Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 1340  A New Method

Quinlan lowered himself against the fractured rampart and exhaled.

His first instinct was to sit properly. He shifted his weight forward, knees starting to draw in, habit guiding him toward the familiar cross-legged posture he had learned in Zhenwu. That position, perfect for meditation, which for him meant mana regeneration now, had been drilled into him until it became second nature. Then he paused.

Something felt… unnecessary.

Not wrong, per se. Simply unneeded.

His body was already settled. His back rested securely against the stone. His balance no longer searched for correction. The faint tension that usually lingered before meditation was absent, as if the door he normally had to knock on was already open.

Quinlan stilled, paying attention to the sensation rather than dismissing it.

Interesting.

Back while defending the Consortium stronghold against the Fujimori, this had not been the case. Back then, he had needed the posture. He remembered sitting properly, hovering in the air, drawing himself into form before his mind would follow. That was how he continued to summon his Elite Souls, using the settlement's defensive barrier to protect himself while doing so.

But now, somehow, his body told him it was ready as it was.

He considered that for a moment longer, then let it go.

"Maybe my body is still adapting, optimizing its motor functions to perfectly utilize all my powers," he murmured under his breath.

It fit. He did not overthink it. His kind did not stagnate as mortals did. Adaptation was one of the trademarks of the primordial race. It happened whether he invited it or not.

Quinlan closed his eyes.

There was no deliberate deepening of breath. No forced rhythm. He simply stopped interfering, and his breathing smoothed on its own. His shoulders eased back into the stone. The last remnants of bracing left his limbs, settling into a state that no longer anticipated movement.

Then he turned inward.

Hollow channels. Residual heat. The dull drag left by excess spent all at once.

He acknowledged them and moved past.

Mana did not answer quickly. It never did. It returned the way water seeped into dry ground, slow and patient, filling what had been prepared to receive it. Zhenwu's method had never been about pulling. It was about alignment.

Relax the body.

Still the mind.

Do not divide focus.

Leaning against the wall proved sufficient. His muscles no longer adjusted for balance. His awareness did not split between readiness and recovery. There was nothing to do but remain.

That was the boundary.

However, even without trying, Quinlan instantly understood that he could not walk like this, let alone fight a duel while in this regenerative state. The instant motion demanded priority, the flow would break.

Warmth gathered behind his sternum.

From there, it spread along pathways carved by repetition of damage and survival, filling shallow reserves first before pressing deeper. Quinlan followed the sensation without steering it, observing rather than commanding.

But then, Scar shifted her stance, looking for possible threats from a new direction.

Stone scraped softly beneath her boot as she adjusted her angle, making weight roll from heel to toe. The motion was small, incredibly so, as it came from this high-tier mass murderer who'd trained to become the silent killer for centuries. Inside Quinlan, the warmth faltered.

Not vanished. Just… disrupted. The steady seep stuttered, like water hitting an uneven channel. His focus wavered, snapping back into place.

Scar felt it immediately.

Her shoulders stiffened. She turned halfway, then caught herself. "Master, I apologize."

Quinlan's lips curved beneath the helmet.

"You did nothing wrong."

Her head tilted, confused. 'Interesting.'

That interruption would not have happened if he had been sitting properly. Cross-legged. Locked into the posture Zhenwu cultivators favored, and perhaps for a good reason, Quinlan had to admit now. In that position, external movement faded more easily. The body became a closed loop.

But instead of correcting his incorrect posture, Quinlan leaned into the sensation.

He let his awareness widen.

Sound returned, not all at once, but layered.

Stone still cracked as heat bled away from shattered masonry. Fires hissed where water met scorched timber. Somewhere deeper in the city, undead growled loudly, releasing a truly unnatural sound as they did not have breath behind it. Mixing with it, human voices broke into screams. Beyond that, carried through the winds, came the rhythm of battle where his girls were already moving, steel and spells meeting resistance a few miles out.

The flow of mana wavered again.

