Primordial Villain With A Slave Harem - Chapter 1351

Capítulo 1351: Choice to Make

He felt what he felt, he thought what he thought. Even if it was contradictory to what one might think he should be feeling, it was what it was.

Furthermore, these assaults would’ve happened whether he assisted in it or not. Elvardia was literally hours away from invading when he joined forces with them.

Then Quinlan began to ponder.

“I mean… these are the minions of my allies, but…”

Quinlan hovered in place, eyes fixed on the rooftop. The skeletons advanced one step at a time, tireless, obedient, empty.

He exhaled again.

While he had not bothered to study the Corpse Animator class in depth, he knew enough. It was rigid and narrow, a far cry from his own necromancy, born from the Harbinger of Ruin subclass of his Primordial Villain main class.

His power worked through souls, identity, memory, and authority. He shaped, refined, and commanded with intent.

Corpse Animators did not.

They animated flesh and bone through preset commands and implanted mana threads through their ritual-like raising of the dead.

There was no refinement or awareness that was even close to resembling what his own soul soldiers were like. Their summons followed the last order they were given until destroyed or recalled.

And more importantly.

Their master was not here.

Quinlan’s gaze shifted, sweeping the battlefield in a wide arc even as he kept part of his mind focused on the rooftop.

There was no feedback loop; the master almost certainly had no chance of seeing this.

“Not clearly, at least…”

Unless.

Unless the Corpse Animator had set up a remote sensory relay or something like that. The class was limited, but not useless. There was a chance, however small, that interference would be noticed.

Quinlan clicked his tongue.

Getting on the bad side of this unholy Elvardian alliance was something he did not want to do just yet, which was also the reason he did not even attempt calling himself the child of Luminara. It could potentially turn the elven leadership against him, feeling he was far too big a threat to their control over their people.

Elvardia and the Covenant spent resources Quinlan could not even begin to imagine, while also spending centuries preparing diligently for this invasion.

Ruining the highly tense but cooperative relationship they had going on right now was against his goals.

After all, using them to gain entry into these cities, where he could then go on a killing spree, was far too valuable.

One might say that it was even better than what he did in Greenvale on that one night. While he gained control of noble houses, which was something he could not do here, he only managed to kill a few elite guards before he had to leave.

But now, using the resources, manpower, and planning of his new allies, he could harvest thousands of souls. He and his girls could grow much faster this way.

Thus, he did not want to throw jabs at his allies.

Yet.

At least until they stopped being so useful to him.

Quinlan’s eyes flicked back to the stairs. The nuns’ arms shook as they held their brooms out. One skeleton lifted its sword.

The children screamed again.

“… Still.”

His gaze lifted, not to the undead, but to the memory of another man. A mage he’d just torn apart by his own spell.

“Harel,” he said quietly. “Wind elemental mage.”

Mana shifted inside him, reconfiguring.

“How convenient.”

He could use his presence to his advantage.

…

The broom shook in Sister Alene’s hands.

She swung again anyway.

The straw struck rib and shoulder with a dull thud. The skeleton looked as if nothing had happened. Its jaw creaked open. The rusty sword dragged along the stone, scraping closer.

“Back!” Alene shouted desperately. “Get back, damn you!”

The younger nun beside her, Sister Mira, struck too. Her glasses slid down her nose as she jabbed with both hands. Freckles stood out stark against her pale skin. Her hit did even less. The broom slid off the bone and clattered uselessly against the stair rail.

They retreated another step.

Then another.

The children behind them pressed together, sobbing, small hands clinging to habits and sleeves. Someone tripped. Someone screamed.

“Mira,” Alene whispered without looking. “We’re out of space.”

Another skeleton crept up the stairs. Then another. Five in total now, empty sockets fixed forward.

Alene swallowed hard.

“We charge,” she said, voice shaking but loud. “We hit them with all we have, and we pray for a miracle to save at least the children. Do you hear me?”

Mira’s breath hitched. She pushed her glasses up with the back of her wrist and nodded once. Her mouth trembled, then set.

“Y-yes, Sister. May the Goddess show mercy to the little ones.”

They raised their brooms.

Mira screamed as she ran, intending to release a threatening battle cry.

It was not fierce. Not at all.

Her cry broke halfway through, high and thin, like a frightened animal forced to move. She squeezed her eyes shut and rushed forward anyway, looking more like a charging bunny than a mighty wolf.

*Thud.*

Then something landed.

The stone roof gave a deep, solid thump beneath their feet.

Mira skidded to a halt so fast she nearly fell backward.

A tall figure stood between them and the stairs.

Black armor. Seamless. Heavy. The air around him felt tight, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

He did not turn to them, looking straight at the skeletons.

“Begone.”

The command carried.

The air screamed.

A wall of wind formed in front of him, invisible but absolute. It slammed forward with a force that flattened sound itself. The nuns were driven back a step with their ears ringing as if struck from the inside.

The skeletons never stood a chance.

Five bodies lifted off the stone roof in the same instant, flung back like scraps caught in a storm. They vanished over the edge of the roof and crossed the gap to the next block in a blink.

A loud impact followed.

Then another.

Then a roar as an entire building collapsed in on itself, walls folding and dropping into a cloud of dust and broken stone.

Silence rushed back in.

Mira stared, mouth open, broom slipping from her fingers.

The children behind them had gone quiet.

No one breathed.

For a moment, neither sister moved.

Sister Alene felt her heartbeat thudding so hard she thought it climbed into her throat. The wind had stolen her hearing. It came back in pieces. A ringing whine. The distant crumble of stone. The sound of her own breath.

Then the children screamed.

High, loud, and overlapping.

Some in terror.

Some in awe.

Most of the girls shrieked and clutched at each other, faces pale, eyes locked on the spot where the skeletons had been a heartbeat ago, replaced by the sight of a man who, to these girls, looked perhaps even more ominous than the undead themselves.

But the boys…

The boys lost their minds.

“A dark knight?!” one shouted, scrambling to his feet.

“That was so cool!” another yelled, hopping in place. “Did you see that?!”

“What’s his name?!” a third demanded, pointing wildly. “He has to have a name!”

“Did the King send a secret super soldier?!” someone else cried, eyes shining.

One boy puffed out his chest, dropped his voice as low as he could force it, and declared, “Begone…” then made a loud *whoosh* sound with his mouth, flinging his arms out.

Some boys fell, pretending to be the helpless undead.

The girls snapped instantly.

“Shut up!” one yelled. “You’re so stupid!”

“You’re stupid!” a boy shot back.

“And ugly!” another added without missing a beat.

“I’m not ugly, you are!”

“You smell like rats!”

“You cry when it rains!”

The rooftop erupted into bickering, insults flying faster than sense, fear already being burned away by noise and bravado.

While the usual orphanage drama began gaining steam, the two sisters stared at the figure in black.

He stood still, unmoving, as if the chaos behind him did not exist. Up close, the armor was worse than from a distance. No sigils of faith. No royal crest. No visible joints or gaps. Not even eyes.

As he turned, only two red orbs could be seen, steady and unreadable.

Alene swallowed.

“Thank you… May the Goddess bless your soul.”

“Who are you, brave hero?” Mira asked, voice careful.

The red orbs fixed on them as a tense silence stretched for seconds.

Finally, he decreed,

“I am no hero.”

The pair of eyes widened in response to his declaration.

Then, he announced,

“You two have a choice to make.”