Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 1326  Piqued Curiosity

An elf in ceremonial robes waved at the dryad and asked for her name with the sweetest of voices.

A dwarf with braids outright slipped off his chair trying to see Synchra's transformation up close. "Too much booze," he cursed on the ground.

Then he slapped himself. "There's no such thing."

Two elven guards were whispering furiously about the seed-born child.

A dwarf smith, master of his trade and respected by all his peers enough to grant him a seat at this table as an advisor, shouted something about "runes" and "living flame armor." His voice cracked as if he turned from a nearly thousand-year-old master into a teenage apprentice.

Quinlan watched all of it with an amused glint in his eyes.

"Looks like someone cares," he murmured.

Scar's eyes shone with a smug blue light.

Ito folded his arms before his spear.

Nozomi hid a smirk behind her sleeve, elegant as always.

And Rosie, peeking over Quinlan's shoulder, waved both hands excitedly at the crowd jammed against the projection.

It didn't take long for a few of the seated elders to finally lose their patience.

"Get off the table this instant!" one of the senior elves snapped, thumping her cane hard enough for the sound to cut through the chatter.

The Dwarf King didn't rise as he rumbled, "Sit," toward the smiths who were halfway up the projection frame with their hands hooked on its edges like they intended to haul themselves through with sheer force of will.

They tried pretending they didn't hear him until a second order followed, sharper. "Now."

The smiths froze, exchanged glances, then climbed down with the reluctant posture of children ordered away from a festival stall. One muttered something about "I must understand…" but he returned to his seat.

Somehow, despite having a far better reputation for being orderly than the race of angry midgets known for being as stubborn as they were short and hairy, the elven ladies were worse.

Two guards tugged at their sleeves, trying to guide them back. The older one hissed, "She waved at me." She leaned forward again, reaching toward Rosie as if the child might slip away if she blinked. Another lady angled her entire upper body toward the projection despite the guard pulling at her waist.

Rosie, delighted, waved both hands faster.

It made everything worse.

The ladies refused to budge, bracing their heels against the polished floor as if resisting an enemy charge. One tried to negotiate. "She is far too precious a child, my motherly instincts are screaming at me..."

A second elder slammed her palm on the table. "Compose yourselves!"

Her voice finally cut through the frenzy. The ladies stiffened, then allowed themselves to be pulled back to their chairs, though their eyes never left Rosie.

Order returned. Chairs scraped. Robes settled. A few coughs followed to hide lingering embarrassment.

Only then did Queen Myrasyn, who remained the most unaffected out of all elves at the sight of Rosie, lift her chin. "Tell me, where did you find such a unique child of nature?"

Her composure was untouched. King Ragnar mirrored it, shoulders squared beneath ceremonial steel.

"And from where did you acquire that armor?" Ragnar asked.

Quinlan leaned back and looked both of them in the eyes through the projection as he declared with utmost sincerity,

"I made both of them."

Queen Myrasyn's eyes thinned to elegant slits. Her controlled posture didn't falter, but something tightened in the line of her shoulders. Did he mean like a ritual? Akin to how humanoids can turn themselves into undead under the right circumstances... But no, how could that be? She, leader of the elven race, should be aware of such a thing's existence. For a man like him to conduct such a sacred ritual… The idea clashed with everything she knew. Even her calm had limits.

King Ragnar's reaction was more pronounced. His bushy brows drew together with a hard grind, the kind that came from years of knowing exactly what dwarven hands could create and what they could not. The armor on Quinlan's body defied his understanding. Hearing that no dwarf forged it wasn't just unlikely. It was impossible.

Their shared doubt was written plainly across both faces.

Quinlan watched them with growing amusement. The disbelief only made his grin stretch wider. He didn't rush to defend himself or clarify the absurdity they heard.

He then tapped Synchra's smooth fabric once and bristled Rosie's leafy hair, eliciting happy giggles from the girl.

"I'll answer you in detail after we work together for a while. Trust isn't built in a single conversation, and you're asking me to reveal something deeply personal."

Neither monarch liked that.

But they decided collectively that pushing for more was not fitting. They were wasting time here when the invasion was set to begin within hours. Delaying their plans just to demand that this man - a man who was hoping to join their forces and help topple their enemy - answer their questions was just plain dumb, and both rulers were more than intelligent enough to understand that.

Furthermore, he wasn't alone; he had his own forces and was speaking for the Consortium right now, evidenced by Black Fang and three Veil Walkers standing behind him. They were risking creating hostilities with a force worthy of respect.

Thus, instead of screaming curses arrogantly and demanding he answer them like an entitled child, King Ragnar looked Quinlan in the eye. "Then tell me this instead, Primordial Villain. In what manner do you plan to take part in the invasion? You don't strike me as the type who lines up in a regiment."

It was a fair question. Joining the Elvardian army and disrupting their cohesion with a last-minute addition who was clearly way too difficult to understand and fight alongside made little sense.

Quinlan smiled. "Being adaptable is my middle name. I'll make it work without disrupting anything."

Silence again.

Neither monarch looked pleased.

But Quinlan didn't waver. "You won't be disappointed. I promise you that with my reputation on the line."

Ragnar squinted his eyes for a moment as he grumbled, "What reputation…" under his breath. But he didn't push further. The grumble lacked real force.

Because the truth was already settled.

They knew the stories.

The anomaly.

The one who shouldn't exist, yet somehow did.

A walking contradiction whose presence skewed the field in ways no strategist could fully predict.

The living anomaly; that was his reputation.

Even the stubborn dwarves understood what accepting him meant. Reinforcements of a type no sane commander would reject, Black Fang, seasoned warriors, and Quinlan himself. A force capable of turning a battle sideways.

The deal was made.

Whether they liked his answers or not.

"Don't forget the deal…" One of the motherly elves whispered before being elbowed, reminding Quinlan that he had promised to explain more about the little green girl.

But in reality, what the elf truly was looking for was his words of letting them play with the child of nature, or just letting the woman hold the girl for even a single second. Even that would satisfy the sudden tear in her heart that could only be mended in a single way.

Though she did not say that out loud.

Rosie caught the look and waved even harder, having the time of her life beneath her innocent little daughter's show. She was way too cheeky.

Several elves clenched their hands on their robes to stop themselves from rushing the projection again.

But order was set, the agreement made, and the tension pulled tight.

However…

Just then, a heavy scrape echoed from before Quinlan.

The Drowned King shifted on his undead steed. His posture changed. The dull, empty aura surrounding him twisted into something harsher.

A sound tore from his throat, something between a rasp and a grind of metal dragged over stone. Ragnar raised a brow. "What is it now?"

The undead didn't answer him.

His gaze locked on Quinlan.

Something the dwarf king had muttered slotted into place.

The name.

The title.

"The Primordial Villain…?" he whispered. As the Drowned King only arrived once Quinlan had already introduced himself to Thorga and Serelis, who in turn introduced him to their leaders, he missed the memo.

Until now, that is.

The air around him buckled with hostile energy. Armor plates rattled against each other as the aura blazing off his frame grew thick enough to distort the air.

Hatred radiated from the hollow pits where his eyes once were.

"The one who shamed my kind? That's you?!"