Primordial Villain With A Slave Harem - Chapter 1477 Bustling Settlement

Chapter 1477  Bustling Settlement

She had no intention of letting go.

“This way!” She tugged him forward with the energy of a woman who had been waiting for a long time to show someone what she’d done and would not be slowed down by anything short of divine intervention.

Quinlan let himself be pulled.

The main road had been widened since he’d last been here, which was about a week ago.

He was busy with the Ravenshade invasion in that time, only tossing people through his gate without visiting the settlement himself.

The main road was now wide enough to let two large carts pass without a fistfight. Jasmine navigated the crowd with the ease of someone who’d walked these streets a thousand times in a few days, weaving between bodies and construction debris without breaking stride.

A dwarf foreman spotted her and changed course immediately. Short legs, fast stride.

“Governor! The north quarter foundation’s set. We need approval on the second-floor layout for the communal halls.”

Jasmine didn’t slow down. “Use the Greyhaven blueprint for now. Double the kitchen capacity. We have four times the mouths we planned for.”

“Four times the-”

“I’ll get you the updated census numbers within the hour. Prioritize the mess halls, then the bunkhouses. Families with children get roofed housing first.”

The dwarf’s expression shifted from exasperated to impressed in the span of a breath. He gave a sharp nod and peeled off, already barking orders to his crew.

Jasmine glanced back at Quinlan. She was smiling. A small, satisfied thing. ‘See?’ her expression said. ‘I’ve got this.’

Quinlan squeezed her hand.

She squeezed back and kept walking.

The construction district opened up ahead of them. Here, the dwarves and elves had found their rhythm. It wasn’t harmony, exactly. Harmony implied they’d stopped insulting each other. They had not.

But they were building.

Dwarf masons laid stone foundations while elven woodworkers shaped the timber frames above them. The elves had a touch with living wood that the dwarves couldn’t match, coaxing beams into curves that held weight without nails. The dwarves had the raw structural knowledge, the angles and load-bearing calculations that kept buildings standing through storms.

A dwarf passed a crossbeam up to an elven woman perched on a roof frame. She caught it one-handed, examined the cut, and nodded once. No words exchanged. None needed. A few hours ago, they’d probably been screaming at each other. Now, the work had a flow.

Quinlan watched a team of three dwarves and two elves raise a wall section together, the dwarves bracing the base while the elves guided the frame into position with a precision that spoke to their natural affinity for spatial awareness. The wall locked into place with a satisfying sound, and one of the dwarven women slapped the nearest elf on the butt hard enough to stagger her.

The elf glared.

The dwarf grinned and said she wasn’t as useless as she thought.

The elf looked at her like complete trash that had to be eliminated right away.

Close enough to friendship.

Quinlan and Jasmine moved deeper into the town.

The oldest quarter, where the city began being built after Quinlan conquered Blackjack’s little Wraithclaw settlement, was the heart of it. The largest, the loudest, and the most alive. Market stalls had sprung up along both sides of the central road, selling everything from salvaged tools to hastily baked bread to clothing stitched from military surplus fabric. Women bartered over prices. Men hauled goods between stalls. The smell of cooking food fought with sawdust and won.

A runner appeared at Jasmine’s side. Young, maybe sixteen, out of breath.

“Governor! The south well’s pressure dropped again. Master Durgin says it’s a pipe issue, but he won’t listen to-”

“Tell Durgin I said to let the elven water-shapers look at the flow path. If he argues, remind him who will sign off on his ale rations in the future.”

The runner’s eyes went wide at the leverage. He bolted.

A group of children spotted him.

“THE DARK KNIGHT!!!”

The shout went up like a war cry. A dozen small bodies came sprinting from between the stalls, weaving through adult legs with the same reckless speed that had defeated Mira earlier. They swarmed him, grabbing at his armor, his legs, his hands. A boy tried to climb him like a tree. A girl wrapped her arms around his knee and refused to let go.

Jasmine stepped aside with a knowing smile, watching her man disappear under a pile of orphans.

Quinlan let it happen. He ruffled one’s hair. He lifted a boy onto his shoulder. He let the girl on his knee ride along for three steps before setting her down gently.

“Did you fight a dragon yet?!” one boy demanded.

“No, but I did fight a terrible demon.”

<Hey.>

Nyxara wasn’t impressed.

“A demon?!”

“Yes, she was a horribly greedy creature who tried to eat me alive.”

<Hey- okay, that’s kinda fair. But I’m still mad. How dare you?!>

“Did you WIN?!”

“Obviously.”

The nuns rushed over and collected the kids soon enough. Just like that, Jasmine’s hand found his again as they walked on, watching.

Bearkin had claimed the heavy labor roles without being asked. Huge, broad-shouldered men and women hauling timber and stone with a strength that made even the dwarves look twice. They worked steadily, and even if their expressions were guarded, their hands were not idle.

A pair of tigerkin stood watch at the edge of the district with their arms crossed. They tracked Quinlan as he passed, and one of them dipped her chin the smallest amount. An acknowledgment between predators. Nothing more was offered. Nothing more was needed.

Dogkin moved through the crowds with a natural ease that the other beastkin lacked. Social by nature. A dogkin woman had already integrated herself into a human trading stall, chatting with customers and organizing inventory with a wagging tail she clearly couldn’t control. Two dogkin boys were playing fetch with the human children in the street, the species barrier apparently irrelevant when a ball was involved.

Catkin were harder to spot. A few lingered on rooftops and window ledges, watching the activity below with half-lidded eyes. One sat on a chimney, tail swaying, doing absolutely nothing productive. She looked deeply content.

Bunnykin clustered near the market, their natural skittishness offset by an equally natural talent for trade. Quick hands sorted goods. Quick eyes tracked prices. A bunnykin woman with long ears and a ledger was keeping pace with the human census-taker, her handwriting faster and her numbers cleaner.

Not all the freed slaves, be they dwarf, elf, or beastkin, looked at Quinlan the same way.

Some bowed. Deeply, formally, the way people bowed to the one who broke their chains. A bearkin man with scars across his neck and wrists pressed a fist to his chest when Quinlan passed. His eyes were wet. He said nothing.

Others looked away. A catkin woman on a ledge pulled her knees to her chest when his shadow passed beneath her. A wolfkin who had been carrying lumber set his load down, stared at Quinlan for a long moment, then picked it back up and kept walking.

A few met his gaze with something harder. Pride. Wariness. The look of someone who was grateful for freedom but intended to make very clear that gratitude was not servitude. They were promised a good life by coming here, and intended to ensure the deal was honored.

Good.

Quinlan didn’t demand servitude. He wanted people who could build, who were ready to embrace the new norm and move on.

Jasmine had been watching. She leaned into his arm as they walked, her cheek pressing briefly against his shoulder. “They’re adjusting. It’ll take time. Some of them were in chains for centuries.”

“I know.”