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Chapter 1708: Strong Emotions
Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

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    Chapter 1709 No Mercy

    Without a jaw or a voice or any way to shape the words her lungs were trying to form, the appeal lived entirely in her eyes, and Aelindra put everything she had left into them.

    Every shred of regret, every fraction of the sister she used to be, every desperate plea she couldn't speak pouring through two wide, wet eyes that begged for something she had no right to ask for.

    She was begging.

    A member of the Elvardian Council, a Level 74 blade dancer who had commanded armies and sat in judgment over nations, was on her knees in a blood-soaked cell begging her chained sister for mercy with nothing but her gaze, because she had destroyed every other way to reach her.

    Myrasyn watched every second of it, and her face changed for a second time.

    The composure cracked. Beneath the stern queen and the horrified sister sat a woman who had spent every hour in this dungeon knowing exactly which member of her family had put her here, and the hatred that crawled to the surface was old and deep.

    Myrasyn raised her middle finger at Aelindra.
    "You will not find pity in me, sister." Her voice was flat and carried none of the melody it had held moments ago. "Not after you threw four thousand years of trust into the dirt. Not after what you let them do to me in these chains. No, what YOU did to me in these chains."

    Her ears pressed flat against her skull and the chains rattled as she straightened against the wall.

    "Now stop your pitiful groveling and accept the fate you've earned yourself with your head held high, Aelindra Ael vyrn. That's the only thing you can and will do now."

    Quinlan turned from the sisters and started toward the wall where Black Fang hung
    [Eternal Hunger] surged with every step he closed, pulling through channels that had spent days eating her alive, and the eyes that found his from the chains were burning with something the hunger couldn't consume and the chains couldn't hold.

    …

    Undead by the thousands, dwarven blacksteel columns in lockstep, foxkin rangers threading between gaps, samurai formations, elven loyalist mages.

    The numbers pouring through Kaede's rift had passed the point where counting served any tactical purpose, and the plains below the fortress had become a sea of hostiles that Quinlan's coalition was drowning in.

    Lilith stood where she'd been standing since the fighting started, thirty meters behind the killing with her weapon sheathed, Bronnya at her left shoulder and Jallen at her right.

    Void was ahead.

    Both hands raised, casting spell after spell, to keep the people around her breathing. She was standing tall despite the strain she was putting her body through.

    The laziest woman in the Scarlet Lilies had committed within minutes of the first clash, and every passing minute was a judgment on everyone still standing behind her.

    Scar held the eastern flank, blue-skinned and spine-straight, directing soul soldiers with the
    quiet authority of a born general, all the while partaking in the brutal killing herself.

    Lilith's former rogue. Four centuries at her side, and now the woman she'd lost commanded armies for the man who took her.

    West, Morgana's seven elements lit the sky in salvos that cratered the undead horde, the enslaved queen burning harder in chains than she'd ever burned from a throne.

    Alexios was far ahead, fighting an uphill battle against the Fujimori leadership, golden longsword buying ground despite the odds.

    Near the eastern line, Felicity's purple hair caught spell-light between clashing bodies.
    Short sword in both hands, null field rippling around her tiny frame, the grip white-knuckled and the stance still slightly wrong despite all her training.

    A fourteen-year-old girl holding ground in a war that grown warriors were breaking under, bleeding for a side her aunt had decided was evil.

    Quinlan's women were outnumbered and the gap widened. Scar's souls fought brilliantly but the undead never thinned, because Kaede's rift never stopped vomiting fresh horrors onto a battlefield already choking on them.

    And Lilith stood thirty meters back, indecisive, while her niece held a sword she was barely old enough to carry.

    She had decided Quinlan Elysiar was evil.
    That was the root, not adventurer caution, not strategic patience. Prejudice.

    She'd looked at a man who killed her best friend and sealed the verdict, then spent months refusing to see what everyone she loved had already seen as they crossed the line without her, one by one.

    'What a pathetic whiny loser I became.'
    The thought burned the fog out of her skull, once and for all.

    "Lilies." Her voice came out hard and clear.
    "Anyone against joining Quinlan Elysiar's side, now is the time to speak up."

    Bronnya and Jallen turned to her with identical shock on their faces, because they'd spent hours bracing for the opposite question.

    Then Bronnya's shock cracked into a grin wide enough to split stone, and a gauntleted palm slammed into Lilith's back hard enough to stagger her forward a full step. "And they say I'm the slow one! Compared to you, I might as well be a renowned scholar of the highest intellect!"

    Jallen showed teeth. "Don't badmouth our orc captain. Have some tact."

