Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 1329  Just A Random Outpost

The Drowned King felt it.

The weight of expectation pressed against his back through the projection. Ragnar's patience had thinned to a razor edge. Myrasyn's stillness carried finality. Even without breath or flesh, even without nerves to warn him, the intent was clear.

They were done with this - with him.

They wanted to move along.

The undead king did not turn right away.

Instead, he shifted his helm and locked onto Quinlan.

The stare stretched. No words. No posturing. Just two figures measuring distance that had nothing to do with space. Quinlan remained where he was. Neither yielded. Neither blinked first.

This was not finished.

At last, the Drowned King broke the line of sight and angled his helm toward Scar.

The Elite Soul stood quietly with her bright blue light fading to a steady glow now that the upgrade had finished. To the undead king, she held a presence that did not feel borrowed.

"… They speak, too?!" he cursed under his breath, remembering how she not only spoke but did so with pristine clarity. And now, as he stared into the female summon's eyes, he saw a great deal of intelligence shine through her irises.

His own creations never spoke, let alone held such intelligence.

They moved when commanded. They attacked when pointed. They followed patterns drilled into dead matter. Their strategies were a crude imitation. Thought did not exist. Speech was beyond them entirely.

Animated corpses. Nothing more.

'Filthy Graveyard Desecrators…' the words rang in his hollow skull.

His helm lingered on Scar for another moment before he pulled the reins.

The undead horse turned with its hooves scraping against the ground.

"The Covenant is willing to proceed for now," the Drowned King declared. "But don't think for a moment that this ends here."

Quinlan's lips curved.

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

He watched the undead forces begin to withdraw, already filing away names, debts, and timings.

He had business with the Covenant.

And they had just agreed to potentially delay it until he got strong enough to enforce his will on them.

Even if he had to put on a show to get what he wanted, this was a major victory as far as Quinlan was concerned.

…

The withdrawal was clean.

Undead ranks peeled away in disciplined lines.

Thorga was the first to move.

"Come with us, if you will," the dwarven commander said, already turning her armored shoulder. "We have an outpost nearby. The army Serelis and I are part of gathers there; you can join us."

Quinlan did not argue. He and his companions felt ready to begin whenever, so he thought he might as well accept the invitation and take a brief look at Elvardia.

The road didn't last long.

Blossom noticed first, slowing when her boot scraped against a groove carved too cleanly into the ground.

"Master, traps everywhere!" she realized.

Quinlan and the girls noticed how Elvardia didn't announce the place with banners or walls.

They announced it in silence.

The forest thickened ahead, but not in the wild way many expected. High above, platforms were grown directly from the branches, wood shaped into flat terraces where elven sentries stood motionless, bows already drawn, eyes tracking every approach.

Between the trees, stone rose.

Not crude piles or exposed blocks, but low, layered bulwarks built into the terrain itself. Dwarven masonry flowed around roots instead of cutting them, locking wood and rock together so tightly it was hard to tell where one ended, and the other began. Narrow slits dotted the stone, some clearly for sight, others for something heavier - dwarven artillery.

Felicity, once again masked to hide her identity, stopped walking without meaning to.

"… Is this a fortress?" she asked.

Thorga snorted. "It's just a little outpost put together hastily for the occasion, youngun."

Ahead, a thick iron lattice slid aside with a muted grind, revealing a recessed gate disguised beneath moss and hanging vines. Inside, the space opened sharply.

Ballistae sat half-buried behind reinforced parapets, their arms folded inward until needed. Mana conduits ran along the ground in shallow channels, glowing softly as they fed into elven spell anchors woven through the trees.

Feng turned in a slow circle.

"This place is amazing… It would eat an army alive," she murmured.

"That's the idea," Serelis replied.

Feng, Felicity, and several of Quinlan's girls couldn't stop staring. Their eyes jumped from the treetops to the artillery, from wide roots to armored dwarves moving with quiet efficiency beneath elven watch.

It was in this moment that they all understood why the alliance between the two races was so deadly and why both Vraven and the Confederation found it hard to invade them.

Seraphiel walked a step ahead of them, chin lifted.

"Elves handle vision, warning, and control," she said, glancing up with a knowing look. "Dwarves handle anything that explodes, collapses, or turns attackers into paste."

She gestured upward. "Those trees aren't just tall… They're alive in the right way. You try to burn them, and they drink the heat. You try to cut them, and they harden. And every branch is a firing line."

Thorga tapped a knuckle against a nearby stone wall as they passed. "And every step you took coming in was watched. Miss the path by half a foot, and you'd be hanging upside down right now. Or missing a few limbs. And a torso."

Felicity swallowed.

Thorga slowed near the inner clearing and rolled her shoulders once.

"I'll excuse myself here," she said, already angling away. "Final preparations won't make themselves."

She gave Quinlan a short nod, then strode off toward the artillery lines, barking orders before she was even out of sight.

Serelis lingered a heartbeat longer. Her gaze swept over the group, then settled on Sylvaris.

"Walk with me, please, old friend," she said softly.

Sylvaris offered no response besides walking toward the elf with serene steps, having no problem accepting the invitation. The two elves moved away together, disappearing between the trees without another word. Whatever history they shared, it was clearly not meant for an audience.

Seraphiel smiled, happy for her mother to have reunited with an old acquaintance of hers. For Sylvaris, being in Quinlan's home was pure bliss. But while she liked to interact with the fellow mothers living there, it was good to meet with an elf she'd known for centuries.

"Come on, I'll show you around," Sera offered to the harem and gang while grabbing Quinlan by the arm and pulling him along, hopping happily like a maiden in love. She was a curious sight, making many elves and dwarves alike pause to take in the look of such a gorgeous elf clinging to a tall hulk of a man like that.

The group followed as she led them along the inner paths of the outpost. As they walked, more and more elves emerged from platforms and walkways, pausing mid-step at the sight. Some stared. Some whispered. Others simply inclined their heads in quiet greeting before moving on. Dwarves passed beneath them, hauling crates, checking runes, adjusting straps with practiced hands. Everything moved with purpose. No wasted motion. No idle chatter.

Then, after an hour or so, a horn sounded.

Once. Twice.

The air changed.

Elven voices rang out from the canopy, sharp and clear. Dwarven commanders answered from below, orders snapping into place. Ballista crews moved. Spell anchors flared brighter. Seraphiel stopped and looked back at Quinlan. Both worry and excitement could be observed in her mesmerizing, crystal blue eyes.

"That's the signal. The Elvardian forces are ready to launch the invasion."

"Let's go," Quinlan nodded.

Just like that, the march began.