Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 1321  A Shocking Sight

"Serelis," Thorga grunted as she stomped over a root. "You sensing anything with those bare sticks you call feet?"

The elf didn't even look at her. She kept her eyes forward, steps light, toes brushing moss and soil. "Not yet. But it should be close."

Thorga folded her arms. "You sure? Thought your folk bragged about feeling ants sneeze from a mile away."

Serelis finally glanced at her, but instead of being angry, her expression was calm enough to pass for bored. "If an ant sneezed, I would hear it. Your marching, accompanied by your stinky breath and filthy, unwashed bodies, however, is drowning out everything in the duchy."

Thorga snorted. "If you can't handle a proper stomp or a battle-ready body odor, that's not my problem. Maybe your senses are just overrated."

Serelis stared at her with open disgust, nose wrinkling, lips tightening, long ears twitching, and eyes narrowed as if she were witnessing a crime against nature itself.

Thorga noticed.

Lifted an arm.

Sniffed her own armpit.

"Ugh!" She gagged.

Once.

Then shrugged. "Eh, it's not that bad."

Serelis's whole body jerked back. Even her twitching ears went limp as if they wanted to hear none of this. Whatever her poor eyes, ears, and nose just experienced, they looked one step away from abandoning her body out of self-preservation. She gagged too, softly but with the despair of someone who truly wished they had been born nose-less.

Thorga slapped both the elf's thick thighs with a loud smack. "Stop being such a whimp. A bit of warrior musk never hurt nobody."

Serelis narrowed her eyes again, slow and cold, as though she was carefully calculating which artery to cut first on this stinky hobo goblin.

Then she remembered her duty.

Her queen.

Her people.

Her oath.

She took a breath through her mouth, swallowed her hatred, and continued walking.

They made it three more steps before Serelis finally spoke.

"… I still don't understand why the undead want to hand over humans. What do they gain from it?"

Thorga let out a long, tired sigh, one she had clearly practiced over years of dealing with elves. "Apparently, the Blind Grave Oracle wants us to question them."

Serelis blinked. "Question them? They've spent thousands of years alive-or, well, unalive - and they don't know how to get information out of people?"

"Not with the 'people' surviving long enough to give all the information, it seems."

Serelis paused mid-step. "Ah."

"Yeah."

The elf's eyes suddenly shone with a bit of interest. "So these humans they're handing over must be holding a lot of secrets..."

Thorga grinned. "Finally. Something fun."

Soon, the forest began to thin.

Branches spread farther apart.

Sunlight pierced through in bigger and bigger scattered patches.

The soft hum of wildlife faded.

Serelis slowed first.

Thorga noticed a heartbeat later.

"I sense them… But the undead are strange… And there are a lot of humans…" the elf muttered, and she wasn't alone. All elves felt it.

"Maybe Archlich Vozen created some new monsters we don't know about," Thorga guessed.

"I don't know…" Serelis didn't seem convinced. "These undead feel far too different. I don't even know if they can be labeled as undead. Furthermore… I sense not just humans! I feel the presence of my people!"

"… What are they up to?" Thorga grumbled, then asked, "Should we call for backup?"

"… No. Let's see what's going on." Calling for backup without even ascertaining the danger while having 98 elites under their command would make the two of them look cowardly.

"I'll trust your judgment. I don't see why they would betray us just before we begin. They stand to gain a lot from our alliance."

They stepped through the last line of trees carefully, boots and bare feet brushing aside the undergrowth, and entered a wide clearing.

Then both leaders froze.

Thorga's voice dropped, low and sharp. "Serelis."

"I see it."

They didn't waste a breath.

"FORMATION!" Thorga roared.

"Bows up!" Serelis ordered at the same time.

The reaction was instant.

Dwarves stomped forward in a practiced line where their shields locked together with heavy thuds and their axes and hammers were raised over the metal wall.

Elves fanned out behind them with bows drawn in a single smooth motion, strings taut, arrows angled at the threat ahead.

One hundred elites.

Ready for war.

Thorga squinted. "What in the nine forges am I looking at?"

The massive structure in the clearing made the entire formation falter for a breath.

It was a carriage.

A colossal one.

Dwarven-made down to the smallest ridge and anchor bolt.

Thorga's jaw tightened.

