Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 803: Four Nations and a Prophecy

”Tell me more about this world,” Quinlan instructed the petite girl walking by his side. He placed a hand on the top of her head, but she quickly swatted it away and sent him a murderous glare.

”No headpats, got it,” Quinlan muttered while doing his utmost to hold a burst of laughter back. Feng Jiai was a very expressive kid.

”Good,” she nodded. ”So, information about Zhenwu that a brain-damaged uncle might find useful…” the girl mused inwardly for a few seconds, stroking her chin in thought, before finding something.

”Zhenwuʼs a land split by four nations, each ruled by a Sovereign tied to an element—Fire, Water, Earth, and Wind. Theyʼre the strongest practitioners of their element.”

Quinlan gave a hum of understanding.

”But thereʼs a prophecy,” Feng said, lowering her voice, as if the trees might be listening. ”One about the end of our world. It says a force—something monstrous and ancient—will descend upon Zhenwu from another realm. Itʼs not a matter of if, but when. And when it does, only the Avatar can stop it.”

Quinlan paused in his steps, finding this information all too surprising. ”The Avatar?”

She nodded solemnly. This topic was clearly stressing her young mind. ”The Avatar is a mythical cultivator who can master all four elements. As far as modern understanding of cultivation goes, thatʼs literally impossible. Everyoneʼs born with one elemental affinity—if theyʼre lucky. Most are born with zero and have no hopes of ever going beyond the Qi Gathering stage. Trying to cultivate outside your affinity leads to imbalance, backlash, sometimes exploding into chunks.”

”Hmm… I see.”

”But the Sovereigns… they think thereʼs a loophole. Each of the Four Sovereigns guards a shard of pure elemental essence. Fire, Water, Earth, Wind. They say anyone who consumes all four at the same time will be forced into balance. The theory is that doing so might override natural limits and let someone cultivate all four paths, ascending to the status of Avatar.”

”Let me guess. Each nations want the Avatar to be of their people.”

Feng snorted. ”Exactly. Their bloodline, their sect, their puppet. So instead of working together, theyʼre hoarding their shards and preparing to steal the others. Itʼs a cold war waiting to go hot.”

Quinlanʼs gaze narrowed as she spoke. Four shards. Four nations. One prophecy. And coincidentally, heʼd been dropped right here, at the right time, him, the Avatar of the Elements… ʼSoul Records… Youʼre being sneaky, arenʼt you?ʼ he muttered inwardly.

”And this invading force… Do they know when itʼs coming?”

”No. Only that the skies will darken, the stars will bleed, and the soil will scream.”

Quinlan cracked his knuckles. ”Sounds like I showed up just in time.”

”Uncle… Youʼre harboring too many delusions in that damaged brain of yours.”

”Keep your senseless thoughts to yourself, please.”

”Hmph!”

”So, how are we going to cross the border? I imagine theyʼre highly guarded with all the tensions youʼd mentioned.”

Feng Jiaiʼs lips curled into a smug little grin at his question, the kind of grin that made her look like she was two steps away from declaring herself a genius mastermind.

”Iʼve been planning my escape from home for over a year now,” she said proudly, puffing out her flat chest.

Quinlan raised a brow. ”Impressive. Did it involve getting kidnapped by your child rapist wannabe fiance and getting saved by a stranger suffering from amnesia?” Рã𐌽𝙤𝖇Еs̈

Her delicate body shuddered at his words, and he earned himself a rather scornful glare. ”No… But the stealing of the fire shard and the border crossing were all me. I spent all my spending money collecting information from the Beggar Sect.”

”Beggars?”

”The Beggar Sect is a secret information network. They disguise themselves as beggars to blend in with society. Everyone underestimates them, which is exactly why theyʼre so good at what they do. I had to annoy them for weeks before they agreed to trade.”

Quinlan smirked, gesturing ahead. ”Alright then, little mastermind. Lead the way.”

…

The path she led him through followed along an overgrown mountain ridge, thick with brambles and trees. Instead of heading for the formal border checkpoints manned by soldiers, Feng guided them to a weathered cliffside shack built into the stone itself. It was so well hidden by overgrowth that he never wouldʼve noticed it even with his primordial eyes.

”According to the info I bought, this is one of the few hidden entrances into the Beggar Tunnels,” she said while brushing aside a curtain of moss and revealing a rusted bronze plate. ”They run under the entire border. The sectʼs been digging and reinforcing them for a very long time now. Smugglers, spies, and the occasional rogue cultivators use them.”

Quinlan raised a brow. ”Those beggars must know what theyʼre doing if these tunnels still exist to this day.”

