Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 1275: Planned Risk

As for why not kill the countess as well?

They had no offspring, and the law would dictate that instead of distant relatives inheriting the lands, it would be Alastair Greenvale himself who’d gain the lands. Quinlan did not want that to happen.

Furthermore, it was their goal to have as many useful puppets as possible. Killing low-level people like her did him no good, so the choice was simple.

Lastly... Indeed, this had been planned. The whole sequence played out according to Quinlan’s design, save for him underestimating just how devastating Morgana’s spells were.

He’d been notified of the development in the heart of Greenvale, namely Kaede and the others coming to back Alastair up.

He knew they were searching for his location, told by not only the Greenvale twins but also Cassandra as well, Morgana’s royal guard, whom he subjugated. She and the other guards were already dispatched to investigate his previous targets, as the woman did not trust Greenvale investigators.

As such, this whole sequence was a ploy he set up; he was going to confront them, showcasing his new elite souls so that his enemies would get a sense of extreme urgency and make mistakes to crush him as soon as possible, and even take a hit and look defeated.

After being struck, he rushed toward the exact location he knew Black Fang was at, hoping to kill his pursuers, who saw red from finally getting the chance to kill him.

Alas, not everything went according to plan, but it was still a major, major victory. The gains he made today could not be understated.

Having thought it all through, Quinlan exhaled once, long and steady, and let his gaze fall to his chestplate.

Synchra’s surface was dark, very much so. But she lacked the contrast he knew her for.

Every vein of red that normally pulsed through the Anima armor had vanished.

There was no glow. No shimmer. No whisper of life.

She had gone silent.

The lightning strike hadn’t just cracked through his ribs. It first had to chew through everything she had to offer. The armor wouldn’t have allowed her master to come into harm’s way before she was completely depleted of energy.

Energy, which she had emptied herself of entirely just to keep him alive.

He dragged in a breath and turned slightly, eyes shifting over his shoulder.

The Soul Reaper floated there with a steady form and outline framed in blue fire that swayed in a slow, uneasy rhythm. While the weapon did not speak, the air around him felt heavier than usual. He knew.

”Help her recover,” Quinlan ordered quietly.

The Soul Reaper didn’t move.

The flames along his edge flickered once in a show of tight, reluctant, almost offended flames. The mere suggestion went against everything the saber wanted.

As such, he hovered in place as if pretending he hadn’t heard him. But Quinlan kept his gaze locked on, waiting.

After a long moment, the blue fire dimmed in what looked like resignation.

A small cluster of wisps drifted upward from the saber’s form. Souls, Lesser ones, ones the blade had been savoring in its Eternal Damnation domain. The flames clinging to them stretched thin, like threads pulled from cloth.

The Soul Reaper’s glow dulled further, as if the act physically pained it.

Synchra, as an Anima armor, worked unlike anything Quinlan had ever seen. She had two core abilities that required a buildup of internal charge:

Damage reduction that softened lethal blows into survivable ones.

The ability to shapeshift the armor into any piece of attire he so desired.

The 25% damage reduction and increased 50 Vitality worked together to make him into a real tank, even fooling Morgana into thinking he was in the level 70s stat-wise. It was an incredibly powerful armor, far too useful.

But the power came attached with a string.

Without the armor being charged, she lost the ability to reduce damage taken, which in turn reduced his tanking capabilities greatly, and needed time to gather charge.

Furthermore, recharging her wasn’t simple.

Quinlan had tried a lot:

Mana? Nothing.

Blood? Useless.

He even offered her a chest of gold coins, but she ignored it.

Only one thing seemed to work, much to the Soul Reaper’s dismay...

Souls he’d harvested using [Eternal Damnation].

And because Synchra could not collect them herself, the Soul Reaper had to release some of its carefully stored essence to feed her.

The saber hated that.

But tonight, he had no choice.

...

The blue wisps drifted down to the armor in slow arcs. They hovered over the blackened surface, then lowered themselves like drops of water sinking onto fabric.

Synchra reacted.

Her surface twitched, barely at first, a tiny ripple across the breastplate.

Then the black deepened to pitch.

Then something inside her stirred.

Her plate split along lines as if inhaling.

She drank the blue wisps one by one, each soul melting into her metal like rain rolling across hot coals.

Thin streaks of red returned along the chestplate.

Then across the torso area.

Then up to the collar.

Another soul lowered.

Synchra swallowed it, and a pulse of red flickered under the surface.

A low tremor ran through her, akin to a growl warming in an animal’s chest.

The next soul touched her, and a thin ribbon of fire shot across her shoulders. It was weak and shaky, but it was there.

Quinlan watched closely.

He couldn’t rush this.

The process was delicate, not ideal to perform in the middle of a battle. Synchra’s restoration required time, stillness, and direct feeding from the Soul Reaper.

If he lost her charge during a fight, he’d simply have to fight without her reinforcement and an angry saber in his hands because he wasted souls.

Another wisp drifted down.

This time, Synchra responded with vigor.

Her plates flared open for a moment, fire roaring through the cracks as if she’d finally remembered the taste. Red veins returned in full, knitting across her surface in sharp, branching lines.

A final soul descended.

Synchra seized it hungrily.

She erupted in a sharp blaze, a triumphant, feral burst that spilled out of the armor in a brief plume before settling back into smooth, controlled flames.

The red veins glowed bright.

The fire along the veins steadied into a confident line.

She was back.

The Soul Reaper drifted backward a little, looking a bit smaller than before. Not in the literal sense, but as if he had lost something important...

Quinlan couldn’t help but chuckle. ”I know the feeling, buddy.”

The armor reminded him of what it felt like to have hungry women suck the life essence out of him without feeling apologetic about their actions one bit.

”Women...” Quinlan shook his head, accompanied by the dejected shaking of the saber.

”Pray tell, what exactly are you talking about?” Ayame muttered with narrowed eyes and a vein throbbing cutely on her forehead. The samurai knew her man far too well; she understood what was going through his head right this exact moment.

She did not feel right letting him go with that train of thought.

Quinlan successfully ignored the woman who stood before him with her hands on her hips and rolled his shoulders as Synchra reconnected fully.

Strength returned to him in a wave.

His grip steadied.

His spine straightened.

The pressure along his ribs eased.

The constant bite of lightning damage receded under the armor’s regained protection.

Synchra settled against his body with a final ripple of heat, her fire vibrant once again.

The plan had been brutal, and the cost steep... But the gains?

Irreplaceable.

It was time to go over just exactly what all he gained, and then make his next move.

Starting with...

’Status,’ he called inwardly, summoning his systemic interface.