Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 1339  Caught Red Handed

Vayne gulped.

The sound was loud in the hollowed ruin, his throat working around blood and heat. His fingers tightened on his weapon. He adjusted his footing by habit, with his heel grinding against stone and shoulders squaring despite the tremor that ran through his arms.

Scar tilted her head a fraction.

"Take up position."

The order snapped something into place.

Vayne inhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate. He planted his feet wider, set his blade before him with its edge angled slightly down. The seasoned veteran knew that monsters with Scar's build - short, fast, and incredibly deadly - had a low center of gravity and would try to speed blitz him. Thus, he aimed where he knew she would strike from.

The ache in his chest screamed with the movement, but he ignored it. His back straightened. His grip steadied.

Captain Vayne looked past her for a moment, at the broken banners, the scorched stone, the walls, and the men who still stood.

Then he screamed.

"For Ravenshade!"

"For the Vraven Kingdom!"

"For humanity!"

He lunged.

Steel cut through the air in a committed arc, every ounce of strength he had left poured into the swing. The blade should have split her cleanly from shoulder to hip.

It didn't.

Scar's form shattered into splintered wood at the moment of impact. The sword bit deep into the decoy, after which the false torso twisted as hardened fibers closed around the steel, locking his weapon in place.

"What?!" Vayne's breath caught.

Behind him, the air shifted.

Scar was already there.

She materialized out of nothing, already in the air. Her body was rotating with the motion of her strike as soon as she appeared. Her daggers were already moving toward her target as she spoke:

"[Piercing Fang]."

The blades slid between plates, through reinforced seams that had never failed him before. Metal parted. The enchantments died mid-flare. Cold burned through his back as the daggers drove into his flesh, reaching vital organs.

Vayne gasped.

His legs gave out. The sword slipped from his hands as he dropped to his knees. The wooden decoy collapsed into inert fragments beside him.

He turned his head with effort, eyes wide, mouth working.

"You can even… cast spells…?"

Only now he understood what the wooden figure was… She'd already prepared it before their duel even began. Perhaps, all this time, he wasn't even speaking to the real Scar…?

Both daggers remained buried in his back. She placed a boot between his shoulder blades and leaned in, pinning him forward.

"You will obey my orders from here on out without a word and will not vie for my position. Is that understood?"

"Wha-"

She did not let him finish.

Scar pushed off, driving her leg forward as she pulled the blades free in a single motion. Steel slid out cleanly. Blood followed.

Captain Albrecht Vayne collapsed onto the stone, dead.

Scar stayed where she was for a breath longer.

Then the tension left her frame.

The blue light in her eyes softened, no longer sharp enough to press against the air.

She straightened and lifted her hands.

The daggers rested there, balanced and familiar. No tremor. No drag. She turned her wrists slowly, watching how the blades answered without hesitation. How the weight felt right again. How the motion flowed instead of stopping short.

A quiet sound escaped her.

Behind the mask, her lips curved.

"Master…" she whispered. The word slipped out low, reverent. "I am speechless..."

She flexed her fingers once. Mana answered. Not as a distant echo or a borrowed reflex, but as something that belonged to her again. The techniques she had carried only as memory now sat ready beneath her skin.

Rank 5.

That was what Quinlan bestowed her with.

Until now, she was akin to a walking stat-stick with her human memories intact.

But now, as a Rank 5 Elite Soul, the class she had earned in life answered her once more, complete and whole.

A real assassin. The killer who prepared the field before the first step was even taken.

Then, a voice rolled across the broken stone.

It was deep and amused.

"I'm glad to see you're happy, Scar."

"?!" She yelped. Outright yelped, releasing a small sound that tore out of her before she could stop it, sharp and undignified, and her whole body snapped around on instinct. The daggers nearly slipped from her hands.

Quinlan stood several dozen meters away.

He had not left.

Smoke drifted around him, heat still bleeding off his armor in slow waves. The massive frame that had been walking away earlier now faced her directly with red light burning where his eyes should have been behind the helmet.

He was watching her.

Had been watching her throughout her duel.

And now, he started walking back.

Scar froze.

Her shoulders stiffened. The daggers vanished back into their sheaths without her remembering the motion. Heat rushed into her face, visible even through her ghostly blue skin.

She had been seen.

Somehow, impossibly, she felt it when he smiled behind the helmet. The sensation brushed against her awareness.

"A bit territorial, aren't we?" Quinlan mused.

Her mouth opened. Nothing came out. Then…

"M-Master, I don't know what you could possibly mean…" she whispered with a voice that was a lot smaller than it had been moments ago.

He hummed as he closed the distance.

"Is that so?"

His head tilted slightly. The red glow narrowed.

Then he spoke again, and when he did, his tone was hers.

Flat. Cold. Absolute.

"You will obey my orders from here on out without a word and will not vie for my position. Is that understood, scum?"

Scar's eyes went wide. "I didn't say scum!!"

But that was the least of her worries.

The color in her skin deepened, rushing up her neck and across her cheeks until she looked like she might combust. Her hands clenched at her sides.

"I-I-!"

No excuse formed fast enough. She had spoken out of instinct. Out of fear. Out of possessiveness, she had no right to indulge.

The role of commander was not hers to guard like a throne. She threatened her newest subordinate, which was extremely territorial and unprofessional.

Quinlan stopped in front of her.

For a moment, he simply stood there.

Then he reached out and placed a hand on her head.

The touch was firm but warm at once.

"I'm happy to see you have real emotions. There's nothing to be worried about."

Scar's breath caught.

The tension drained from her shoulders all at once. She felt both embarrassed and relieved at once.

Quinlan stepped past her and leaned against the shattered rampart. He lowered himself onto the stone, resting his weight back with a quiet exhale.

"Protect me while I regenerate mana."

Scar stared at him.

Then she looked away sharply.

"M-Master," she pouted, mortified. "Stop messing with me…"

But she moved while fighting the smallest of grins from materializing beneath her mask, stepping closer and positioning herself just ahead of him with her body angled outward. Her senses stretched across the ruined approach paths with mana humming quietly beneath her skin. The assassin's instincts slid back into place with ease.

Behind her, Quinlan took a deep breath and went still.

The battlefield quieted.

And Scar stood guard, daggers ready, excitement still buzzing in her chest as her master recovered what he had burned away to make one of the loudest statements possible:

The Primordial Villain was no one's ally but his own. He was an agent of his own agenda, owing allegiance to no one.