Primordial Villain With A Slave Harem - Chapter 1236: Greetings, Sister
Chapter 1236: Greetings, Sister
“I suppose I should greet you, Sister.”
The air stopped moving.
No one spoke. Even the crackling stones seemed to fall silent this time around.
Ayame’s breath caught in her throat. Her hand, holding onto Quinlan’s, tightened until her nails dug into his skin. Her heartbeat quickened, becoming uneven.
It was the erratic pounding of panic.
The heat pressed harder against her chest. She could hear the thud of her own pulse.
Across from her, Black Fang sat perfectly still, her gaze never leaving Ayame’s face. Not a muscle moved. Only the faint curve of curiosity glinted behind those violet eyes.
Ayame opened her mouth, but her lips trembled before any sound came out. “Th-that… that can’t be.”
Her voice broke.
Vex, pale as parchment, blinked rapidly before speaking up. “Raijin Fujimori was over seven hundred when he died… Despite the age gap between you and Black Fang, it’s… Technically possible.”
Ayame turned on her with a glare so fierce it startled even Quinlan. “Possible?! Are you saying my father would abandon his child in a monster forest like garbage?! Never!”
Tears swelled in the oriental samurai’s eyes.
“My father was a stalwart leader! A hero of the people! He would never do something so vile!” Her foot slammed against the wooden floor, rattling the water bucket beside her. “He’d rather die than throw his baby away!”
Black Fang’s lips twitched before the faintest trace of amusement broke through her mask. “Is that so?”
Ayame’s throat tightened.
“I wasn’t aware,” Black Fang added, tone smooth, the mockery so subtle it almost sounded genuine.
Ayame stumbled back half a step while violently shaking her head. She refused to believe what she was hearing.
“Y-you were just a baby! You couldn’t possibly remember any of that!” she stammered. “The elders- they must’ve done something! They’re always scheming behind the scenes, twisting stories, planting lies! They probably made you believe it!”
In response, Black Fang tilted her head sideways ever so slightly, letting her damp hair fall over her shoulder in a dark, wet curtain. Then, with a calm that shouldn’t be present in this tension, she reached for the ladle again.
The motion was slow, elegant, accompanied by the quiet shifting of her thighs against the wooden bench, the faint roll of muscle beneath smooth skin. The water hit the stones with a sharp hiss, flooding the room once more with boiling steam.
Through the haze, her eyes shone brighter, cutting through it all. They bore straight into Ayame’s soul, instantly finding the deepest abyss of the girl’s conscience.
“Is that why Raijin Fujimori visited me more than ten thousand times over the years, only to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness?”
“What?! If this is some sick prank, please stop!”
Ayame’s voice shattered as the words tore out of her. The heat in the room felt unbearable now, as if it pressed from all sides just to suffocate her.
Through the haze, the only things she could see were those eyes. The two sharp, glowing violet orbs cutting through the steam. Beneath them, the serpentine tattoos on Black Fang’s arms and legs moved with the rhythm of things that were alive.
In that moment, she didn’t look human.
The quiet stillness around her carried a weight that didn’t belong in this world. The lines between flesh and spirit blurred. What sat before them wasn’t merely a woman but something far more, a monster wearing human skin as an afterthought.
“I have no reason to lie,” Black Fang replied at long last. Her voice was even and smooth, as if she wasn’t aware that her words were dismantling another person’s entire world. “You asked about my past, and I answered.”
Ayame’s knees trembled. Her gaze locked with those violet eyes, and for a long, shattering moment, neither woman moved. The longer she looked, the smaller she felt, as if her memories, her pride, her entire understanding of her lineage were being peeled away layer by layer.
A broken sound escaped her throat, somewhere between a gasp and a sob. Her fingers twitched helplessly at her side, searching for something to hold onto that wasn’t there.
Quinlan, having seen enough, rose. He stepped closer and reached for her shoulder, intending to steady her before she collapsed entirely.
But Ayame flinched back. Her wet shoulder slipped past his touch like a frightened shadow. “I-I’m sorry… Please don’t follow…” she whispered, her voice barely audible before she turned and rushed toward the door.
The sound of the door sliding open echoed across the sauna. Steam rushed out as she disappeared into the area beyond.
Blossom stood up immediately. Her expression was pale, uncertain, but her eyes were filled with worry, and she rushed after her.
Quinlan took a step to follow, but a gentle hand caught his wrist.
Vex shook her head. “Let her sort it out…” she pleaded. It seemed that the Hexwitch truly believed that Quinlan chasing her was a bad idea.
Quinlan’s jaw tensed. He stared at the open doorway where the steam still drifted.
Behind him, Black Fang poured another ladle of water over the stones. The hiss rose once more.
Quinlan’s eyes lingered on Ayame’s and Blossom’s rapidly retreating backs, soon vanishing from his sight entirely.
He stood there, unmoving. He could still feel the tremor in her grip from earlier, the desperation in her voice when she said not to follow. Part of him wanted to ignore that, to go after her anyway, to wrap his arms around her until the shaking stopped, whisper something, anything, to ground her again.
But then what?
A hug wouldn’t undo what she just heard. It wouldn’t erase the image of her father kneeling in front of a daughter Ayame had no knowledge of, begging for forgiveness for his cruel crime.
That was a wound no warmth could seal.
Ayame needed air. She needed space. She needed time to look at the pieces of her heart and decide how to feel.
And Blossom was already there. If there was anyone who could soften that fall, it was her. The dogkin might’ve been a clutz, an airhead of the highest order who often seemed to have the intelligence of a child, but that was only what was evident on the surface.
She was a good friend, and for Ayame, she was perhaps the best friend. The two of them have been with Quinlan for the longest time, going through a myriad of impossible events at his side.
Quinlan exhaled slowly, forcing the tension out of his shoulders. His gaze drifted beyond the steam. Outside, Scar stood waiting loyally while the others worked on concocting the refreshments Quinlan had asked for earlier.
“Scar,” he said quietly.
The masked assassin responded instantly. “Master.”
“Follow them,” Quinlan ordered. “Make sure they’re safe.”
“Yes.” Scar decreed before vanishing in a blur.
Quinlan’s attention shifted to two of the Fujimori souls. Their faces tilted, awaiting his orders that were evidently about to be uttered. “You two, grab warm towels, blankets, and clothes from the mansion. Bring them to where Scar is. I don’t want my girls freezing out there.”
Not only was it a cold night, but they’d just been sweating profusely thanks to Black Fang’s many ladle pours on the mighty potent magic stones.
Quinlan didn’t know if they could catch a cold thanks to their high Vitality, but he was not in the mood to experiment.
Well, he would never conduct such an experiment on his girls even if they were not in the middle of an emotional emergency.
The souls bowed deeply. “Understood, Master.”
For a moment, Quinlan watched the steam swirl through the open doorway. Then he slid the door shut.
“I suddenly feel like a villain,” came Black Fang’s dry voice behind him.
Quinlan turned his head. She sat exactly where she had been with a ladle still in hand. Her expression was hard to read. Combined with her usual poker face, traces of internal conflict could be seen.
“I made my little sister cry.”
