Primordial Villain With A Slave Harem-Chapter 954: For Honor and Glory!

Quinlan slowly turned his head, expecting—no, knowing—what he’d see next.

Serika.

Unlike the others, she had only recently crossed into this world, and more so than that, she didn’t leave to go on a buying spree like the other girls. She hadn’t had the chance to prepare extravagant outfits or join in on the months of scheming the others had undertaken.

Naturally, he expected her to still be in her warrior attire.

He was wrong.

Dead wrong.

Because the moment his gaze landed on her... he saw not the proud, battle-hardened warrior in Zhenwu garb, but a masterpiece of fiery elegance that still screamed Serika Vael in every stitch.

The first three girls had pounced the moment they finished their own displays. Vex was painting fiery streaks across her cheekbones. Lucille worked at her crimson hair, tying it back into a high, battle-ready ponytail with a black ribbon. Meanwhile, Aurora, with gentle, delicate hands, adjusted metallic bands of ornamental armor around Serika’s biceps and thighs.

They hadn’t tried to dress her like anyone else. No corsets. No flowing silks. No delicate lace.

They knew better.

They’d embraced her identity.

Serika’s outfit was a warrior’s formal wear—if the warrior happened to be a blazing, living avatar of strength and beauty. Dressed in a sleeveless, black and red battle dress laced with gold-threaded scales, cut open at the sides to reveal her sexy hips and tantalizingly toned abs. A cropped crimson jacket with golden shoulder guards hung from her shoulders.

Her fiery green eyes locked onto him, and her lips pulled into an amused grin. "... What? You don’t recognize me?"

Quinlan didn’t know how to reply. His mouth opened. No words came out. He was utterly wrecked by the sight.

"...Sweet... merciful... stars..." he finally muttered.

Serika only giggled in response, loving the effect her upgraded looks had caused. She sent each of the three ladies a thankful glance for helping her out. The trio didn’t even accept her gratitude; they just laughed at Quinlan’s dumbfounded reaction alongside their newest sister.

Kitsara’s thighs unconsciously began rubbing together as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. The sheen of her skin, namely her thighs, was already kissed by moonlight, but now they glistened for an entirely different reason. The playful arrogance she wore earlier wavered, replaced by something rawer... hungrier.

Her tails twitched erratically behind her.

"...Is it finally time?" she asked, her voice dropping low and sultry, practically vibrating with need.

Blossom tilted her head, letting her dogkin nose flare. She gave a long sniff of the air.

"Kitsara’s in... horny mode."

Kitsara’s eyes snapped wide with scandalized offense. Her tails flared. "H-Hey! After finally getting a good taste of Quin’s big... uh, rod of love... and then being forced to abstain for months?! That’s worse than physical torture! Of course I’m horny as fuck!"

But she froze mid-rant.

Her foxkin ears twitched.

Slowly... dramatically... she turned toward Blossom. Eyes narrowing. Nostrils flaring.

Her expression shifted from flustered to... knowing. That dry, unimpressed look that only Kitsara could pull off when she smelled something she didn’t need words to explain.

Blossom’s tail instantly drooped. Her cheeks flushed a bright pink. "Blossom didn’t say Kitsara was the only one affected..."

Blossom’s ears drooped lower, but she gave a sheepish, wobbly smile. "Actually... Blossom thinks... no, she knows that... um... everyone’s... already leaking..." Her voice trailed off as she shyly glanced around, doing a little sniff-test toward each of her friends.

The reaction was immediate.

Ayame coughed and pretended to glare at her.

Vex’s smile turned sharp and proud, not denying it.

Lucille rolled her eyes but gave a knowing grin.

Seraphiel, forever the shameless elf, just winked and blew Quinlan a kiss.

Yes... Most of the ladies were very open minded when it came to their carnal desires, at least when they were in private.

Thanks to Blossom’s unexpected words, the air between them all thickened. Desire coiled tighter. Anticipation buzzed like static.

The scents, the emotions, the teasing... it all blended into one palpable, almost suffocating wave of feminine affection and want.

And at the center of it all... stood Quinlan.

Their man.

The one who’d fought for them, laughed with them, protected them, and returned from a world far away, stronger than ever, ready to claim them all over again.

His throat bobbed in a hard swallow.

Quinlan let out a shaky breath, then cracked his neck with a roll of his shoulders, letting a slow, cocky grin stretch across his face.

"Well... if that’s the mood tonight..."

He opened his arms wide, standing tall against the night sky, taking one step forward with the air of a king claiming his court.

"Then let me show all of you exactly what kind of man you’ve been waiting for."

"You have a lot of swagger for a man about to be assaulted," Sera snickered.

