Primordial Villain With A Slave Harem - Chapter 738

Chapter 738: Lion and Lich
…

The pounding of Razeon’s boots echoed through the ornate halls of Lionheart’s royal palace. Sweat streamed down the golden fur of his brow as he rounded the final corner, after which the immense doors of the war room loomed ahead like the jaws of some ancient predator. Twin royal guards, each wielding a massive battle-axe longer than Razeon was tall, stepped forward in unison and crossed their weapons before the entrance.

“Halt.”

“State your business.”

“I have urgent news for the Sunfang!” Razeon barked with urgency. “Now!”

The guards glanced at each other.

Then, reluctantly, they parted their weapons and stepped aside.

Razeon didn’t wait any longer, not caring for etiquette. It wasn’t the time for that. He burst through the doors with his chest heaving and heart racing.

The war room was colossal. Its mithril walls were draped in crimson banners bearing the golden sigil of the Sunfang icon: a lion’s head engulfed in flame. A massive round table dominated the center of the room, surrounded by intricately carved chairs of obsidian and ivory. Magic crystals embedded into the ceiling bathed the space in a warm but distinctly warlike glow.

At the head of the shattered table sat Leohtar Sunfang, often called the Lion of the Ages.

The beast of a king towered even while seated, his muscular bulk stretching the limits of his regal armor, plates layered over a golden furred body decorated with a hundred battle scars he wore with great pride. His mane was thick and streaked with silver, giving him the air of an elder deity of war, which was exactly how many lionkin thought of him. His golden eyes burned with contemptuous confidence as they locked onto Razeon like twin suns peering through stormclouds.

Behind Leohtar stood his most loyal aides: generals, mystics, blood-bound champions. Silent. Watching.

But seated directly across from the king was something else entirely.

A lich.

Draped in regal robes of midnight velvet, the undead abomination was little more than a skeleton crowned in gold and silk. Its sockets blazed with blue necromantic flame, standing as a mockery of life. A cluster of rotting undead surrounded it, some human, some beastkin, all silent, still, and utterly horrifying.

Razeon froze.

He knew this creature well, for he had seen it before on multiple occasions.

But no matter how many times he laid eyes on the robed monstrosity… it always stopped him cold.

That thing wasn’t meant to be alive.

It was a curse wearing bones, a true monster.

Leohtar grunted, breaking the silence. “Well? Speak, Razeon.”

The officer swallowed hard, trying not to look directly at the lich again. “S-sir. From the beast pens. Two… dogkin slaves. They-” he hesitated for a moment, trying his utmost to calm his violently pounding heart, “-they vanished. Disappeared. Not a trace. Like they turned into thin air.”

Leohtar’s brows didn’t even twitch.

“So?” he asked flatly.

The lich’s voice drifted through the chamber like the rustle of withered leaves, each word laced with ancient scorn. “Perhaps those mongrels consumed one another. It would not surprise me. You mortals are ever slaves to your base hungers: flesh, fear, desperation. So fragile. So predictable.”

Razeon shook his head, pushing through his fear. “N-no, my lords. There was no blood. No torn cages. No shattered chains. No sign of magic rupture or conflict. They were just… gone. We questioned the other dogkin women, and they swore they’d not seen the pair.”

A low, guttural growl rippled from Leohtar’s throat.

With a sudden motion, his massive fist slammed into the war table with an earthshaking crack.

The luxuriously crafted furniture came apart, cleanly torn in two down the middle.

From across the ruined table, the lich tilted his head, inspecting the splintered wood with faint curiosity.

“…Wasn’t that the gift we brought him last solstice?” he mumbled to no one in particular. “Or was it the flaming chandelier…? Hmm… No, that one exploded. Yes, definitely exploded.” He paused, tapping his bony jaw. “Ah, well. Add ‘temper tantrums’ to the list of mortal shortcomings. Right under ‘mortality.'”

“Yes, M’lord!” came the enthusiastic reply from a grotesque figure lurking near the edge of the chamber.

The speaker was a once-human creature, but now, he was nothing but a twisted amalgamation of decay and vermin. One side of his body was little more than rotting flesh, with his muscles hanging off brittle bone in thin, gruesome strands. The other half had been warped into something wholly unnatural: coarse grey fur covered his arm and shoulder, with his fingers curled into clawed paws, and his eye—just one, the other had long since been lost due to the many human experiements that were conducted on him—glimmered red with a rodent’s nervous energy.

Ignoring his undead ally’s ramblings, the Sunfang surged to his feet and lunged forward, his hand seizing Razeon’s throat in a single crushing grip.

