Primordial Villain With A Slave Harem-Chapter 826: The Power of the Ten Chosen [Bonus]

And here, in Vulkaris, he knew the stakes. This wasn’t a battlefield of life and death.

It was a performance.

Vulkaris didn’t execute its defeated. Contestants were treated, healed, and often praised for their bravery. So long as one fought with heart and strength, even a loss could win them recognition.

Which made this the perfect stage.

A chance to see what the fire nation’s elite were truly capable of, and maybe, to shock the crowd.

He flexed his fingers, watching the way his qi moved under his skin.

Beside him, Feng was still glancing toward the crowd, distracted. "The first matches are about to start," she said. "One of the Chosen will call a name. Sometimes people volunteer to go first, but... usually only lunatics do that."

Her words trailed off as she saw his expression.

"Don’t even think about it."

Quinlan said nothing.

But as the great ceremonial gong echoed through the arena, and the first of the Ten Chosen stood—a tall, armored man. The crowd fell into hushed silence.

The games had begun.

He raised a single arm and pointed to a name on the registration slate beside him. His voice boomed, amplified by qi.

"Wei Lin."

A sharp yelp broke the tension. A girl, slight of frame, barely older than seventeen, stood up from the outer ranks, her face pale but determined. Her hands trembled as she stepped forward, trying to still them with clenched fists. Her robe bore the symbol of a minor sect, and the red sash at her waist showed she hadn’t even reached the Core Formation stage.

Still, she didn’t back down. Participating in this event was a matter of pride for many sects.

She bowed once toward the Ten, then approached the arena’s center platform. She stood there, eyes locked forward, feet rooted to the stone.

The armored man smirked and vaulted from the podium. Feng whistled when she saw the metal of his greaves catching fire midair.

His landing struck like a meteor, a thunderous crash that sent a wave of heat rippling out. The crowd roared at the display.

He rolled one shoulder, then extended his hand.

A stream of fiery red qi surged down his arm, coiling like a serpent. Quinlan’s eyes instantly locked onto the spectacle, studying every single moment of it with the religious fervor of a man who worshipped nothing but pure power alone.

The qi condensed, shimmered, and forged itself into a spear nearly twice his height. The shaft was thick, and the blade sharp—

Except there was no blade.

The end of the spear was blunt, rounded like a training staff.

Laughter erupted from the spectators.

The man didn’t bother to explain. His mockery was clear and loud enough.

Wei Lin gritted her teeth.

Then the duel began.

She moved first, darting around like a flame dancing in the wind, her fists coated in flickering orange qi. Her blows were fast, focused, and surprisingly precise for someone early in their cultivation.

But the Chosen’s spear was a wall.

He spun it in one hand, creating wide arcs that swept aside her attacks and forced her back with blunt strikes that didn’t wound, only humiliated. He wasn’t aiming to harm. He was putting on a show for the citizens of his Sovereign.

Even as she gave it her all, he danced with effortless grace, striking the ground beside her foot, clipping her shoulder, knocking her hood loose, but never striking to end it.

His martial art was called Blazing Authority, a style that allowed him to shape his qi into a weapon of dominance, its size and power directly linked to his opponent’s fighting spirit. The more she struggled, the more powerful the spear became.

But despite the man’s antics, this wasn’t just mockery.

It was a lesson. An extremely valuable one for a girl in the middle of opening up her core meridians.

After three minutes, she fell to one knee, panting. The Chosen halted his spear mid-lunge and rested its tip against the stone. The girl stood and bowed deeply in gratitude before limping away.

The crowd clapped politely. Another name was called.

Then another.

One by one, aspirants were brought forward to face the Ten.

And with each new battle, the nature of Vulkaris’ martial arts became more and more clear.

—

A woman in a long robe, hair tied into a topknot of red threads, stepped down for the sixth match. Her qi flared before the fight even began, igniting the air around her in wavering heat lines.

When the gong sounded, five flaming swords materialized behind her, orbiting her form like burning stars.

They moved without chains, without strings, each guided by her unique usage of qi alone. Ashen Lotus Style. A rare mind-art of Vulkaris that trained its users to control weapons as extensions of their qi. She stood in place with a serene expression while the blades moved around her in perfect synchronicity. Defending, attacking, parrying, even slashing from behind her as if they possessed eyes of their own.

It was beautiful.

And terrifying.

Quinlan watched closely from the outer circle with his arms crossed, his eyes narrowed in quiet thought. He could feel it: her weapons weren’t simply floating. They moved with intention. Each twitch of the blade responded to unseen commands. Her qi wasn’t just an aura; it was a language.

He waited until the match ended—cleanly, of course. Her opponent never got within five feet of her.

And then, when the next challenger stepped forward and all eyes shifted elsewhere, Quinlan quietly stepped back toward a quieter corner of the outer ring.

He lifted one hand.

His saber used to snap to his palm with a flick of will—Soulbound, responsive to his presence alone. He had moved it before without touching it, even slashed midair in prior battles.

So maybe, just maybe...

He reached out again, letting go of the hilt and focusing his qi, not into the blade, but around it.

The saber didn’t even waver.

Quinlan narrowed his eyes, concentrated harder, mimicking what he thought he’d seen from the Ashen Lotus practitioner. Thread the qi outward. Guide it like invisible strings. Treat the weapon not as an object but as an extra limb.

The saber remained motionless.

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

He could feel the power in his qi. Her style was an art honed through decades, if not centuries of focused training, not something that could be aped by force or instinct alone.

Despite the disappointing results, Quinlan steeled his resolve. One day, he’d learn that style. Or something even stronger.

Another Ten showed off the Infernal Mirage Form, shifting between visible and invisible states using bursts of heatwaves to confuse the senses. One second he was midair, the next he was behind his enemy, a palm pressing softly against their back.

Yet another woman fought with Incandescent Chains, her limbs wrapped in fiery shackles she used like whips and grapples, yanking enemies across the arena before slamming them down in showers of sparks.

Each martial art was a philosophy made flesh: unique not only in its technique, but in the intent behind it.

None of them killed. But every move showed overwhelming superiority.

Until finally...

The 78th duel was about to begin when the Chosen rose.

He didn’t speak immediately.

Instead, he unclasped the thick iron prayer beads from his shoulder and let them hang in one hand. When he walked, they clanked against each other with a heavy weight, each bead the size of a clenched fist.

He stood and leapt down, landing in a crouch that cracked the stone beneath him.

That was the moment he spoke.

"Quinlan."

The sound struck like a bell itself.

He didn’t rise immediately.

Feng looked over at him. "Uncle, you don’t have to-"

"But I do. Watch me, Feng Jiai."

He was already walking.

"Hmph...!! This is the second time you say this to me..." she scoffed, but her lips immediately trembled. "Please... Be safe..."

She was incredibly nervous. Just because killing wasn’t the norm didn’t mean it never happened. Especially when the fighters were like Quinlan—strong enough to pose a serious threat and stubborn enough not to know when to stand down.

Quinlan could feel the tension, the anticipation, the laughter from some, the doubt from many. The gazes of tens of thousands bored down on him from the stands, waiting, judging.

He stepped into the arena and stood across from the man.

The Chosen said nothing more.

He simply exhaled and readied his stance.

The gong rang.

And in this duel... something occurred that shocked even Serika Vael, the Crimson Flame herself.