Feng gave a smug grin. ”Exactly. The Beggar Sect keeps its secrets better than most high and mighty cultivators keep their heirs. The tunnels arenʼt on any official maps, and the few that have been discovered are always decoys or dead ends. This oneʼs real. I paid for the exact path and passphrase.”

She tapped the bronze plate three times and muttered, ”Those who bow low see the path ahead.” A low click echoed from within the stone wall, and a section of the cliffside groaned open, revealing a narrow, pitch-black passageway sloping downward as a man dressed in a filthy garb opened the doorway from inside. He didnʼt address them afterward, only giving them a brief nod, and handed Quinlan a scroll with notes on the interior of the tunnel for easier navigation.

”After you, Uncle,” she said cheerfully.

With a dry sigh, Quinlan stepped inside.

The passage twisted like a snake through the bowels of the mountain, supported by old wooden beams and lined with glowing fungus in places. Though narrow, the tunnels were surprisingly stable. Occasionally, they passed faded markings or symbols etched into the walls. Directions, maybe, or coded warnings. The air smelled of damp stone and old incense.

They walked for almost half an hour. Feng moved beside him with surprising confidence for a runaway girl whoʼd just survived a rape attempt and saw her ex-fiance get beheaded, and walked cheerily by said beheader as if he were a person she could greatly trust. From time to time, she glanced at the scroll sheʼd taken from Quinlanʼs hand, saying a brain-dead old man shouldnʼt be trying to read maps.

She got her second finger flick of the day at that statement of hers.

Eventually, the tunnel began to slope upward, and the stale air gave way to a breeze that was faintly scented with pine. Ahead, the stone narrowed into an archway sealed with a thin layer of woven roots and mud. At the end of the Beggar Tunnels, they were greeted by a second man in disheveled clothes, who pushed the doorway open, letting them out.

They stepped out together. For all the trouble theyʼd gone through, the border crossing had ended in perfect success.

The duo didnʼt walk long before the cliffs gave way to scorched red earth and terraced paths of blackened stone. The air grew warmer with each step, carrying the tang of smoke and sizzling oil. Ahead, built into the side of a charred hill, a sprawling town emerged—low, angular buildings constructed from dark bricks. The town pulsed with heat, life, and noise.

Feng spread her arms proudly. ”Welcome to Zhaokun, border town of the Flame Nation, Vulkaris. Home of pickpockets, spice fiends, and the best grilled meat skewers on this side of the continent. Or so Iʼve been told by the beggars.”

Quinlan blinked. He expected walls. Watchtowers. Militia formations, especially given the tensions sheʼd described. Instead, the town had no walls, only high-burning braziers lining the entry path, casting sharp shadows and warping the air with heat. Crimson banners embroidered with golden suns fluttered from every rooftop.

Zhaokun felt like a town that was truly alive.

Vendors shouted over one another in the market square, hawking goods laced with fire: hot peppers, magma-tempered knives, enchanted smoke bombs. It seemed the citizens of this country loved the fire theme.

The people wore bold colors, such as flame-orange sashes, deep maroon robes, black lacquered armor bits, and many more. Street performers juggled fire or breathed it, children sparred with wooden sticks, and food stalls sizzled with oil, sending up clouds of spicy steam that made Quinlanʼs stomach twist with hunger.

It was a far cry from the fortified, practical towns of Thlaorind. Those were medieval towns braced for siege. This place wasnʼt bracing for anything. It seemed as if it was daring conflict to come.

ʼPerhaps the arrogance of the flame practitioners?ʼ Quinlan mused inwardly.

”I see no guards,” he said quietly.

”Zhaokun is run by a local sect, the Red Sun Hall. Theyʼre a medium-sized clan, but everyone here answers to them. Thatʼs why crime exists here… but only within bounds. Push too far, and you burn. As for why you see no guards, thatʼs because they like to dress as civilians…”

Quinlan let his gaze sweep the town again. ”And theyʼre fine with outsiders strolling through?”

Feng grinned. ”If youʼve got coin or talent, the Flame Nation doesnʼt care where youʼre from. But cross their pride, insult their food, or waste their time? Might as well set yourself on fire.”

He shook his head with a dry chuckle. ”How charming.”

They passed through a narrow alley that spilled into a plaza of heated stone tiles. In the center was a circular platform where martial artists performed fire dances with twin crescent blades. A crowd clapped in rhythm while smoke billowed like a halo.

”See that?” Feng whispered. ”They use combat as performance. Every sect here teaches discipline, but also showsmanship. ʼStrength must be seenʼ is their ideology. Honestly, Uncle, I think youʼre in the perfect place. Unlike us water cultivators, the arrogant fire practitioners are right up your alley.”

Quinlan smiled, ”Your ex was quite the arrogant one if you ask me.”