Even from here, she could read the lines of craftsmanship. Reinforced plates. Bound runic joints. Layered arches meant to survive volleys from siege engines. This wasn't some makeshift undead construct. This was master-forged work, full of dwarven brilliance but corrupted and repurposed.

However, that wasn't what worried her.

Other details were wrong.

Very wrong.

Dozens of undead limbs extended from its underside like the legs of a giant spider, clearly designed to give the carriage impossible mobility.

Yet every single limb hung limp, lifeless.

And that wasn't even the part that froze their lungs.

"I greet you, great warriors of Elvardia," a man's deep voice called.

Every bowstring stretched tighter.

Every shield planted harder.

Thorga and Serelis looked up.

He sat casually atop the armored roof with one leg over the other, arms relaxed, posture confident enough to belong to someone entirely immune to fear. His cloak brushed against the metal plates. Sunlight struck him just enough to outline his silhouette.

In his hands, dangling loosely, were two severed heads.

Thorga's eyes went wide.

Serelis's lips parted.

Both recognized them instantly as two undead mages, lieutenant-rank, personal servants of the highest covenant leaders.

Now their skulls hung like trophies. Drained of unlife, hollow. Not a single bit of their unholy spark remained.

Behind him stood more figures. Humans, beastkin, and…

Serelis's attention snapped toward two familiar faces.

Sylvaris Vaelorith.

The leader of the lesser elvish clan called Vaelorith. Serene. Composed. Her expression was unreadable, carved from stillness. Sylvaris's gaze met Serelis's, and for a heartbeat, the entire clearing seemed to hold its breath. She looked exactly as Serelis remembered; the moon given form, gentle in appearance yet unshakable in presence.

Next to her, waving cheerfully as if greeting a cousin at a festival…

Was Seraphiel Vaelorith.

The young heir, blessed with the Healer class. Serelis believed she was destined for great things when she received such a prestigious class even before her coming of age ceremony.

But it was a curse in disguise because she was promptly drafted into an invading army that was defeated and she was enslaved.

Despite that, the blonde girl was all smiles. Not a hint of distress could be seen on her features despite having vanished in the human lands, bought by a human. Sylvaris followed after her daughter, and she was caught as well. Serelis thought the Vaelorith line was done for, as the grandmother was the only one left.

But, clearly, she was wrong.

"What… what are those two doing there?!"

But Thorga was staring at someone else, too occupied to respond.

Because to the left of the elves stood a woman with long dark hair and a calm posture that never looked truly calm. Her eyes locked immediately onto Thorga's own.

Black Fang.

The Venomborne Terror.

A walking omen of disaster. The kind of warrior even dwarves whispered about while drunk.

Thorga felt a prickle crawl down her spine.

And next to Black Fang stood Orianna, Raika, and Vex. The full roster of the Consortium's Drug Department's higher-ups, its most dangerous operatives.

Thorga's mouth went dry.

"The Consortium is here…" she muttered, voice rough.

"Boss!" a dwarf shouted. "Down there!"

Her eyes dropped to the base of the carriage.

More figures stood there, right beneath the man sitting on top of the carriage.

Blue-skinned. Humanoid but not truly flesh. Their bodies looked translucent, as if their skin was made of pale light. Their feet didn't touch the ground… Not because they were hovering in the air, but because they rested atop piles of bones. The bones of destroyed skeletal undead.

Whatever these beings were, they radiated power. Thorga now understood why Serelis felt something was wrong with these creatures. Maybe they really weren't undead. But even if they were, these were clearly something other than the creation of the Pale Tyrant of Karth.

Serelis's fingers tightened on her bow.

Thorga planted her boots wider, ready for battle.

Sylvaris remained serene.

Black Fang didn't blink.

And the man atop the carriage lifted his voice again.

"My name is Quinlan Elysiar, the Primordial Villain. I'm here with a proposal."

Every elf and dwarf stiffened at the name.

Whispers had traveled across borders. Rumors of impossible feats. Conflicting stories about a man who should not exist. A threat. A savior. A monster. A mystery.

No one knew for sure, and none of them had seen his face.

Until now.

Their eyes sharpened, turning scrutinizing.

The man's lips curved upward as his unique eyes shone with four different colors all at once, utterly mesmerizing.

"Why don't we invade the Vraven Kingdom together?"