Primordial Villain With A Slave Harem - Chapter 1553 Colliding Lines

Chapter 1553  Colliding Lines

Seven elements aimed at his chest.

Morgana chose two.

Wind gathered beneath her palms and fire poured into it, the gust feeding the flames until the air between her hands screamed with compressed heat. The spell built in less than a second, a spiraling lance of superheated wind that glowed white at its core and pulled the surrounding air inward with enough suction to stagger the soul soldiers closest to the blast zone.

“[Infernal Gale]!”

The lance punched forward.

Quinlan’s hands clapped together and the earth answered. Stone erupted from the ground in layered sheets, each one slamming into place behind the last, forming a dome around him that thickened with every fraction of a second he poured mana into it.

[Infernal Gale] hit the dome and the outermost layer exploded into powder. The second layer cracked. The third buckled inward, glowing cherry-red as the superheated wind melted through stone like a forge through wax. Quinlan fed more mana into the base and a fourth layer formed, then a fifth, and the lance ground against them in a shrieking contest of output that scattered burning debris across the field in every direction.

Soul soldiers caught in the peripheral heat dissolved outright. The ground around the dome baked into glass.

The spell died.

Morgana lowered her hands. Her breathing was even, her mana channels humming with the steady output of a woman who had been doing this for longer than most people on this continent had been alive.

The dome cracked apart from the inside.

Quinlan rose from behind it, shaking powder and molten slag from his shoulders.

“Two elements at once. Not bad,” he said, rolling his neck.

Morgana’s eyes twitched.

She remembered the last time.

Greenvale. The burning estate. She’d hit him with [The Storm Sovereign’s Judgment] and the strike had punched through four layers of conjured stone, torn through that infuriating armor of his, and hit flesh. She’d felt the impact, felt his mana buckle under a spell that should have turned any other mage on this continent into a smoking corpse.

And he’d survived.

His armor had screamed, pouring every drop of its power into absorbing the blow, and the cursed thing burned itself out protecting him. She remembered the dark plates going lifeless, the red veins dying.

Then he ran.

Just like he always did. Dragged the Venomborne Terror through a portal and vanished while Morgana was left screaming at empty air and a drained artifact that would never activate again. Black Fang’s slash across her chest had forced it, a single cut so fast and so heavy that a Legendary-grade treasure burned its entire reserve just keeping her alive.

The scar still pulled when she breathed too deep.

‘Not this time.’

Her mana cycled. The elements reformed around her hands, already building the next spell before the debris from the first had finished falling.

“Last time, you ran,” she growled. “You deceived me and had your little assassin do the dirty work while you ran through a hole in space.”

Quinlan’s expression didn’t change as he replied, “The order of events in your recounting doesn’t quite match up, but yeah sure, we can roll with that.”

Veins of anger shone on her neck. “I won’t let you run again.”

Quinlan finally grinned. “I have no plans of running from you ever again, Rabid Dog.”

That gave her pause. A flicker behind those cycling irises, the briefest disruption in the mana patterns swirling through her pupils. Every previous encounter had ended with him creating distance the moment the exchange began.

Him standing his ground was new.

Morgana’s gaze swept the field.

This time, the Fujimori hadn’t brought an entire army. They’d learned that lesson the hard way. Tens of thousands of soldiers marching against the Primordial Villain were just fuel for his necromancy, warm bodies waiting to be harvested and added to the ranks they were supposed to be fighting. Every soldier who fell became a soldier who rose and turned.

So Kaede brought five hundred.

Five hundred elites, hand-selected from the clan’s strongest, warriors who could hold their ground against soul soldiers without being overrun and killed in the process. They hit the soul army’s offensive regiment from the southern flank in a formation so tight that every blade struck in coordination with the ones beside it, centuries of shared training turning five hundred individuals into a single cutting edge.

Elder Chizuru held the left wing together. The Scarlet Lilies anchored the right.

Lilith fought at the head of them, her spellblade carving through soul soldiers with the same ferocity she’d carried since the moment she set foot on this battlefield. Jallen’s spear took a mage through the chest on her right. Bronnya’s tower shield caught a volley meant for Void, and Void’s return fire erased a squad of fighters who’d tried to flank them.

They fought well. They fought the way they’d always fought, women who had been covering each other’s weaknesses for four hundred years.

But the soul army fought back.

The dead held their positions when the line broke and traded steel until their bodies gave out, and the ones who fell stayed down until Quinlan found the time and mana to raise them again.

Every soul soldier killed was a genuine loss, a body removed from the field that wouldn’t return on its own, and the Fujimori elites exploited that truth with ruthless efficiency, targeting mages and healers before grinding through the tankers holding the line together. They dismantled the formation the way you dismantled a wall: brick by brick.

Scar’s voice rang across the line, repositioning squads to meet the pressure, but five hundred elites of this caliber supported by the Scarlet Lilies and Morgana’s Royal Guards was a weight her regiment couldn’t absorb without bleeding.

And in the center of it all, two women had found each other.

Black Fang and Kaede Fujimori met in the gap between formations, and the air between them turned violent.

There were no words. The last time they’d faced each other, Black Fang had taken Kaede’s arms, then her legs, then driven a blade through her chest while Kitsara wore her sister’s face and spat on her as she died. There was nothing left to say after that. Every word had been spoken with steel and venom and the double middle fingers of a foxkin standing over a limbless body.

Kaede was holding her own better this time.

Her blade met Black Fang’s katana in an exchange that scattered sparks across the scorched earth. Kaede had grown since their last encounter, her body adjusted to the power her sword fed her, the movements sharper and more integrated than the raw, straining effort Black Fang remembered from Greenvale. The young duchess fought like a woman who had spent every waking hour since her resurrection drilling the gaps that had gotten her killed.

Black Fang adjusted in the second exchange. She read the improvement, catalogued it, and shifted her footwork to compensate. Her purple eyes tracked Kaede’s blade with the flat, clinical focus of a predator recalculating the threat level of prey that had grown teeth since the last hunt.

Kaede pressed harder. She wanted through. She wanted past Black Fang and into the space where Quinlan stood surrounded by his dead, because killing the necromancer solved everything. One kill and the board collapsed.

Black Fang didn’t let her.