Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 934: Reunited

The Skysplitter samurai, lightning already crackling along her heels from raw emotion and unconscious instinct, blinked to him in a burst of electrical force. Her arms locked around his waist, and her cheek slammed against his ribs. She didn’t say a word, just held on as if letting go would straight-up bring the end of the world. Her world, to be more specific.

Lucille wasn’t far behind. She let out a squeal of joy and leapt with the kind of strength that could split stone, her axe long forgotten. She slammed into him from the side, arms wrapping tight around his back with a growled, “You have no idea how much we missed you…” that was all love and no anger.

Seraphiel came next, her hybrid-class-enhanced body gliding across the clearing in a blur. She wasn’t graceful this time—wasn’t aiming for poise. She just grabbed his arm and pulled herself into the cluster, her other hand curling over his shoulder, fingers trembling with relief.

Aurora and Rosie, the slowest of the group, didn’t let that stop them.

Rosie yelled again, “Daddy!”

Tears spilled down her cheeks, hair fluttering in a wild blur. Aurora, nearly tripping over her own robe in her haste, pushed forward right beside her.

They tackled him together.

Aurora flung her arms around his chest, nearly knocking her forehead into his, while Rosie clung to his midsection, her tiny hands fisting his robe with all the strength she could muster.

In mere moments, Quinlan vanished beneath them, swept off his feet and taken to the ground by the full weight of six women throwing their entire hearts into the embrace.

And he didn’t resist one bit.

He hit the dirt with a loud thud, arms already wide, laughter spilling from his chest like music. He was grinning—perhaps the brightest, fullest smile of his life—as he welcomed them all back into his arms.

Hands gripped his clothes, his sleeves, his shoulders, his hair, with fingers clinging to any piece of him they could find.

Blossom hugged him like a lifeline, arms locked tight as if warding off the universe itself. Her nose twitched once, then again, faster. She sniffed him eagerly, urgently, her enhanced dogkin senses drinking in every trace of where he’d been.

Ayame rested against him, trembling with unshed tears, her arms locking around his ribs in the form of chains forged from longing. Her breath hitched as she felt the hard contours of his chest, far more sculpted than before. Her cheeks bloomed scarlet. “You… got stronger physically, Quin…” she murmured, flustered, eyes darting away before slowly returning to his jaw. “You were already a fortress before for a mage-type combatant, but now… now you feel like a warrior who could shatter mountains bare-handed.” She squeezed tighter. “You better not leave again for such a long time, you hear me…?”

The fact that the amount of time her man was away was in no shape or form his fault was perfectly understood by the oriental samurai, but her brain didn’t care much about logic right now. She never wanted to be separated from Quinlan for such a long time ever again, and she let the world hear her desires.

Lucille, meanwhile, didn’t say a word at first. She leaned in, cupped his cheek, and pressed her lips to his with all the aching tenderness she’d held back for three months. A long, searing kiss, one that spoke of passion, pain, longing, and a just crippling amount of pure love.

When she finally pulled back, her elegant features softened into a knowing smile. Her fingertips traced along his jawline, brushing the edge of his cheek. “Your eyes… they’re… so damned sexy, Quin…

Seraphiel’s blue eyes, misted with tears, sharpened as she ran her fingers along his arms and shoulders, checking him with precise movements. “No fractures… no blood loss… no internal wounds,” she muttered under her breath, working like a healer in triage. Her touch was light, professional, but under that mask of duty was overwhelming love. Her lips trembled. “Still… tell me if anything hurts.”

Aurora was right behind her, kneeling at his other side, her hands glowing with soft alchemical light. “No toxins… no residue… nothing warped or unstable in your essence…” she whispered, as if cataloguing his condition like a treasured artifact. But then she reached up, brushing a loose lock of his hair from his face, voice faltering.

And Rosie…

Rosie was curled tightly against his chest, her tiny frame trembling like a leaf in a storm as her arms clung to him with all the strength she could muster. “You were gone so long…” she whimpered, her voice breaking again and again. “Rosie thought… Rosie thought her Daddy would never come back. She was starting to believe it. Daddy being gone for good…”

Her little hands fisted his robe tighter. “Don’t leave again… please don’t leave again…”

Quinlan could barely speak—his throat tightened, his heart near bursting. There was too much joy, too much love, too much aching relief in all of them, and in himself.

So he didn’t even try to speak.

He just held them tighter.

Smiling through the tears in his own eyes as six women wrapped around him like he was their sun returned from eclipse.

No words were needed.

He was theirs.

And they were his.

*Zzsht!*

A sudden jolt of light rippled across the clearing.

Everyone flinched at once.

The ambient light of the fairy-tale tree behind them—Rosie’s tree, her sacred anchor—flared to life in a radiant wave of green and gold. Leaves shimmered with iridescence, bark pulsed like a beating heart, and an unseen wind sent petals swirling in every direction.

And Rosie…

She began to glow, too.

Her tiny form was bathed in that same luminous aura, strands of light curling from her hair.

The tender reunion snapped to stillness as all heads turned as one, eyes widening in alarm.

Blossom, always the fastest to act, sat up and reached for the girl hurriedly. “Rosie? What’s wrong? Does something hurt?”

But Rosie didn’t look hurt.

Not even close.

She sat calmly on top of Quinlan’s chest, blinking down at her glowing palms with wide-eyed curiosity, her head tilted to the side like a puzzled kitten. There was no pain on her face. Only wonder.

She looked back at Quinlan.

Her eyes—big and dewy and impossibly green—sparkled with something deeper than her usual mischief. Something ancient. Something inherited.

Then she scooted up just a bit closer, crawling on his chest until her face was right above his, her little hands patting his forehead like a healer checking for fever.

“Rosie’s Papa…” she whispered, her voice sing-song sweet, “did something unthinkable again, didn’t he?”

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