Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 1303  Girls in Trouble

Quinlan stayed still as Lucilleʼs idea lingered in his head.

Subjugate servants, wait for their shifts to start, and slip his senses through them, then tear open a gate from inside the hold.

It would work, but it would take time. An even bigger gripe of his was that doing so would also tell his enemies that he had even more than he let on. The barriers might not stop his portal from opening inside, but mana detectors would still notice how he somehow managed to open one inside the shimmering veil.

Many questions would be asked then, if word got out. This, his Primordial Subjugator status, was something Quinlan didnʼt want to release just yet.

Why? Because, as his enemies have displayed today, he was not up against dumb nobodies. His opponents were scheming at the same time, strategizing to counter him and bring an end to his disruptive existence.

If these crafty people learned of his [Subjugation], then the moles he already has would lose effectiveness. It would create endless chaos in noble courts. Now that was not something he opposed, of course. But now was not the time to make use of that card, he thought.

Why was Quinlan still being so calculative when he just decided he would not stop until he reached level 50?

He wasnʼt stopping, just evaluating his options to play the long game properly.

It was not his base that was burning. It was the Vesper Consortiumʼs. And while he counted them as allies, the arrangement had always been rooted in mutual benefit. He would not crumble if they lost ground. He wouldnʼt pace in circles or clutch his head in panic.

What he would lose was the convenience they brought him. Their network, their reach, their hunger for advancement. Their existence made his life smoother. With them intact, his long-term plans were easier. If they fell, everything became slower.

He wanted them alive.

Preferably still loud and active.

But not at the risk of revealing everything about himself in a rushed panic to save them. While Quinlan mightʼve been the one to influence this conflict to start, and his existence mightʼve made Alexios double down in a way the syndicate could not predict…

At the end of the day, they have been preparing for this conflict for numerous generations, amassing resources, information, and even allies.

If all their preparations amounted to that much, then so be it. Quinlan crossed his arms as he weighed the paths in front of him.

He still had options.

He hadnʼt combed through every estate worth visiting in the kingdom. He moved fast, hopping duchies instead of scraping each one dry. For all he knew, several lords were still asleep at the wheel. Maybe they didnʼt maintain their artifacts. Maybe corruption hollowed out their households the same way it hollowed out Greenvale.

He could circle back and check.

Or he could commit to a full siege.

Morgana had obliterated a similarly strong barrier before, when she single-handedly besieged a stronghold of the Consortium - albeit that was a smaller structure with less importance than the one the Fujimori attacked with their siege weaponry. If she could do it, then he could do the same, just perhaps a bit slower. The problem wasnʼt breaking it.

It was the time and opportunity it would cost him.

A long siege made him a target, and nothing stopped a duchy from sending a strike team into his flank while he hammered on a wall. ʼHmm… I could set a trap for the flankers… Flank the flankers,ʼ he thought inwardly.

But doing so still turned the entire fight into a drawn-out affair, a bloody one he had no proper control over. Such skirmishes were the exact types where tragedy occurred.

His thoughts circled again.

Servants.

Weak estates he might have missed.

Sieges.

Traps for the flankers.

Rotten lords who failed to maintain their defenses.

Each plan played out in his mind, one after another, none of them clean, none of them efficient enough to feel satisfying.

Then his communication artifact flashed.

…

The ground shuddered once as something heavy moved overhead.

Feng lifted her head first. Dirt clung to her cheek. Rope dug into her wrists. Her vision steadied after a few blinks, just enough for the scene to settle in her mind.

They were no longer in the forest.

A long tunnel stretched around them, wide enough for several wagons to ride side by side. Metal beams reinforced the ceiling. Lanterns hung every dozen meters, each fueled by pale flames that refused to flicker.

A mounted unit rushed past on the left track.

However, her eyes snapped wide open into sheer bewilderment when she realized that these were not living horses.

These had skeletal frames wrapped in dull armor. Chains linked their ribs to a chariot built from dense metal plates.

Another chariot followed. Then another.

Feng had never seen anything move that fast underground.

She shifted her gaze.

Ria lay a few meters away, limp. A bruise darkened her throat. Her breathing was steady but shallow. Lyra was slumped beside her, tied in thicker restraints, head tilted against a support column. She wasnʼt conscious either, and had dried blood on her once pristine skin.

For once, it wasnʼt that of her enemies, but her own.

Felicity coughed beside Feng. The ropes sliced into her arms when she tried to pull free. She winced with a pained grimace.

Footsteps approached.

Figures lined the tunnel walls, half a dozen undead, and behind them stood living fighters. Their eyes were cold yet clearly alive.

Fengʼs breath stalled as the last two stepped into the lantern light.

Undead mages. Liches, to be exact.

These were the entities who succeeded with the ritual of undeath, often titled ʼRitual of Immortality.ʼ

The ritual itself was notorious. Anyone could attempt it, as long as they knew how to conduct the ritual, which often meant having a lich help them, as the knowledge of how to do it was an immensely tightly kept secret. The ritual worked no matter class, blood, race - nothing. But the chances were viciously lopsided. The wide majority of those who tried didnʼt rise again at all; their bodies simply quit before the process reached its end. A smaller number clawed back into motion as something twisted. They moved, thought, and some even spoke and cast spells, yet none of it lined up cleanly. Some had their minds flicker, others had their bodies carry defects that never healed. They werenʼt human anymore, but calling them liches wouldʼve been generous.

Only a scarce few completed all the steps as intended. Those became true undead, able to hold every piece of themselves together while shedding anything mortal. Their magic climbed sharply afterward. Scholars argued whether it came from the method or the species, but everyone agreed that liches ended up with deeper mana pools and sharper control than they had in life.

Furthermore, they were awakened to new classes from the ʼevilʼ category. Feng observed the pair before her.

Their skulls were smooth. Their ribs were reinforced with plates etched so finely she couldnʼt tell where metal ended and bone began.

The sight sparked a cold recognition in her chest.

Right.

They had been ambushed.

Her mind replayed it in pieces. Ria calling out the shift in presence, Iris cutting down the fake soldier, Felicity silencing him for a heartbeat, the withering corpse, the runes, the artifact blinking, Iris grabbing it, and then the forest exploding with movement.

Fengʼs fingers curled around nothing. The memory of blades flashing in the forest, the weight slamming into her ribs, the hands dragging her down… Each fragment clipped through her head with nauseating clarity.

The tallest lich stepped forward.