Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 1862: Domestic Abuse!

Kaede stood flat against the outer wall of the dawn dojo, the incense stick pressed to her chest, and forced her thoughts into formation.

The evidence stood as follows. The most sacred hall of her line: destroyed.

Her sister: naked in the wreckage, her behind still faintly red.

Enemies present: none, because the only threat left on Fujimori land was lounging in the middle of it.

The conclusion assembled itself with terrible ease, and for that conclusion, clan doctrine held exactly one procedure.

A Fujimori struck by an outside hand was answered with steel, drawn, before the echo finished.

Steel, against Quinlan Elysiar.

She had no blade, no standing, and no illusions.

The man had stormed the duchy’s capital in a day, and she, disgraced and powerless, would not survive one second of his genuine attention.

But none of that amended the procedure. Ayame was her sister, and if her sister needed saving, then the last thing the ancestors ever witnessed of Kaede Fujimori would at least be correct form.

That said... Doctrine demanded certainty before steel, and Kaede of all people had forfeited the right to act on anything less.

Proof first.

So she stayed where she was, pressed against the cold stones, and listened for the sounds a domestically abused woman makes.

"By the way~" Ayame’s voice floated out to the courtyard, bright with mischief. "I’ve decided to conduct an audit."

"Sounds serious."

"Very. Of every lie you told me in our first month~ Item one." A rustle of silk; the sound of a chin being planted on a chest. "You told me the women of Earth are so evil they must be drained of their sinister blood once a month, or they turn into banshees and terrorize the men."

"Yeah. I have firsthand experience."

"...But it’s not true."

"But it is."

"Quin."

"There is a monthly bleeding. There is terror."

Kaede’s fingers went still on the incense stick.

’Earth. Banshees. A monthly draining of sinister blood.’ Each word, individually, was an ordinary word.

Assembled, they entered the record as evidence, and the evidence was damning. He drained women of their blood.

On a schedule. Her sister laughed while recounting it, and the laughter proved nothing in his favor, because Kaede had read the clan’s doctrine on long captivity: given enough time, prisoners learn to laugh where their captor can hear.

"That’s called menstruation, you shameless creature... You told your recently bought slave girl that women are banshees! How dare you?"

’Wait, what?!’ Kaede screamed internally. ’How dare he?!?!?!’

"What do you mean?" Quinlan asked with complete sincerity, innocent as an angel.

"..." A pause arrived, alongside fiercely narrowed eyes.

The investigation, too, continued. Paired with a second mighty glare from a Fujimori woman.

"Item two~ The metal birds."

"Airplanes."

"You claimed hundreds of people sit inside one. Drinking juice. Sleeping. Watching plays. While it flies above the clouds."

"All true."

"Higher than I can jump?"

"Can you jump higher than the clouds?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Hmm, I suppose I’ll let that slide for now... And you also claimed that I, me, wouldn’t be allowed to bring my katana aboard."

"You’d be arrested at the gate."

"For a katana!? You mean to tell me people would willingly box themselves into a small room full of strangers, high in the skies, without the means to protect themselves? And they can’t even cast a flight spell..."

"They can’t cast any spell. Security gates are supposed to protect the passengers." He spanked her butt, the flesh rippling sensually. "So that no one with a katana goes on and begins terrorizing people."

"Hey! It’s for self defense!" Ayame’s giggle rang off the rafters her ancestors had raised by hand, and she thumped her forehead down against his chest. "Your people are really weird..."

"I know. I enjoy life here a lot more."

A cheeky grin welcomed his words. "Perhaps because you became an immortal primordial in a closed off continent full of level-capped mortals?"

"...That definitely plays a part," Quinlan admitted. "But I think I’d have a lot more fun even without my racial and other advantages. It’s just my kind of setting."

"Yeah, without your powers and the ability to buy slave girls at a whim, let me see, where would you exactly be in this ’fun land’..." she began pondering theatrically, finger on chin.

A not-so family friendly expression began materializing on Quinlan’s face as she did so.

Then, her eyes widened, having found the verdict. "You’d either be dead or realize your limits and decide to wage slave away at a construction site, level 1 until the end of your miserable life, without Earth’s protection laws for hopeless weaklings such as Mister Noir, and without its technological advancements. I bet you’d die of scurvy or something because you fell off a roof and got an infected wound and your five years of life savings worth 2 bronze coins can’t buy you healing services at all," Ayame said all that with a straight face.

His hands rose and captured both of her cheeks.

"Slander," Quinlan ruled, and pulled.

"Hyah?"

"Let the record be corrected." He stretched the smugness sideways, molding her noble features into increasingly stupid shapes. "Strip the primordial body. Strip my sexy samurai slave. Drop me at that construction site at level 1 with zero bronze coins to my name. Within ten years at the latest the world would still learn my name, and history would still record me as the gigachad dominator of the universe. It is simply the way things were meant to be."

"...Pfhh." Ayame, cheeks stretched to their engineering limits, gave him the single most doubtful look ever aimed at a primordial. "You, Quinlan Elysiar, shall never be permitted to call anyone else delusional."

He stretched wider.

"Yhou’d die of shcurvy~ Or jusht break your arm, becomph unable to work, and end up a homelesh beggar. Or..." Her eyes lit up inside the stretched face. "Or yhou’d fall into debt and get shold off as a poor little shlave boy~"

She delivered the entire prognosis through the fish face, unrepentant to the last, and got her whole head wobbled side to side for it while her giggles spilled out between his fingers.

Kaede catalogued the technique: facial deformation, administered to a giggling victim who could cause a great deal of pain due to her position if she objected.

The case file was becoming difficult to read.

Then she prayed.

’Honored ancestors.’ The incense stick had begun to bend in her grip. ’I beg you. Avert your gaze from this hall. Do not weigh what you see. She is owed... the debt here is mine, the fault is mine, whatever is witnessed on this floor answers to my account and mine alone. Also, the words mean nothing. Do not attempt to interpret the words.’

The ancestors, who had witnessed considerably more than words on that floor within the last day, declined to answer.

Inside, Ayame slid down her man by degrees, pressing unhurried kisses to his neck, his collarbone, the center of his chest, humming happily between each one. Then her mouth drifted sideways, and her tongue dragged flat across his nipple, slow and thorough.

"That’s one way to apologize," said Quinlan.

"Apologize? For what? Telling the truth? I’m merely auditing~" she murmured against his skin, and giggled at her own joke, and did it again, louder about it.

*Chu.*