Primordial Villain With A Slave Harem - Chapter 852

Chapter 852: Passage of Time [Bonus]
“You’re really not going to tease me about this? About being under you again?”

She blinked once, then shrugged. “Why? You earned it. And it’s a good position for a massage, how else am I supposed to do it properly? From the side? Please… I’m still an amateur, I’m honestly just fumbling around.”

Simple. Honest. So very Serika.

Quinlan chuckled into his folded arms. “I might’ve only just met you recently, but I think you’re an incredible person. Sincere, strong, focused, trustworthy.”

Her hands slowed.

“Yeah?” she said softly.

“Yeah.”

She didn’t reply. But her hands moved again, slower now. Gentler. The fire had dimmed into embers—warmth without burn, touch without tension.

By the time she was done, he was half-asleep beneath her.

She leaned down once more and whispered against his ear, “Massage complete, humble and diligent student of mine. But don’t get used to it.”

“Too late. I think I’m already an addict…” he whispered in response, earning himself a bright smile from the Fire Sovereign, happy her first time, clumsy massage received such a positive response.

They didn’t kiss. They didn’t cuddle. They didn’t need to.

What they shared in that moment was its own intimacy. Not romantic. Not platonic. Something forged in sweat and fire, in bruises and trust.

Something very them.

Time passed. Days bled into one another.

Mornings began with the crunch of dirt beneath bare feet, sweat glistening on sun-warmed skin, and the clash of fists that were sharper than steel. Quinlan’s control over the elements grew—not necessarily in power, but in fluidity. Wind moved through his legs. Fire flickered in his strikes. Earth rooted his stance. Water taught him to yield, then flow back harder. Each motion became more instinctual. More natural. More his.

But it was Serika’s fists that forged him.

Each duel of theirs left him bruised, bloodied, and a better combatant than before.

She showed no mercy. She never would.

“Breathe deeper,” she’d growl between blows. “You fight too tight. The wind doesn’t clench its fists.”

Then she’d slam her knee into his ribs and knock him flat.

Their battles weren’t just training: they were alchemy. Sweat, pain, qi, and relentless intent transmuting Quinlan into something harder. Something purer. He learned to read the pressure of her punches, the rhythm of her intent. She forced him to bend. But she never let him break.

…

Evenings brought river mist and quiet rituals.

The water ran cold. Their bodies, heated from the fight, welcomed it like an old lover. They washed one another not with lust, but respect for each other. Her fingers ran over aching muscles, scrubbing away blood and dust, while his fingers cleansed her body of the sweat she’d worked up. His hands would linger on the curve of her back, her scarred shoulders. Hers would trail along his chest, where bruises bloomed like purple clouds.

There was tension. But never crossing the line. Never indulging.

Only care. Intimate, human, earned.

…

Nights were… quieter. But no less intense.

Serika’s massages became a nightly ritual he’d earn through gritted teeth and bloodied body in their ‘training sessions.’ He’d refuse to tap out for the day until she relented, saying her student once again deserved his reward.

Once, she tried doing it clothed. He winced. “It’s worse with fabric on. The drag throws it off.”

Serika didn’t suspect any foul play going on as she sighed, “Is that so? I’m still lacking as a masseuse, it seems.”

Quinlan felt a bit bad about lying to her, but then again, did he lie at all? Her massage technique was getting better rapidly, and he was certain she could easily earn a comfortable living by becoming a professional massager, but he was entirely truthful when he said her being naked made it feel even better on his skin—and most importantly, soul.

The sensations of that were simply heavenly.

She tested the theory. Stripped bare. Oiled her hands—and her skin—before beginning again.

From then on, she never did it in clothes after seeing how quickly her student melted into the towel and her touch.

It wasn’t sexual. It wasn’t chaste. But it was the definition of the word ‘intimate.’

Her hands, strong and calloused, pressed into the knots of his shoulders. Her thighs straddled his lower back as she leaned in, muscles moving beneath slick skin. Her breath was steady. Her rhythm was precise. She pressed deeper, chasing out fatigue, coaxing balance back into his body with every push of palm and curl of fingers.

Sometimes she whispered advice on how to improve even further as a combatant while she worked his body, getting new ideas as she replayed the day’s fights in her head.

Sometimes she was silent, merely enjoying the moment for what it was.

Always, she stayed until he slept and brought him back to their camp in her hands.

…

And so the days passed. Waking up. Training. Washing. Training. Washing. Massages. Sleeping. Repeat.

Quinlan’s control sharpened. He started anticipating the shift in elements, riding them mid-strike. When Serika lunged, he’d slide back with wind beneath his heels. When she went low, he’d harden like stone. He couldn’t beat her just yet.

But he was catching up.

Until one afternoon when Serika’s fist found his stomach with the force of a battering ram…

*Crack!*

The world tilted. His breath left him behind. His ribs screamed. His back arched as the punch launched him into the sky like a comet tearing through clouds.

But then…

A tingle.

It bloomed from his core. Not pain. Not fear. A rising sensation, like the moment before lightning strikes.

His spine shivered. His qi surged.

The wind whispered to him. The earth called to him. The water in the air shimmered around him. Fire sang in his blood.

Perfect balance.

Harmonized qi. Refined core.

And something more.

He smiled widely while spitting a red mist of blood into the wind.

His body burned.

His soul surged.

He was ready.

The breakthrough to the True Foundation stage had come.