Primordial Villain With A Slave Harem

He didn't hesitate and spoke with the conviction of a man who was about to embark on his life's most important mission.

"Jasmine said she's ready. I must work hard to turn a lovely girl into a good woman."

Ayame's expression instantly turned ice-cold and judgmental. She gave him a slow, deliberate side-eye that spoke volumes about her opinion of his task.

"I see."

"Want to join?" Quinlan asked, not missing a beat.

The oriental beauty was not swayed. "No, I'm tired. I don't have an endless libido like a certain someone. I want to take a nice bath and relax. I need to conserve my energy for the hunt."

That earned the samurai a questioning look.

"I plan to begin at dawn because that foul-mouthed cunt seems very determined, somehow even more than usual. I already know she's planning to risk it all many, many times on this journey just to get as strong as possible. If I fall behind her, I will not be able to look in the mirror. It might just have to be seppuku time."

But in the next moment, she dropped the hostile attitude.

Her gaze softened as she looked at him with warmth. "And I know you want to make each of our first times special. Jasmine is a good friend; I want her to have the best experience imaginable. Don't you dare make it any worse than absolutely perfect."

Quinlan flashed her a cocky grin. "When have I ever failed to do that? I'm a bit shocked that the Soul Records gave me the Primordial Subjugator class; I think the Primordial Breeder would've been more fitting."

Ayame's tender smile instantly vanished. Her judgmental expression snapped back into place, and a silent promise of a cutting remark was visibly about to leave her tongue.

But Quinlan was already moving.

He opened a warp gate and stepped through before the samurai could deliver her inevitable, sharp rebuttal. The gate snapped shut, leaving her with only the lingering scent of his trouble-making presence.

<I'm not finished with you just yet!> she scoffed cutely in his head. <I can't believe you ran… Coward…>

<I do not run. It was a tactical retreat.>

<Sure…>

And just like that, Quinlan shamelessly closed the mental link. Ayame had a very big mouth on her; Quinlan knew it was best to make a run for it.

As he began to walk down the halls of his mansion, Quinlan muttered under his breath,

"The true mark of a great strategist is knowing which battles to fight and which to skip. Arguing with your girl is a recipe for cold shoulders and aching balls. — Sun Tzu."

Quinlan continued up the stairs, reaching the top floor of the mansion.

The interior design was stylish, a blend of functional elegance and opulent materials.

He liked the subtle details: the rich wood grain of the banisters, the way the sconce lighting highlighted the textured plasterwork.

Most of the structural construction had been left to Ronan, his male architect slave, a man obsessed with straight lines and perfect symmetry.

However, the warmer, more detailed interior finishing was the work of Iselda, his female architect.

She had an eye for comfort and flow.

The only rooms where Quinlan needed the insight of a fellow man were places like his expansive harem room or the heavily reinforced sex dungeon below, where pure function trumped aesthetic flair.

As he walked, a nervous thought entered his mind via the mental link.

<When are you coming?> It was Jasmine's voice, a tight thread of sound laced with anticipation and worry.

She had told him she was ready, but the time to act seemed to be making her anxious.

<I'm about to reach the room,> he replied.

A worried gasp echoed through the link. Quinlan let out a quiet laugh.

<You have absolutely nothing to worry about.>

He reached the end of the hall, finding the large door to the harem room, behind which Jasmine should be waiting. However, an unexpected face stood before the door. It was Gina, Jasmine's mother.

The woman's eyes brightened instantly as they locked onto Quinlan.

A silent acknowledgment passed between them. Her gaze held a sharp, knowing sparkle, confirming that not only was she waiting to talk to him, but she was fully aware of the reason for his presence.

He was here to deflower her beloved daughter.

Gina had been put through decades of cruel torture by her ex-husband, Aurelion. She had endured many healing sessions with both Seraphiel and Liora, yet reversing the horror of decades was a miracle that could not be completed in a day.

However, she looked vastly better than when Quinlan had first seen her.

But even more telling than her physical recovery was the life visible on her face. This was a woman who had lost the desire to even protect herself from death, but now she had regained the joy of living.

She offered him a tender smile and bowed her head. "I haven't had a proper chance to thank you, Quinlan. For everything. I don't even know how to-"

"It's my pleasure, Gina. You owe me nothing," he interrupted. His smirk returned. "I see letting you torture the bastard to your heart's content has done you some wonders."

Gina giggled softly and placed both hands over her heart as if cherishing the memory. "It was the most blissful feeling I can remember, right after the memory of giving birth to my daughter."

Quinlan replicated the laughter of the mother. "That's good. At least he was good for something in the end. Even human waste can fertilize the soil. Now," he said, stepping closer to the door, "can I ask why you're standing in front of my room?"

Gina nodded. Utmost seriousness replacing her previous attitude. "I am a traditional woman. I come from a line where one did not marry for love but for the benefit of the family."

She paused. She explained her thoughts plainly: she believed marrying Jasmine to him was a risky move. Yes, he was immensely powerful, wealthy, influential… the whole package. But unlike the merchant families her line typically married, he was also a danger to Jasmine.

"Instead of living the humble life of a merchant, that girl is now harboring grandiose dreams of helping you build the greatest empire of history. If she is going to be an integral part of that, then her life will be in danger at all times."

"I will ensure she is protected at all times-"

Gina cut him off gently. "I apologize, but I know the cruel world we live in better than most. Jasmine's life will be in grave danger, even if she never again enters a battlefield."

Quinlan fell silent. She was right. If Jasmine were to be the overseer of his lands, people, and wealth, she would inevitably have a massive target painted on her back.

But then Gina's stern expression broke.

The seriousness dissolved, and her eyes softened with tears. "But I want to break that tradition. I don't care if giving Jasmine to you is the right or wrong decision. I know that my girl is as deep in love as possible; she's found the only man in her life who will make her smile as bright and innocently as she does. I want my daughter to be happy."

A single tear traced a path down her cheek. "Please, protect and cherish my little angel. You have my blessing, Quinlan Elysiar. Jasmine is yours."

Quinlan felt the weight of her plea. He looked at the distressed mother, then at the door behind her. He gave a sharp, serious nod.

"You're right. I can't guarantee absolute safety," he admitted. "I cannot lie and say she won't face dangers greater than any merchant ever sees. But I love that woman. I will always protect her."

Gina smiled throughout his entire promise, her expression filled with a peace Quinlan hadn't seen before. When he finished, she simply whispered, "Thank you."

She then stepped aside, clearing his path to the door.

Quinlan took a breath and reached for the handle.

He entered the harem room, and what he saw made his eyebrows rise.

Jasmine was there, with her skin glistening and hair done perfectly. She clearly did her best to get prepared right after returning from the battle.

But what surprised him was the presence next to her.

A tanned beauty with fiery hair and bright green eyes stood next to Jasmine.