Primordial Villain With A Slave Harem-Chapter 795: No Permission to Leave

Chapter 795: No Permission to Leave

Author: one of you asked for Quinlan's picture in his new getup. I couldn't get the serpent and crescent moon properly on the back, but I hope it's good enough as is. Also, I forgot to upload the pictures of the two new characters yesterday for the first 20 minutes, so they're here as well.

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With a stream of curses and wounded pride trailing behind, Zhang Yong vanished into the trees.

Or so he would've preferred to.

As he began running away, the man's deep, masculine voice rang behind him.

"I don't remember giving you permission to leave."

Zhang Yong froze mid-step.

The voice hadn't been loud. Hadn't been angry.

But it commanded, reminding the young man of the authoritative aura his sect elders wielded.

He turned around slowly with disbelief evident on his features. His mouth hung slightly open, struggling to process what he'd just heard.

"…What?" he whispered.

The man hadn't moved.

He stood there, backlit by the sunlight filtering through the trees. The shadows around him seemed too dark, too still. As if the forest itself recognized something ancient and dangerous in his presence.

Zhang Yong's voice rose with each word, as high-pitched fury climbed up his throat.

"I-I gave you a chance to live! A chance! Do you know who I am?! I'm Zhang Yong, the fifth young master of the Seastone Clan! I come from generations of elemental cultivators, blessed by water, tempered by legacy! I command the very oceans! I was being merciful! And you-you-you dare-!"

The man moved.

Not toward him. Not a step forward.

Just a hand. Slowly, deliberately, he reached to his side and wrapped his fingers around the hilt of a pitch-black saber. It didn't have any fancy engravings wealthy people liked to decorate their blades with, making it unremarkable in appearance. But when he drew it from its scabbard with a slow *shhhk!* the metal caught the light.

And swallowed it.

No gleam. No shine.

The saber was hungry.

Zhang Yong flinched. Trembled even, but just for a second.

Then he gritted his teeth and straightened his spine. "So be it," he spat. "You've made your choice. Prepare to face the Seastone Clan's signature combat style: Flowing Tide!"

His feet shifted. His qi surged. Water swirled up from his sleeves and circled around him in spiraling threads. The air grew damp. Charged.

From the ground, Feng Jiai pushed herself up weakly as her eyes widened in horror.

"NO!" she cried, looking at her would-be savior's broad back. Feng Jiai might've called for help, but she didn't want any innocent person to die for her.

"Run! You idiot, run! H-He's not weak! He's not some arrogant young master with no talent! Zhang Yong is a prodigy! He trained under the clan elders since birth, and he's already defeated cultivators twice his age!"

The man turned his head slightly.

Not toward Zhang Yong.

Toward the girl.

His face was calm. Nonchalant even.

"…Good. Sounds like he'll make a decent sparring partner."

"What?" she gasped.

"I need to get used to how you people fight here." His pitch-black saber rested against his shoulder now, casual as a broom handle. "And this loser's flailing reminds me of how I was before my sexy oriental teacher taught me the ropes. My senses are telling me he should be just strong enough to gain insight into how things work over here."

Zhang Yong's eye twitched.

"YOU DARE-"

"Enough of your screeching already. Let's roll, fifth young master of the Seastone Clan."

He tilted his head, cracking his neck as the pitch-black saber slid from his shoulder and fell into a loose grip by his side. It didn't float. It didn't burn with ghostly blue fire. It didn't whisper with death.

No.

The Soul Reaper, once a hovering specter-bound weapon of necrotic power, had become… mundane. Its otherworldly flames had been snuffed out, its eerie aura suppressed. Whatever rules this world played by, they'd wrapped chains around Quinlan's powers the moment he crossed over. The blade no longer obeyed his will, meaning there were no more mid-air telekinetics, no more soul-harvesting strikes.

But that was fine.

Because even without classes, without spells, without cheat-code necromancy or flashy techniques, he wasn't helpless.

His body had been honed through painstaking effort.

Tempered by the [Primordial Breeding Physique], every cell in his frame pulsed with monstrous potential. Vitality. Strength. Agility. Reflex. Stamina. That alone was enough to make him superhuman among mortals, granting him 5 base stats to all his physical attributes. But more than that, he had trained.

Every single day, he had clashed with Ayame. She didn't pull her strikes. And neither did he.

He'd lived through brutal battles and torturous events, such as the year he spent mastering the elements on the dying world with the primordial essences rampaging through his insides, which honed his body beyond the limit.

Furthermore, he now had eight women. Those girls might not have been primordials, but they certainly had immense stamina and great sexual drive of their own. Their steamy, sweaty battles that lasted long into the nights had given Quinlan immense endurance, his body polished to satisfy all his women, no matter what it takes. He refused to leave a single one of them wanting for more.

As such, even if he were to lose the 5 base points from [Primordial Breeding Physique], he wouldn't return to his original self, which only had 10 base attributes in each stat. He had already reached around 15 in each attribute on his own, no supernatural spells or abilities needed.

So as Zhang Yong entered a half-crouched stance with feet flowing into smooth arcs across the dirt road—this being his clan's signature Flowing Tide footwork, graceful and efficient—Quinlan merely exhaled in concentration.

Zhang blinked.

"…!! You! Wait just a second…" His brow furrowed, sensing something.

He squinted. Scanned Quinlan up and down. And then… burst out laughing.

"Don't tell me…" Zhang's voice dripped with incredulous amusement. "You're not even in the Qi Gathering Stage?"

Quinlan gave a dismissive shrug. "I don't even know what that means."

Zhang actually stumbled back from laughing too hard.

"You're a peasant!" he howled. "A filthy pig who can't even sense qi! Hah! This! This is insulting!"

He drew his own blade in a flash. It was a thin, ocean-blue longsword that flowed like water against the air. Although Quinlan couldn't quite see it yet with his own eyes, Qi pulsed along the edge, coating it in a slick, gentle sheen.

"I eat bugs like you for breakfast. With my eyes closed!"