Primordial Villain With A Slave Harem - Chapter 875

Chapter 875: No Mere Boy [Bonus]

The world shifted.

A pulse erupted from deep beneath the scorched arena.

Like the heartbeat of a slumbering god, it was slow, calm, and utterly absolute.

Venthros paused, his head tilting toward the epicenter of the tremor. His eyes narrowed. For a heartbeat, even he looked uncertain.

Then the ground rumbled again.

The pulse came again, stronger, purer, more refined.

He didn’t hesitate.

With all four arms, God Venthros pointed toward the source of the resonance: Quinlan Elysiar, the Primordial Villain, still seated in his trance, surrounded by swirling elemental chaos, and summoned an elemental obliteration.

Four distinct lances: one of flame, one of water, one of storm, and one of stone, formed in an instant and hurtled toward Quinlan with annihilating intent.

But he never got the chance to kill the evolving Avatar.

Because three figures moved to intercept.

“OVER MY DEAD BODY!”

Serika’s voice cracked across the battlefield as a furious, guttural scream tore free from her throat.

She erupted into motion with flames igniting behind her like wings of wrath. Her body blurred forward, intercepting the four-pronged attack with an explosion of red-orange fury.

Rongtai appeared beside her like a mountain reappearing from mist, arms crossed as he blocked two of the elemental lances with a stone barrier so dense its weight alone was enough to crack the ground beneath him once he landed.

And Rykar, the old man who was bleeding, barely standing, raised a battered prosthetic hand, summoning a sphere of protective blast that swallowed the final strike whole. His body trembled, but his eyes held steady.

The blast wave shattered the walls. Fire and light screamed in every direction.

But Quinlan, in the center of it all, did not stir.

He sat unmoving. Unaware.

Unreachable.

The elements continued to swirl violently around him.

Venthros lowered his hands, frowning.

“Still clinging to that boy?”

“If you thought him to be a mere boy, then you would’ve kept ignoring him as you’ve done before! But instead of doing just that, you tried to finish him while he couldn’t fight back!” Serika declared victoriously as she planted two feet firmly into the shattered ground, standing in front of Quinlan like a shield of living flame, her body cracked, her armor melting.

She glared at Venthros with the fury of a thousand suns as she declared proudly:

“Quinlan is the Avatar. The man who’ll end your miserable existence. Even if you can’t conceive losing to him logically, you’re afraid of the prophesy.”

Behind her, Rykar finally stumbled, caught by Rongtai.

None of them said anything more.

But all three stood in silent defiance, forming an unbreakable wall of elemental might and sheer will.

And behind them…

The pulse came again.

Stronger.

Clearer.

…

The storm swirled around Quinlan.

Fire lashed against water. Wind clashed with earth. His core screamed beneath the pressure, fracturing, reforging, before fracturing all over again. The elements warred within him, not in chaos, but in search of order he had not yet understood.

Quinlan sat at the center of it all, unmoving. And yet, deep inside him, he was unraveling.

“You still haven’t embraced them,” Serika had said.

“You use the elements. But you do not become them.”

At the time, he thought he understood. But now, standing at the edge of destruction, teetering between ascension and obliteration…

He finally admitted the truth:

He never really saw what she and all the others meant.

He had known the words. But he had never felt them.

Now, his mind drifted—no, was pulled—into the memory of the Sovereigns.

Serika.

She burned like war incarnate. Her combat was wild, explosive, and raw. A tempest of kicks, strikes, and fury that could sunder the sky. But it wasn’t just her style that matched fire.

It was her very soul.

She thought like fire. Raged like it. Lived like it.

An inferno that consumed everything, even abstract concepts such as hesitation, doubt, and weakness.

Zephyr came next.

The Wind Sovereign’s talented younger brother, a fellow Spirit Tempering stage wind cultivator.

He slept through meetings, vanished when bored, and never explained his techniques properly. He straight-up danced in battle while others stepped—his body moved like a breeze over water, never staying, never still.

Yet when danger came—when the prophesied Invader who’d killed his sister appeared—he became a blade of wind.

Sharper than silence. Unpredictable. Uncatchable.

He was the wind. In spirit, in motion, in will.

Then Rongtai.

The Earth Sovereign. Still as a mountain. His steps never faltered. His words were few, his presence unshakable. Even when battle broke loose, he didn’t react.

He endured.

No matter the enemy, even when facing a literal god in a duel, he did not yield. Because the earth did not yield. Its patience was infinite. Its foundation, eternal.

And Nalai.

Graceful. Fluid. Deadly.

Her water danced, her strikes curved, her flow adapted.

But more than her technique, it was her mind that mirrored water most.

When a river faces a wall, it does not crash.

It bends.

Her world had been invaded, and once she saw the might of the invader, she hadn’t resisted because in her mind, it was as good as over. The odds were too stacked against them. Thus, instead of resisting, she elected to go with the path where she and her sister could potentially lead even more fulfilling lives than they had in Zhenwu by exploring the vast unknown, and potentially becoming so strong that they could live for many thousands of years.

According to her words, she asked God Venthros for a few weeks of time to see if she could put her faith in Quinlan. When she saw that his progress was too slow, she changed paths, like a stream that was rerouted. Not out of mere cowardice, no. Doing so was simply in her nature.

Water adapts. Water survives.

That was the final piece.

Quinlan gasped. Not from pain, but from realization.

All this time… he had used the elements.

But he had never become them.

Even now, his elemental mastery bent to his fire-born will.

Water was a spear. Wind, a gust to fuel his flame. Earth, a bracing shield.

All tools. All extensions of his fire-loving self.

He had flowed like nothing. Flown like nothing. Endured like nothing.

No wonder his fire always felt right. Because he was like Serika. Like fire.

He relished battle. He devoured risk. He lived to burn forward.

The others? He had only mimicked them on a surface level.

But now…

He dove deeper.

Deeper than theory. Deeper than instinct.

He surrendered.

Not to the pain. Not to the elements.

But to the truth of what they were.