Primordial Villain With A Slave Harem - Chapter 1150: Predator on the Prowl
Chapter 1150: Predator on the Prowl
Yes, there could be no doubt that his classes made him incredibly strong.
But in the wrong hands, such an arsenal would have been wasted. Most would lean on one strength and neglect the rest. Some would pour their life into mastering the saber, others into magic, and others into martial arts. Some would build their power around commanding their slaves, while others would rely entirely on their soul army.
Quinlan did it all at once.
His primordial brain allowed him to weave every discipline into one. Where a human brain would bottleneck—overheating when juggling too many processes—his neurons fired faster, with denser myelination and sharper synaptic bridges. He could layer magic, martial arts, and saber strikes while simultaneously issuing commands to his armies, never once losing focus.
But, even that did not paint the full picture.
The greatest reason why he was such a frightening existence was because he was fighting as Quinlan Elysiar, the primordial who refused to stop, the man whose hunger for strength and ascension turned him into a battle machine that grew sharper with every clash.
He knew he was not perfect. He harbored no delusions about being at the top of the food chain. And because of that, he hungered for more. Always.
A cluster of pyromancers launched firebolts his way. Quinlan shifted instantly to Elemental Stance: Tide. This stance bolstered his Magic, which he utilized to the full instantly.
Water burst outward from his blade, extinguishing the flames in a hiss of steam. The saber swept sideways, releasing arcs of condensed water that cut down their casters before they could chant again.
[You’ve slain Rika (Level 46). You’ve gained 26,000 XP.]
[You’ve slain Daisuke (Level 45). You’ve gained 25,000 XP.]
An axe-wielder crashed into him from the side. The impact jarred his arms, but Quinlan slid into Elemental Stance: Stone. His footing locked, his body turning unyielding. He absorbed the blow, twisted his saber, and rammed it into the man’s chest.
[You’ve slain Kenta (Level 49). You’ve gained 32,000 XP.]
Felling another enemy, Quinlan knew it was time. He exhaled in focus. Those around him felt his aura swell ominously. Then his voice cut across the carnage:
“[Eternal Damnation]!”
The air warped. Souls tore free from the corpses around him, becoming a flood of pale blue light that rushed into his saber. The Soul Reaper pulsed hungrily, accepting all the newcomers with open arms.
Quinlan raised the blade high.
“[March of the Damned]!”
From the blade’s ghostly blue flames, the soldiers of the Fujimori rose again in the form of lifeless husks shackled by his will. Dozens of them lurched forward, forming a wall of blades and armor.
Two souls among the harvest burned brighter. Quinlan clenched his fist. “[Awaken]!”
Their essence reshaped, reforged, and returned. One emerged as a katana-wielding samurai, wearing a shining oriental armor as spectral energy coated his weapon. The other rose as a slain mage of the pryo regimen. Curiously, her flames shone with the color of soul-blue, not orange.
Both eyed his enemies, no longer Fujimori, but soldiers of the Primordial Villain.
“Kill them all.”
The summons rushed forward, crashing into the Fujimori lines just as his previous armies had done.
And then…
*Bam!”
The earth cracked beside him. A hulking figure slammed down with the weight of a meteor.
A mountain of a man. Bare chest, iron gauntlets, arms like boulders carved into muscle. His stance screamed brutality, no weapons needed; his fists were the weapons.
A brawler-type.
Quinlan knew it instantly.
The man’s fist cut through the air like a cannonball, ripping right toward his head as its target. Quinlan shifted into Gale Stance immediately, making his body flow with an unnatural speed.
His torso twisted back just in time, the strike missing by a hair’s breadth. Another fist came, then another, each blow tearing the air with thunderous force.
Even with his boosted agility, Quinlan’s movements skimmed the edge of disaster. His primordial brain fired calculations at breakneck pace: punch angles, kinetic force, trajectory corrections. In half a second, he had a profile.
The brawler before him was about level sixty-five.
That was all it took for him to lose all interest in the encounter.
Predators didn’t waste energy on prey that wasn’t worth the effort of the hunt. This man wasn’t even prey; he was a brick wall.
Even if Quinlan could topple him, it would be slow, bloody, and wasteful. The XP wouldn’t match the opportunity to slay dozens of weaker soldiers that he would lose out on. The risk wasn’t worth the reward, not when there were thousands of weaker targets to reap.
So he disengaged.
He pivoted on a heel, sliding away with a speed the brawler couldn’t pin down. The man lunged after him, only to smash his fist square into someone else instead.
“GUH!” Raika spat blood, and her head snapped to the side from the impact. For a beat, she just stood there with her shoulders hunched and a drool of crimson oozing from her lip.
Then her manic eyes locked onto the brawler.
A guttural growl ripped from her throat, a call of challenge.
Like a beast unchained, the Brutalizer pounced.
The brawler met her head-on, and the battlefield shook as flesh met flesh, fist met fist. Each impact was like a drumbeat of war, the ground quaking beneath their slugfest. The brawler’s power was undeniable; his strikes pushed her back, his higher level giving him the upper hand.
But Raika didn’t give ground easily. Every time she was sent back, she came charging. Her eyes were full of fire, despite bruises swelling across her entire body.
She was too stubborn to break.
Quinlan smirked at the sight. He, of course, wasn’t some cruel bastard who’d stand by idly. No, he was a benevolent man. A gentleman, one might proclaim. The kind of man who would never let his future girl get beaten into the dirt, at least not by another man.
And so, with his very own damage sponge—ehem, his amazing partner for the fight—already soaking up the worst of the monster’s blows, Quinlan lunged back into the fray.
That was when it struck him.
“Kekeke…”
A female laugh, sharp and venomous, slithered into his mind without warning.