The officer gagged as he was lifted a full foot into the air.

“Two damned slaves vanished! I get it!” Leohtar roared, his hot breath washing over Razeon like a furnace. “So what?! We are surrounded by over a hundred thousand battle-hardened warriors! We’re about to face the largest battle the lionkin have ever known! Why—why—would I waste even a flicker of thought on two worthless mutts and their damned whereabouts?!”

Razeon’s mouth opened in a strangled gasp as his claws scraped helplessly at the lionkin’s iron grip around his throat. His legs kicked, but Leohtar Sunfang’s hold was absolute. No mercy. No pause.

His vision blurred as the blood to his brain slowed.

But even in those final, dying moments, the officer’s thoughts burned with clarity.

The beast pens weren’t breached…

There were no signs of escape. No struggle.

They didn’t flee… they vanished. Without a trace.

And whatever could do that…

His eyes widened in horror.

They might not be slaves at all.

He tried to speak, to croak the truth he’d just realized, to warn his lord of the storm quietly approaching them.

But Leohtar wasn’t listening.

He never had.

With a final squeeze, the massive lionkin crushed the last breath from Razeon’s lungs. The officer’s body twitched once, then went still. Leohtar grunted in disdain and flung the corpse aside like unwanted, rotten meat. It hit the stone floor with a dull thud, lifeless and already forgotten.

Then, as if nothing had happened, the warlord turned back toward the splintered remnants of the table before settling back into his oversized throne.

“Are your people ready?” he asked.

The skeletal figure across from him let out a raspy, broken cackle. It was unhinged, perfectly conveying the deteriorated state of mind a human-turned-undead might accumulate over its many miserable years conducting research in the darkness of its crypts.

Once done with his manic laughter episode, the lich’s empty sockets gleamed with cruel anticipation. “Ready? Ready doesn’t even begin to describe it. It’s been ages since I last partied. Let’s give that boy Maelstrom a surprise he never dared to expect even in his dreams.”

“You’re one weird and annoying fucker, but alright, Skelly. I’m mobilizing my people. We’ll be victorious in this war, no matter what.”

“Skelly?!”

The lich gasped, a skeletal hand rising to clutch his ribcage like he’d been mortally wounded before realizing that, thank the Goddess, he was still an undead. Then, he whirled toward his assistant—if the rat-faced, half-rotted, half-mutated creature that scuttled around him could be called that.

“Test Subject #9132! Did my whore of a mother truly name me… Skelly?”

The assistant blinked, his pink tail twitching nervously as he clutched a leather-bound tome to his chest. “N-no, Lord Necros. Your… your mother named you Daniel, if my memory is accurate.”

Necros recoiled, his bony frame actually flinching.

“Daniel?! What a horrible name! Daniel sounds like the kind of fool who’d get mugged by a bush. No wonder I despised the woman. Damned mortals.”

“Actually, Lord Necros,” #9132 began hesitantly, flipping open the book containing his notes with a clawed finger, “your diaries suggest you loved your mother dearly. So much so that you spent decades of your mortal life researching resurrection magic in a vain attempt to bring her back. You wrote multiple entries that indicated her death shattered your—”

Necros whipped his staff around and sent a glowing purple torment spell straight into the assistant’s writhing body.

“Silence, #9132! You know rule number 1: never quote me to myself!”

The assistant screeched and spasmed on the floor, eyes glowing like burning embers as magical agony ran through every nerve ending he still had. “S-sorry, Lord Necros! I-aaAAARGH-just thought-AIEEE!!”

Leohtar Sunfang watched the scene unfold with deadpan eyes before standing and leaving the palace flanked by his trusted aides. Undead were known to be incredibly powerful but miserable existences. All of them have traces of insanity, while the older ones, like Necros, tended to become full-blown lunatics thanks to the cruel passage of time and the effect undeath has on a once-mortal mind.

Be that as it may, it was time for the siege of Lionheart to begin in earnest.

…

Author: Apologies for a second message from me in a single day. Author: I’ve decided to offer NSFW images of the slave harem girls on my patreon, with my discord having a small free sample size. On patreon, you’ll find about 35 images of Aurora undressing and giving a nice boobjob and another 35 of Lucille showing off her amazing throat skills. Next on the chopping block is Blossom and Seraphiel. So if you would like to support this humble and hardworking author (even more than you already are) while receiving bonus content meant for such cultured ladies and gentlemen as you are, then I would greatly appreciate your help!