Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Quinlan narrowed his eyes. Fine. He’d stop trying to move the mountain.

He’d become the mountain’s storm.

No more hesitation. No more doubt. He would pour his entire being into the battle.

He surged again, this time weaving all three elements into his martial rhythm. Fire for speed and power, water for fluidity and adaptability, earth for balance and rooted strength. Each strike flowed into the next, his feet dancing across the courtyard, his hands blurring with the artistry of a warrior in motion.

It was no longer just technique but the combination of instinct, heart, and spirit.

A sweeping elbow powered by liquid force. A hammering punch grounded in stone. A rising knee that ignited in flame.

He struck with the precision of a master, and yet…

Still… nothing.

That is, until Rongtai moved.

One slow step forward.

Just one.

The moment his heel touched stone…

*BOOM!*

A shockwave exploded outward in a perfect ring. Tiles lifted and cracked. Dust flared. Quinlan was flung back, tumbling through the air until he caught himself with a crouch cushioned by a dome of water.

Rongtai’s voice rolled across the field like distant thunder. “You attack like a storm.”

He unfolded his arms, palms open, calm as ever.

“But you forget. A storm cannot move a mountain.”

Then he walked forward.

He didn’t charge. Didn’t lunge.

Just… walked.

Each step pressed deeper into the earth than the last.

The world leaned into him.

As though the planet knew who the real master was.

Quinlan gritted his teeth. No time to think. He leapt in with another flurry, this time a corkscrew roundhouse kick imbued with flaming wind, trying to break through with sheer rotational force.

Rongtai breathed out.

The air bent.

A soft golden ripple pulsed from his chest like a silent gong.

Quinlan’s kick hit, and the force behind it disintegrated.

He had no time to recover.

The monk was in front of him now.

A massive hand pressed to his sternum.

Not a strike.

Just a push.

But it was like a mountain shrugging off a landslide.

Quinlan flew across the arena like a comet, before finally tumbling to a halt in a heap of cracked tile and grit.

From the sidelines, Zephyr cracked an eye open. “Oof. That looked like it hurt.”

Serika exhaled sharply. “That man is ridiculous.”

Feng suddenly had murderous thoughts toward a certain stoic monk.

Nalai didn’t blink, having already expected this outcome.

Coughing, Quinlan rose from the dust.

He wiped blood from his lip. “Damn…”

Rongtai hadn’t moved.

He still stood in the center, arms at rest.

“Again,” the monk said.

“The storm has not yet passed.”

So Quinlan came again.

And again.

And again.

Each failure was a lesson. Each defeat, a sharpening of resolve.

Each time adjusting his flow. Each time, his martial forms grew tighter. Sharper. More aligned with the nature of his elements.

Until he no longer fought to overcome the mountain.

But to understand it.

…

“I don’t like it!” Feng hissed with a strong grimace.

“Don’t like what?” Quinlan muttered in response, already half asleep.

They were lying on the plush, silken bed gifted by the Water Sovereign herself, nestled beneath layers of embroidered sheets that were far too soft for someone like him. Feng, curled up against his chest, had her face buried beneath his chin, legs tangled with his.

He cracked an eye open. “You better not be complaining about the bedding. It’s literal cloud silk.”

“That’s not what I meant!” she grumbled, voice muffled.

She lifted her head just enough to glare at him, nose scrunching in exaggerated frustration. “Our days used to be about hunting in the wild, cultivating in peace, and sleeping under the starry sky! Yes, the grumpy grandpa was there to bother us, but he largely left us alone. But now? All day, you’re getting beaten up by these old monsters! And once you’re done for the day, you leave with that damned slut—er, I mean Serika—to wash each other’s bodies before she gives you that… that naked oily massage!”

Quinlan snorted.

She buried her face in his chest again. “Even now, you smell like that slut and her stupid slippery oils…”

He let out a slow yawn. “Feng… you’re a big girl now. Fourteen summers under your belt. I don’t even know why you’re still in my bed.”

“B-because!” she snapped, voice muffled in weak protest. She knew that her clinginess wasn’t normal.

He chuckled softly. “It made sense back in Vulkaris, when frost was in our lungs and we had to huddle together to stay alive. But now we’re in a palace. You’ve got your own room. Your own bed. And I’m a grown man with grown man needs, Feng. It’s only natural I’ll want to be pampered by Serika after getting pummeled by that earth monk guy all day.”

Feng scoffed. “Rude…” Then, under her breath, she added: “I can’t help it, alright? I’ve gotten addicted to sleeping in your arms…”

To emphasize her point, she wriggled closer, pressing herself tightly to his chest, her fingers fisting lightly into his robe.

There was a moment of quiet, filled only by the soft rustle of sheets and the gentle night breeze filtering in through the balcony curtains.

Then she mumbled, barely audible, “…Am I truly such an ugly woman?”

Quinlan sighed, long and slow.

Of course, he wasn’t oblivious. The way she clung to him more than she needed to. The little huffs she made when Serika got too close. The way her big eyes lingered a little too long when she thought he wasn’t watching, especially when his chest was bare for all to see his muscles.

He lifted one hand and gently ran his fingers through her lush, dark hair.

“You’re not ugly,” he replied with a voice that was low and kind. “You’re a very cute girl, Feng. And one day, if you eat well and keep growing strong… you’ll probably turn into a nation-toppling jade beauty just how you like to proclaim yourself.”

“… Hmph.”

He smiled and continued stroking her hair.

“But right now?” He shifted, tilting her face up slightly with a finger under her chin. “You’re still a little kid in my eyes. And not just because you’re petite. You’re young, Feng. Fourteen is too soon. I don’t know what the customs here in Zhenwu are, but where I’m from… I don’t look at kids that way.”

She blinked up at him. Her cheeks were flushed, but her eyes were clear.

She pouted, scowled softly, then mumbled, “Stupid Uncle…”

Then she huffed again and buried her face deeper into his chest, her breath warm and steady.

“…But I guess I can wait a little longer,” she added with a tiny yawn, almost sleep-talking now. “Not like anyone else gets to hug you all night…”

He chuckled, pulling the blanket up over them both. “You possessive little brat. I didn’t say a single word about anything happening between the two of us in the future.”

She didn’t answer.

By the time he glanced down again, she was already asleep.

Still clinging to him.

Still pouting.

And still—absolutely adorable.

He closed his eyes.

Sleep came easily, with her heart beating gently against his.

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