Quinlan grimaced.

This was hard. No question about it.

Then a horn sounded from outside the walls.

The Elvardian army.

They had seen the barrier fall and him consequently destroying a part of the defenses aiming right at them, and wasted no time. Boots thundered in distant unison. Commands echoed. The heavily armored dwarven infantry began their rapid march, followed by the elven backline.

Quinlan exhaled slowly through his nose.

His focus threatened to split once again. Sound pulled. Awareness tugged outward, each new stimulus demanding space. This was exactly why Zhenwu drilled posture so relentlessly. Reduce variables. Remove distraction. Control the environment so the mind can follow.

He could end this difficulty right now.

All he had to do was sit properly and let his mind do what he had learned to do.

Instead, he stayed where he was.

If he gave up the moment it became inconvenient, there was no point in testing this at all. He did not want a method that worked only in quiet rooms or behind barriers. He did not want regeneration that collapsed the instant the world refused to cooperate.

He was a primordial. Adaptation was not optional. It was in his genes.

'I might as well live up to my potential,' he decided.

Quinlan tightened his focus without narrowing it.

He did not push the sounds away. He let them exist without chasing them. Horns, fire, movement, Scar's gaze on him. All of it stayed present, but none of it was given priority.

The warmth behind his sternum returned.

Slower this time. Less cooperative. But undeniably there.

Mana began to gather again, threading its way through channels that protested the divided attention. Quinlan followed it carefully, adjusting without forcing, allowing his body to learn the boundary rather than enforcing one.

This was unstable. Inefficient. For now.

But if he could make this work, truly work, then the advantages were obvious. 'Perhaps… Even while fighting?!' Quinlan pondered with excitement.

The flow did not collapse again.

It wavered, bent, thinned, but it stayed.

Quinlan kept his breathing even and let the sounds exist without reaching for them. The horn outside the walls blared again, closer this time. Commands overlapped. Steel rang. Somewhere, masonry gave way with a dull crash. Scar shifted her weight once more, slower now, careful.

The warmth behind his sternum throbbed, then steadied.

It was not smooth. Not clean. Mana trickled back in uneven pulses, filling a little, receding, then pushing further than before. Each interruption left a trace. Each correction carved a slightly clearer path.

He adjusted without thinking about it.

Not by tightening his focus, but by loosening the part of him that reacted. The mind stayed open. The body stayed slack. The gathering continued anyway, as if the system itself was learning what could be ignored and what could not.

Minutes passed like that. Or maybe only mere seconds. He did not track them.

The drag in his chest eased. The hollow channels no longer felt raw. Mana pressed into deeper reserves, not fully restoring them, but making their absence less sharp.

Quinlan shifted his weight.

Slowly, deliberately, he pushed himself off the rampart.

The warmth shuddered, then held.

Scar turned sharply.

Her eyes widened as he straightened and stood there, shoulders loose, breath steady, the flow continuing despite the change.

Then he opened his eyes.

Light flooded in. Smoke. Fire. Movement. The ruined battlements. Figures clashing in the distance. The banner remnants snapping in the heated wind. Scar's voice slipped out before she seemed to realize she was speaking.

"Master…"

She watched him closely now, clearly seeing the stillness beneath it all, holding despite everything pressing against it.

Even without fully understanding his powers, Scar knew that she was witnessing something extraordinary. Well, having the ability to actively regenerate one's mana instead of waiting for time to do it or chugging potions was already unheard of... But this... Her master was truly an anomaly. While Scar didn't like it, she understood why his enemies often called him a horrible monster and the like. Compared to their meager means, he was far too much. Not overwhelmingly powerful enough that they couldn't even fight back, not yet... Just far more. The complete package. Quinlan's mouth curved beneath the helmet.

The flow inside him faltered as his attention shifted, then recovered faster than before.

'Good.'

He rolled his shoulders once, testing the connection, then looked at Scar and asked,

"Hit me."