Before he could mount a snarky response, the girls moved.

The cheer—perhaps even battle cries—that erupted from the ladies shook the very air.

And with that... they rushed toward him.

The stampede came fast.

Vex pounced first.

"Mine!" Her hands darted straight for his robes, fingers curling around the ceremonial collar stitched by the loving hands of his primordial mothers. With a ritualistic reverence—mixed with a wildly irreverent grin—she yanked it apart. Buttons popped. Silk strained. Threads of ancestral craftsmanship gave a desperate final protest before his upper robe split open down the middle.

"That’s handmade by-!"

"By your mothers. Yeah, yeah." Vex purred, dragging the tattered fabric off his shoulders. "Why do you think they dressed you in these fabrics exactly? To make you look extra handsome upon your return? Of course. But also... to let us enjoy unwrapping their gift for us!"

"Blessed be their craftsmanship," Seraphiel cackled. She was already crouching by his feet, hands attacking his boots with merciless efficiency. "Quin, you tie these laces like a priest sealing a demon." Her nimble fingers worked faster than any rogue, ripping at the bindings. "Or is this a challenge for me from the foremother...? Maybe she wants to see if I’m worthy..." The elven girl mused with a happy heart.

Ayame moved next, silent as a shadow, precise as a sword. She didn’t even bother with words. Her deft hands slid to the silk waistband of his formal trousers. *Slide. Tug. Yank.* In one brutal, efficient pull honed from years of swordsmanship, they were around his knees.

Her eyes flashed as she pulled them lower. "Armor off before bed battle..."

Two arms circled him from behind.

"Gotcha Master~ Meow~" came Blossom’s sweet, mischievous laughter. Her fingers immediately dug into the waistband at the back, helping Ayame finish the job from the rear. But not without mischief: her nose nuzzled against his back, sniffing deeply. "Mmm... Blossom missed Master’s scent... missed it so much."

Her tail wagged uncontrollably even as she giggled, fingers trailing along his spine before slipping lower—way lower. She was already busy massaging his behind, even if it wasn’t bare just yet.

"Oi, aren’t you supposed to be a needy catgirl?" Lucille’s playful voice came as she swooped in, her caramel hair bouncing.

"M-meow!" Blossom yelped, but was ignored by the Bloodmonger, far too invested in her target, his belt. Her deft fingers worked the buckle with a confidence only a mother—and a professional throat goat—could wield. "This... is coming off." *Clink.* "This... too." *Flick.*

The belt fell with a metallic clatter.

"Professional undressing foxy reporting for duty," Kitsara added with a sly grin, trailing a single finger from his collarbone down to his navel. Her illusory dress shimmered, but to Quinlan’s private view, she was utterly bare, every curve teasing his periphery.

Aurora was the only one moving with any semblance of restraint. She knelt by the pile of discarded fabrics, carefully folding what wasn’t torn beyond saving, hands reverently smoothing the embroidered sigils even as her gaze smoldered with just as much want. "We’re not this wild..." she murmured softly. "His mothers’ handiwork still deserves respect..."

Serika stood back a moment, hands on hips, shaking her head in disbelief. "... Is this... normal for you girls?" Her lips curled into a lopsided grin. "Because I think I’m gonna fit in just fine."

"Extremely normal," Kitsara confirmed, her voice nothing but a purr. "Welcome to the family."

Another sharp tug, another shirt sleeve gone.

Boots—gone.

Pants—pooled.

Belt—clattered.

Silk—torn and stripped.

In under ten seconds, their man was left standing in nothing.

A collective, very appreciative hum of approval rolled through the courtyard.

"Mmm..." Kitsara’s tails fluffed. "I forgot just how big he is."

"N-no! Blossom knows! Master became even more muscular during the trial! M-meow!" Blossom revealed while rubbing her thighs together, her fake cat tail wagging as much as her real one thanks to the fervent shaking of her butt.

Lucille leaned forward, bell on her collar jingling as her lips curved into a smug, sultry smile. "Still calling yourself a predator, big guy? Because... I don’t know..." She licked her lips slowly. "Surrounded like this... you’re starting to look a lot like prey to me."

The glow of moonlight bathed his bare skin.

Eight women.

Eight forms of want, beauty, obsession, and devotion, encircling him.

His breath hitched.

His pulse thundered.

And down below... a lone, noble knight rose tall and defiant. Outnumbered. Surrounded. Facing a pack of ravenous, battle-hungry werewolves under a full moon’s curse, yet refusing, absolutely refusing, to lay down his sword.

For honor.

For glory.

For a cause most sacred.

He would fight until the very end.