known for stonebreakers?"

Sarra blinked, taken off guard.

Her voice slipped for a moment.

"You're aware…?"

Eric nodded. "Of course."

Her surprise wasn't unwarranted.

Sarra had served House Winterwood for centuries. She wasn't hired by him; Eric had no personal ties to the woman. It wasn't even his father or grandfather who hired her. She belonged to a generation long gone. Her personnel record was almost half as old as the Winterwood ancestral line itself.

Eric let out a short laugh at her expression.

"The first thing I did when I inherited the position was spend several sleepless nights going through the restricted files. Every guard. Every maid. Every groundskeeper. And certainly every elite whom I would trust with my safety."

Sarra stared at him, stunned.

Eric lifted a brow. "Don't look so shocked. It wasn't out of kindness. Not being able to trust the people in my own house is a recipe for a short life."

Sarra nodded slowly, though her face made it clear she didn't believe a word of that excuse.

Eric shook his head in amusement and went back to the reports.

"As someone from humble beginnings," he mused, "you must understand better than most how devastating it is to lose the one who provides for the family."

Sarra lowered her gaze.

"They already carry the weight of losing someone they loved. For them to face financial ruin on top of that… How loyal would my remaining soldiers be if they saw that their fallen colleagues' wives and daughters are forced to do unspeakable things while their sons turn to petty crime?" He set the parchment down. "No, that won't happen in my lands."

He turned toward the clerk in the room.

"Prepare petitions. All my contacts. Families with wealth. Banks. Lords. Even merchants with deep pockets. I want loan offers. As many as possible. We're rebuilding everything, starting with compensations and then rebuilding our armies and infrastructure."

The clerk bowed sharply and rushed out to begin drafting the letters.

Eric picked up his pen again.

Sarra remained at his side.

Still silent.

Still watching him with that same soft, loyal gaze.

<Who knew you'd become such a capable lord?>

A sudden voice sounded.