Primordial Villain With A Slave Harem - Chapter 1453 Dragnar's Teaching

Chapter 1453  Dragnar’s Teaching

Dragnar walked ahead without looking back.

Grass gave way to dark soil underfoot. Quinlan followed at a steady pace with Lucille at his side, who walked with her axe resting against her shoulder. The location of the dome where his trial had taken place was already far behind them.

With the trial complete, there was no reason to stay confined to the center of the village, as that temporary location was only set up so that the girls could follow their lover’s fight and not worry themselves constantly.

Doing so allowed them to focus on their training better.

With the trial done, the primordials could take their students wherever they believed the lesson would hold best.

Quinlan had said his goodbyes, then he had fallen in step behind Dragnar, his first teacher.

After a while of muted walking, Quinlan broke the silence.

“Where are we going?”

Dragnar did not slow. “Where you’ll learn.”

“…”

‘That’s it?’ Quinlan sighed inwardly. It seemed Dragnar wasn’t a man of too many words.

Lucille leaned closer, studying Quinlan’s face, then grinned. “He’s a great teacher, Quin. Really.”

Quinlan glanced at her. “You sound confident.”

She straightened. “I am. He’s helped me with some insecurities of mine when it came to being effective in combat.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Insecure? You? You’ve always been confident when it came to fighting. I remember when you were ready to throw yourself into battles while being several levels behind, back when you first picked up that axe.”

Lucille’s steps faltered for half a heartbeat.

Color rose to her cheeks. “T-That was different.”

“You nearly died at least a dozen times,” Quinlan added with a flat tone.

Lucille flushed hard at that, with her cheeks warming as she turned her face just slightly away from him while still walking forward. “I was inspired back then! I wanted out of that inn, out of serving drinks, smiling at strangers, and pretending that was all I was ever going to be. Going into battle with you guys was my best chance ever! Of course, I was eager!” She exhaled through her nose and shook her head once. “I’m past that now. You should know that.”

She shot him a sideways look, lips pressing together before she added with a small pout, “Of course, you know that already. You’re just messing with me.”

Quinlan did not respond.

Lucille waited for half a breath, then another, before her pout deepened in exaggerated offense. It lasted only a moment before it cracked into a grin, her mood already recovering as she bumped her shoulder lightly against his arm. “You’re awful. Nyxara was onto something. This is a cruel household where we women are suppressed by our sadistic husband!” she declared, entirely without heat.

“Such is the fate of us poor women in the Elysiar family!!!” Nyxara wailed inside his head. “…” Quinlan ignored both whiny ladies.

After a few more steps, Lucille’s expression settled, turning more thoughtful. “As for my insecurity… Being a berserker isn’t simple, especially not in the fights I’m partaking in these days. If I push too hard or misjudge a moment, it isn’t just me who pays for it; it’s everyone around me who has to cover for my mistakes.” Her fingers tightened briefly around the haft of her axe. “Seraphiel has taken risks she shouldn’t have had to take, just to keep me standing when I went too far. Same for Lyra, and, truthfully, all of the girls.”

Quinlan listened without interrupting.

“Dragnar noticed it almost immediately,” Lucille went on. “He’s been teaching me how to push faster when I need to, but more importantly, how to pull back before I cross the line. I’m still learning, but I’m better at it than I was a week ago.”

“Oh?” Quinlan murmured, interest threading into his voice as he inclined his head slightly. “Acceleration and deceleration. That is truly paramount for a berserker. A berserker who goes all out at every opportunity doesn’t last long in tight battles unless she’s far too powerful. We fight in a group for a reason.”

Lucille snorted. “‘We’ fight in a group, Quinnie,” she corrected with amusement creeping back into her tone. “Not you, Mister One-Man Army.”

She laughed quietly, then nodded. “But yes, you’re right. That’s why Dragnar is such a good teacher. He saw the problem immediately. I only wish we could take real damage in this wonderful place… I feel like that would help it sink in more.”

She did not need to explain what she meant for him to understand. In the primordial realm, wounds closed almost as soon as they were inflicted, flesh and bone restored by the dimension itself before pain could linger or consequences could accumulate.

Ahead of them, Dragnar finally spoke.

“That will change now.”

Both Quinlan and Lucille lifted their brows at the same time, exchanging a glance before quickening their pace to keep close behind him as the terrain ahead darkened further beneath their boots.

Dragnar led them on without another word, with an unchanging pace as the ground beneath their feet grew heavier and darker, the soil compacted by something far older than footsteps or weather. The air thickened, and pressure settled against Quinlan’s skin.

Then Dragnar stopped.

His broad shoulders squared, his stance widening by a fraction as if he had stepped onto an invisible line already drawn long before they arrived. When he finally turned back toward them, his eyes held none of the casual indifference he had shown before.

“Take up your positions.”

Lucille did not hesitate. Her axe slid from her shoulder into both hands with a familiar weight, the metal settling into her grip as her posture shifted with feet spreading and knees bending slightly as she aligned herself. Quinlan drew in a slow breath and summoned the Soul Reaper.

The weapon manifested in his grasp with a muted pull while energy flowed outward from his core, reinforcing muscle, sharpening awareness, grounding him in the quiet certainty of his own strength. There was no posturing present in either of them.

Whatever stood before them did not need theatrics.

They were not weak. Both of them knew that. They had proven it repeatedly.

That knowledge did nothing to soften the realization that whatever occupied that space was far stronger than either of them.

Dragnar raised one massive arm. The air around his knuckles darkened with an oppressive presence that bent light and thought alike. A distortion spread outward in a slow pulse that made the air feel thicker with every passing breath, and when he finally spoke, his voice carried the weight of an ancient warrior who had learned his lessons through blood rather than theory.

“I cannot teach you everything,” he decreed, tone steady and unadorned, “Nor do I desire to. A warrior who borrows all of his conclusions from another man will collapse the moment that man is no longer present. You will draw your own understanding from what follows.”

His gaze shifted between Quinlan and Lucille, lingering just long enough to make it clear that neither of them was exempt from what was about to happen.

“But there is one thing I can give you,” he continued, lowering his fist slightly as the pressure sharpened instead of easing. “Respect for pain.”

The air trembled from sheer intent.

“Pain is the body’s greatest method of communication with the mind. It is the one sense that refuses to lie. It tells you when you are late, when you are sloppy, when you are dying. It is the reason those who endure learn faster than those who avoid it.”

He curled his fingers into a fist.