Primordial Villain With A Slave Harem - Chapter 1530 The Goddess Who Kept Score
Chapter 1530 The Goddess Who Kept Score
Complaint #13,042: Declared himself sovereign over denizens of MY world without so much as a prayer in my direction. Evil Boy has no concept of divine protocol. Complaint #13,043: His subjects are already more comfortable than citizens of most established kingdoms. This makes it significantly harder to argue he is an evil tyrant when his conquered people have heated floors and running water and mine do not, universally. Complaint #13,044: Built an entire city in a single afternoon. This is not a complaint about the city itself. The infrastructure is adequate. The complaint is that he did it with the ease of a man arranging furniture, which makes every architect and city planner I have watched labor for decades look inadequate by comparison. Their prayers will be less grateful now. Lilyanna’s fingers moved with the focused intensity of a goddess who had been watching a certain, so-called ‘Evil Boy’ commit sacrilege after sacrilege for hours. The notebook hovered before her, its starlight cover pulsing in rhythm with her irritation while the tiny celestial charms along its spine jingled with each furious page turn. Constellations twinkled across the binding as her thoughts pressed into the pages faster than any mortal hand could write.
She sat cross-legged on her throne, one leg bouncing, jaw tight, looking less like a divine administrator and more like a woman composing a very long letter to someone who would never read it.
Below her gaze, the mortal plane unfolded in perfect clarity. The settlement stretched in every direction, compressed earth walls and frosted quartz windows catching the last of the evening light. Roads glowed faintly from geothermal heat. Children ran barefoot through winter streets. A hundred thousand people filled a city that had been frozen dirt this morning.
And there he was.
Floating above it all in that insufferable black armor, one arm around a woman’s waist, suspended in the cold evening air as if gravity were a suggestion he had politely declined.
Complaint #13,045: Uses the name ‘Lilyanna’ to refer to me in front of mortals. I have NEVER given my name to the denizens of Thalorind. It is a private name, sacred to the divine sphere. Evil Boy spoke it publicly as if it were common knowledge. My Arch Priestess now knows it. His lovers know it. His soul soldiers probably know it. I would not be surprised if the craftsman’s wife knows it by tomorrow.
Below, Quinlan pulled Jasmine closer against his side. The woman leaned into him, her coat fluttering in the wind, and the crowd beneath them continued to chant.
Lilyanna’s pen-hand froze.
He kissed her.
In front of everyone.
In the middle of a speech.
Twenty meters above a city square.
The notebook trembled in the air as three complaints materialized almost simultaneously.
Complaint #13,046: Public displays of affection during an official address to newly conquered subjects. This is not proper governance. This is crude spectacle.
Complaint #13,047: The kiss lasted an unreasonable duration. Physical affection of this nature should be conducted in private, behind closed doors, preferably by candlelight with a crackling fireplace and the sound of rain against the windows. Not suspended above a hundred thousand gawking strangers!!
Complaint #13,048: His lover kissed him back. Enthusiastically. With her arms around his neck. In the wind. This is somehow worse.
Lilyanna stared at the scene for several seconds longer than the complaints required, her cosmic eyes tracking the way Jasmine’s hair caught the evening light and the way Quinlan’s gauntleted hand rested against the small of her back.
She blinked once and snapped her gaze back to the notebook.
Complaint #13,049: Just looking at him infuriates me!
Below, the chanting changed.
“Benevolent Sovereign!”
Voices layered over voices, spreading through the streets in uneven waves. Some enthusiastic, some grudging, all of them calling for the man who had conquered their city this morning and kissed a woman in their sky this evening.
Lilyanna’s left eye twitched.
Complaint #13,050: Uses the title ‘Benevolent Sovereign.’ BENEVOLENT. The man who attacked my Arch Priestess, corrupted my body, called me a bratty goddess on multiple occasions, and decreed that he does not care for my claim over the people of Thalorind. Him! Benevolent! Evil Boy has the audacity to accept that title with a straight face! He didn’t even try declining!
Complaint #13,051: MY denizens are chanting HIS name. People I have watched over for generations, whose prayers I have received since infancy, whose lives I have guided and protected within MY world, are calling a man who has existed in Thalorind for less than a year their sovereign.
She paused.
Complaint #13,052: And he’s smirking about it. That smug, satisfied, insufferable grin beneath that helmet he finally had the decency to remove.
She watched as Jasmine spread her arms wide above the chanting city, as Quinlan’s grip tightened on her waist, as the woman shouted something into the wind that made the crowd surge louder. His lover then said words that made Lilyanna’s grip on the notebook loosen just a fraction.
“I love you, Quinlan Elysiar.”
Spoken aloud. Full name. Voice cracking with a raw sincerity that carried even to a divine observer.
Lilyanna watched the tears roll down the woman’s cheeks and the way Quinlan’s gauntleted hand reached for her face, and the way his armor rippled and pulled back from his fingers so he could touch her with bare skin.
The notebook drifted lower in the air, forgotten for a moment.
“Such a beautiful scene…” she whispered under her breath. The words slipped out before she could stop them. Then the Goddess caught herself, straightened on her throne, and flipped to the next page.
Complaint #13,053: He is corrupting my denizens with his shameless behavior and open affection. The women in the crowd are looking at their husbands with murderous expressions. The men are shrinking. A teenage girl is arguing that conquest can be romantic. He has destabilized more marriages in a single evening than the Withered Pantheon managed in a century.
She wrote twelve more complaints in rapid succession, each one more specific and agitated than the last. The notebook’s constellations flared brighter with every entry, tiny stars pulsing as if feeding off her frustration.
But after the twelfth, her hand slowed.
Her fingers drifted from the notebook to her own face.
The blemish was still there. The corruption mark that marred the cosmic patterns on her cheek, that dulled the glow of her skin where it should have flowed clean and bright. She traced the edge of it with her fingertips, feeling the boundary where purity gave way to the stain he had forced into her.
“I should have let him suffer longer,” she murmured.
The notebook hovered patiently beside her.
“I healed him too quickly. He learned nothing from the experience. A few more hours of agony would have instilled proper respect for the being who saved his life.”
She turned her gaze back to the mortal plane, where Quinlan was resting his chin on top of Jasmine’s head while the city below them glowed amber in the fading light.
“I should have made him grovel first. A sincere, lengthy, detailed apology delivered on his knees before I lifted a single finger. Before I even LOOKED at him!”
His armor reshaped itself into a mantle around Jasmine’s shoulders. The woman pressed into it, and the smile on her face could have heated the settlement without the magma system.
“…He was already dying when I started,” Lilyanna said quietly. Her hand pressed flat against her corrupted cheek. “His arm was destroyed. His body was failing. There was no time for groveling.”
She stared at the two figures in the sky, holding each other above a city full of people who chanted for a man they had feared this morning.
“I should have at least made him say please.”
The notebook drifted closer, as if nudging her. She glanced at it, then at the corruption mark reflected faintly in the construct beneath her throne.
“…He called it a battle scar,” she murmured. “He said it made me look strong.”
A pause.
“The audacity.”
She picked up the notebook again, flipped past the complaints, and set it down on her lap.
“I need a break,” she announced to the empty divine space. “Even a goddess can only endure so much of Evil Boy in one sitting. My blood pressure is approaching levels that should be impossible for a cosmic entity.”
The notebook pulsed once, as if in disapproval.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
She leaned back in her throne, exhaled slowly, and let her eyes drift closed.
Three seconds of peace passed.
Then the corruption on her cheek flared.
The pain hit like a needle driven into bone.