    The two of them stepped forward before Lilith could, already cutting toward the Fujimori front where Alexios fought alone, and Lilith had to break into a sprint to catch up to her own Lilies.
    They swept past Void on the way. Bronnya hooked the mage off her feet and onto her back without breaking stride.

    "Sorry, you'll have to bear with 'sweat, mead, and metal' instead of 'night frost and lavender!" she grinned, quoting Void's choice of words to describe the comparison between Bronnya's and Scar's smell.

    Void settled against the armor with her eyes half-closed like she'd been expecting the pickup for hours. "I'll try to bear with it... It'll be very hard..."

    As Bronnya's hands made two tight fists due to the sheer audacity her ears were picking up on, Void began murmuring with overwhelming dissatisfaction.

    "I knew you were slow, orc woman, but to think this slow?”

    A vein throbbed on Lilith's forehead. "Yeah, yeah, this dumb brute orc bitch finally got the message, now stop whining and let's kill these slit-eyed cunts and the rest of their cronies!"

    The weight she'd been carrying since Scar's death lifted off her chest in a single breath, and what rushed in to fill the space was something she'd forgotten the shape of entirely.

    And just like that, two of the most terrifying human women alive, one chained to a dungeon wall and one charging into a war, felt their hearts come undone at the same time.

    Lilith's battle grin split her face and her heart was singing, and when her overhead swing came down on Chizuru's blade it carried everything she'd been holding back for months.

    The elder barely parried.

    Her guard buckled, both feet carved furrows through the scorched earth, and the eyes that found Lilith behind the blade went still.

    Lilith was grinning. Wide, free, and completely unhinged, and whatever Chizuru read in that expression made her own darken further.

    "Traitors, are you, Lilies?" Chizuru's voice was flat.

    Lilith's grin widened until it stopped being sane.

    "For the first time in its history, the Scarlet Lilies terminate a contract they accepted!"

    She pressed the blade harder against Chizuru's guard.

    "Reason given: f#ck you!"
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      1710 Flawless Victory

      Quinlan came across the cell toward her through the wreckage he'd made of the room, and the closer look did nothing kind to the weight already sitting in his chest.

      The big bad Black Fang, the woman who'd looked almighty even drenched head to toe in enemy blood, hung cracked open on the wall with her veins gone black beneath unhealthy skin.

      He had watched her wade through battlefields and make slaughter look effortless, and for the first time, she looked like she'd lost.

      'No.'

      Quinlan understood within just a few moments of staring into her deep purple eyes that were gazing directly back at him.

      'What am I even saying? This woman...'

      Even chained and starving, fighting the most uphill battle of her life...

      ‘She won'

      Everything they'd done to her in here had bought them her body, not one inch of what still burned behind her eyes.

      The dungeon had been winning the war for her flesh, perhaps... Even that wasn't certain, watching the crumbled dwarf corpse behind her.

      But one thing was certain: they lost every other war they had picked with her.

      'A flawless victory.’

      Her eyes had not left him since he walked in.
      Every serpent tattoo on her body pulsed, stronger and stronger the nearer he came, and she watched him close the last of the distance like she'd stopped letting herself believe he was real.

      His hand rose to the collar at her throat, the dwarven band sunk into skin it had spent days trying to claim, and his face went cold with disgust the moment his fingers found the metal.

      "Stop!" Myrasyn's voice cracked across the cell from the wall beside her. "You can't just yank it off! The fat hairy ones are truly nasty creatures!
      Spawns of the devil, every last one of them! I bet that if you rip it loose they have some failsafe in place that will take her life!"

      He knew that. His fingers didn't pull; they followed the band to where it bit into her throat, studying, examining, tracing the seam with a
      touch that held nothing gentle and all of his fury, and his face darkened with every pulse of black it dragged out of her.

      "They dared put this on you..." The words came low, more to himself than to her, and the cell felt colder for them.

      He straightened from the collar and lifted two fingers toward the two women on the wall, one toward each, the tips touching their foreheads.
      Myrasyn went rigid, her ears clamping flat to her skull.

      "W-wait!" she cried out in alarm.

      Was she about to get a hole punched clean through her head?!

      In her defenseless position, she could not even hope to do anything about it!

      Then the water came, welling up warm and soft, pouring over both of them and slipping under their ruined clothes to sheet across skin that hadn't felt anything kind in days.

      It moved wrong for water in the best possible way, pressing into the hollows of them, tracing every line of their bodies, lifting the caked grime
      and dried blood off in rivulets that ran dark down the wall, every current bent and placed in real time by a master who knew exactly what he was doing.

