Primordial Villain With A Slave Harem-Chapter 829: Speaking with Serika

Author: Serika Vael has been given a tanned skin... This change was extremely important to the lore, I assure you all. My tastes played no role in this decision at all... (Picture)

7

...

"... I see things clearly now. The old man has been using me since the beginning."

This realization burned worse than fire.

At his words, Serika’s eyes widened, her mask shattering like glass. "Old man?!" she burst out, pushing off the wall and rushing toward him.

Her movements were quick, but not hostile. Desperate, frantic.

Quinlan blinked, caught off guard. Just moments ago, she’d been a sovereign and a captor—composed, calculating, cold.

But now?

Her expression wasn’t one of authority or power.

It was... hope.

Hope tinged with disbelief and something far more fragile.

A girl searching for a ghost.

Serika dropped to her knees in front of him, not caring for dignity or posture, only proximity. She leaned forward, eyes locked with his, searching his face like she might find an answer there.

"What old man?!" she repeated, her voice tight with urgency.

Quinlan stared at her for a second in disbelief. Her behavior was so far removed from the Serika Vael who had stood poised in judgment moments earlier that it rattled him more than any blow might have.

A part of him wanted to stay silent. Out of spite. Out of principle.

But loyalty to a man who had led him into this storm like a lamb to slaughter? That wasn’t loyalty. That was foolishness.

He let out a slow breath. "I’ll tell you. But you have to swear. Swear on everything you hold dear that you’ll let us go after. Feng and I. We didn’t ask for this. Whatever ’this’ is, we have done nothing wrong."

Serika flinched. Just slightly, but Quinlan saw it.

Her hands curled into fists against her knees. She averted her gaze, even if only for a second, before answering.

"I promise to let you go," she said, slowly, "as soon as we find him."

Quinlan’s brow furrowed. His eyes narrowed.

"That’s not what I asked. That’s not a promise to let us go. That’s a leash."

"I can’t have you vanish," Serika said firmly, raising her eyes again. The softness remained, but the Sovereign had returned behind it. "Not until I find him. You’re the only thread I have."

Quinlan leaned his head back against the stone wall, exhaling through his nose. "Of course."

But this time, at least, he could see the strings. The old man must’ve been some legendary figure whom they had to find at any cost. In their stead, he wouldn’t have let himself leave either.

"Fine. Then I want Feng brought here. Now. I don’t want to be separated from her any longer."

Serika didn’t hesitate. She rose in a single, fluid motion and turned to the door. "Guards!" she called sharply. A beat passed. Then footsteps echoed down the corridor.

"Bring the girl here," Serika ordered. "Now. And have the royal suite in the east tower prepared. Full comfort. Around-the-clock service. Food, silk beds, the works."

Quinlan raised a brow. "Going soft on us?"

Serika didn’t smile, but her voice gentled. "... You two will be the most spoiled prisoners this palace has ever seen."

Quinlan gave a small nod. He didn’t trust her. But survival meant compromise. He wasn’t in a position to begin berating his captor for failing to meet his demands.

And right now, silk beds beat the jagged stone. Furthermore, having Feng Jiai with him instead of her sobbing alone in a cold cell meant a lot to Quinlan.

As such, he leaned back against the wall, waiting.

...

It didn’t take more than a minute for the cell door to creak open.

Quinlan looked up, and there she was.

Feng Jiai.

She shuffled in hesitantly, shoulders hunched, dressed in the same rough, potato-sack tunic as him. Her bare feet whispered across the stone floor as her wide, amber eyes locked onto his.

And for a moment... he saw someone else.

Clothed in that shapeless rag, with her black hair loose and tousled, she looked strikingly similar to Ayame. Not the badass Skysplitter she was now, but how she’d been when he first laid eyes on her in Thalorind’s slave house—vulnerable, dirt-smudged, and quietly dignified even in her captivity.

The resemblance was uncanny, with the only major difference being that Feng was a few years younger.

"Uncle!"

She broke into a sprint and launched herself into his chest, small arms wrapping tightly around his torso.

Quinlan grunted but held her close, instinctively adjusting his posture so her head fit just beneath his chin. She buried her face in his chest, trembling, but no sobs came—just the warmth of joyful tears soaking into the rough cloth at his collarbone.

She nestled against him, desperate to feel his reassuring warmth, and he felt her body slowly lose tension. Her breathing evened out, and after a minute of holding onto him like a lifeline, her relieved whisper floated up to him, muffled by fabric.

"... Finally..."

Then she was out.

Quinlan blinked in disbelief, finding it hard to accept the fact that she’d fallen asleep instantly. They were still captives in a filthy prison...

But he didn’t need to guess why this happened. While he’d been unconscious, she must’ve been wide awake, trapped alone, fearing for him, stewing in worry and helplessness. Now that she felt safe, her developing body couldn’t take it any longer, and her brain finally allowed the girl to rest at long last.

He stroked her silky black hair gently, smoothing it with his fingers. It was longer now. She’d let it grow out since they’d first met, not once cutting it. Soon, it would reach her waistline.

And he had to realize that at some point... she had grown on him.

Feng wasn’t just a rescued girl he stumbled on randomly and kept around, half for utility, half for amusement. No.

She was family.

His arms tightened around her for a moment, protective. Grateful. Then he lifted his eyes.

Serika stood a few feet away, silently watching the scene. Her expression was unreadable. Though if he had to guess, he would say it was part guilt, part awe.

Quinlan inhaled and exhaled slowly. "Alright. I’ll tell you everything."

He didn’t wait for her to prompt him. His voice was low so as not to wake Feng, but it carried.

"It started in Zhaokun. A border town. Dusty, forgettable... except once a year."

Serika tilted her head slightly, listening.

"Once a year, the nearby sects gather in the square for a recruitment showcase. Young cultivators get to perform, prove themselves. Some get picked up by a sect. Most just bleed out for the amusement of others, chasing a future that’s nothing but a distant dream."

He looked at the stone floor, remembering. "I joined, too. But... no one gave me a second look. I wasn’t young enough for them to give me a chance."

At that, Serika raised an eyebrow. She’d first seen his extraordinary strength for someone in the third stage. He’d pushed her retainer admirably well. Although Karrin didn’t go all out against Quinlan, he was made to sweat, quite badly at that.

His tone turned bitter, eyes darkening.

"After it ended, everyone left. But I stayed behind and kept staring at the empty platform like it owed me an apology."

He paused.

"That’s when he showed up."