Primordial Villain With A Slave Harem - Chapter 876

Chapter 876: The Still Heart [Bonus]

He felt the weight of earth, not as stone, but as foundation. Duty. Loyalty. The stillness inside a soul that never breaks.

He felt the breath of wind, not as motion, but as freedom. Restlessness. The pure, unchained spirit that moves because nothing is meant to stay.

He felt the flow of water, not as softness, but as resilience. The quiet surrender that survives anything. The grace to bend without breaking.

He felt the fire inside himself, not as destruction, but as life uncontained. Desire. Fury. Passion that screamed ‘I exist, and I will not be ignored!’

This… this is what they meant.

It wasn’t about techniques or cultivation theory.

It was about emotion. About letting the soul align with the element, not tame it.

Embody it.

His core screamed again, and then opened.

The storm didn’t stop.

It synchronized.

Fire no longer fought water. Wind no longer escaped earth. The chaos spiraled inward, into a harmony deeper than logic could follow.

Quinlan’s soul bloomed.

One breath.

One heartbeat.

The elements aligned with his very existence.

His instincts aligned with his emotions.

And for the first time…

He was not just a cultivator of the four elements.

He was their embodiment.

And then, his heart shifted.

Not metaphorically. Not symbolically.

Literally.

It began to transform.

A pulse of raw pressure exploded from his chest, not outward but inward, deep into the fabric of his inner world. His meridians trembled. His core ignited. But it was his heart that became the center of the storm.

Time slowed.

The chaos of four raging elements—once clashing, now synchronized—spiraled into stillness. Into silence.

His inner world darkened.

No longer the violent blaze of fire, the rushing tides of water, the drifting winds, or the trembling stone.

Just… stillness.

Like a void that wasn’t empty, but waiting.

A single ripple crossed the center of his soulscape, then vanished.

Then, in the deepest chamber of himself…

A new heart began to beat.

…

It beat once.

The ghost of fear, of doubt, of hesitation… gone.

It beat again.

And his perception exploded outward, clean and razor-sharp. He could sense killing intent even where none was shown. He could hear the thrum of battle beyond the walls, the breathing of enemies across stone.

He could feel the heat of emotion, without drowning in it.

He could see without sight.

It beat a third time.

And the flood of absolute control rushed through him.

His qi flowed without resistance. His thoughts moved without clutter. His instincts and intentions aligned into a single, honed edge.

This was no trance.

This was no battle high.

This was the Still Heart.

…

Quinlan opened his eyes.

The meditative trance was gone.

And yet, his mind was calmer than it had ever been.

The flames flickering around him no longer danced wildly. They hovered in place, obedient to will alone.

Water rose in spiraling arcs without spilling a drop.

Wind curled like loyal serpents.

Stone lifted with the weight of judgment.

He stood.

Not as a man breaking through.

But as a being who’d been redefined.

Not mastering the elements.

Becoming them.

…

He inhaled, and with that breath came the world, its sound, its emotion, its danger, its rhythm.

He exhaled…

And the very atmosphere quaked.

The pulse from before—the one the others had felt—was now a tide. A crashing declaration to every soul present:

‘The Avatar has awoken.’

…

Feng’s voice pierced through the haze.

“Quin!”

She burst from the rubble that was once the terrace’s foundation, coughing up dust. Her robes were torn, her qi battered, but her eyes, those big blue-black eyes, shone with unshakable belief.

Belief in none other than the man who’d changed her entire life. Who saved her, who protected her, who even had the gall to steal her heart.

Without hesitation, she threw his saber, a dark blade of pitch-black metal. The Soul Reaper. His great treasure.

It cut through the air with a shriek.

Quinlan’s right hand rose.

He caught it.

Not roughly, not clumsily, but with a precise, practiced elegance, as if its rightful place could only be in his hand.

He turned the weapon once, then again, slicing sharp arcs through the air. The very wind cried as the edge passed, drawn toward him like loyal spirits recognizing their master.

It felt natural. He knew that the saber had been waiting for him to arrive. To reach out for it so that it could begin butchering their enemies.

Then, he focused inwardly and felt it all.

Not with his eyes.

Not with his ears.

With his very spirit, his soul.

The Spirit Tempering Realm opened to him like a new sense.

Fire blazed within Serika, her battle-worn body surrounded by the brilliant, unruly aura of passion incarnate. Her flames were more than heat: they were conviction, rage, love, and pride woven into a burning banner she held high against the dark.

Water stirred behind him, and through it came Nalai. Her presence—a ripple in a vast pond—was no longer serene. Panic now tainted her rhythm, uncertainty bleeding through her perfect calm. He felt her fear. Not of battle, but of regret. The question ‘Had I made the wrong choice?’ rang through her head.

Wind danced everywhere, and through it, Quinlan felt movement, intent, and focus. Even as Venthros fought off Serika, Rykar, and Rongtai at once, Quinlan could feel it. The god’s attention never strayed from him.

Like a predator waiting for its moment.

Or a usurper fearing prophecy.

It wasn’t arrogance.

It was calculation.

Earth groaned beneath the battlefield, and from it, Quinlan sensed the scale of the Sovereigns’ strength. The brutal weight of Rykar’s blows, the sheer gravitational intensity of Rongtai’s every step. Their titanic strikes echoed in the terrain like war drums.

But the land didn’t shudder beneath Quinlan.

It held him.

Like a throne that welcomed its king.

The saber hummed in his hand.

His breath slowed.

His spine straightened.

His spirit burned with a perfectly aligned purpose.

He stepped forward once.

And the battlefield paused.

Even the flames in the distance seemed to hesitate.

Then Quinlan raised the saber.

And pointed it right at God Venthros.

His voice rang out—steady, calm, and absolute.

“You’re going down.”