      Myrasyn blinked twice, big-eyed, and somewhere in that second blink her heart stopped screaming about her imminent death.

      Her skin came up clean and shining beneath the filth, bright the way it hadn't been since the chains closed, and her face lit up like she was having the time of her life.

      "I know you didn't betray me," Quinlan said.
      "Thanks for keeping Black Fang company. I'm sure she appreciated it."

      "!!" Myrasyn's eyes widened.

      Then her lips turned into a big, lively grin. "Yeah, we became besties for sure! We spent half of it laughing thanks to the news getting worse and worse and Ragnar losing his mind right along with it. Black Fang kept going on and on about
      'tick-tock tick-tock, the villain is coming for you...' and I thought I might just die before they even killed me."

      "She did that...?" Quinlan mused.

      Sera didn't look up from the golden light pouring out of her hands, voice coming with obvious jealousy. "Quin. Are you sure you should be handing foreign queens sensual body washes? She didn't even ask for it. At least make it dold or something...”

      "I am NOT foreign, I'm practically family!"
      Myrasyn's ears shot bolt upright.

      "You are?" Sera repeated wryly. This shameless woman barely interacted with them at all. They were just using each other for mutual benefit until the last few minutes before it all went to hell.

      "Y-yeah!!" The queen nodded profusely.

      Sera turned an even flatter look on her, fully aware the queen would say anything at all if it kept the warm water running over her grimy skin, and Myrasyn's face went hot as her ears swiveled to every corner of the cell that wasn't Sera.

      Then the humor drained out of Myrasyn's face as her gaze slid to Black Fang, who still hadn't said a word and whose eyes hadn't left Quinlan once."She's okay, right?"

      "Yes." Quinlan spoke with utmost belief. "There's
      nothing in this world that can make her lose it."

      "Because she already lost it all?" Sera murmured, not pausing in her healing. "Venomborne Terror before puberty..."

      Quinlan chose not to answer that. He raised his hand, and [Warp Gate] tore the air open in the corner of the cell.

      Three dwarves stumbled through onto the bloodied stone, and the first of them slipped and went down hard, both palms plunging wrist-deep into a slick that had spread from the bodies.

      "What!"

      He shoved himself half-upright with his hands running red and a sound strangling in his throat, because some of the dead were his own colleagues.

      The other two had locked up where they landed, the color draining from their faces until they were sick and bloodless, one of them muttering fast and broken under his breath.

      All three were shaking, and not one could turn back toward the gate, the compulsion in their chests herding them deeper in no matter what their bodies wanted.

      Myrasyn's ears shot straight up. "Those are the royal smiths! Ragnar's own forge-masters!"

      "Aelindra was kind enough to point me to their quarters," Quinlan shrugged. "It was on the way here so I made a pitstop."

      On the floor, the ruin that had been a councilwoman had no mouth left to argue how kind she'd been.

      Myrasyn's lips parted. For once in her long, loud existence, nothing came out of them.

      "Take it off her cleanly, without causing any harm," Quinlan told the smiths. "If you aren't sure you can take it off without failure, stop."

      Quinlan knew the importance of commands and their phrasing. If the dwarves decided to conduct a final act of revenge by taking it off 'wrongly; well, that'd be it.

      That's why he had to make sure the command was clear.

      Sera, who'd been pouring golden light into the worst of the wreckage since she reached the wall, drew her hands back to give the dwarves room, her eyes moving between the collar and the look on Quinlan's face.

      The smiths bent to Black Fang's throat with grim, sick obedience and worked the locking runes under an order they had no power to refuse.

      The band came apart with a click and dropped from her throat.

      "Quinlan..." she finally spoke, voice rough, as if not fully there.

      For days she'd held herself together on willpower and spite alone, and now the man who'd torn the whole dungeon apart to reach her stood close enough to touch, close enough that she could see the blood drying on his chest and the fury he was keeping so carefully leashed for her sake.

      Quinlan reached up and brushed the matted hair back from her face, his thumb settling against the cheekbone he'd washed clean, and whatever moved behind his eyes then, he put no wall in front of it.

      "Let's get out of here, shall we?" He smiled, tired and crooked.

      "The hunger won't stop..." she rasped all of a sudden. “Get away from me quickly…”

      “What do you mean-“

      The manacles ripped out of the wall in a burst of stone as she came off it straight at him, faster than a body that broken had any right to move.

      “Quin!” Sera shouted as Black Fang lunged.
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