Primordial Villain With A Slave Harem-Chapter 811: Mad Chase

Having had enough of failures, of the burning sun, of the damned old man meditating on his rock, of all the sweat and tears he had to go through during the ’training,’ Quinlan rushed after the lizard with all he had.

The mad chase began.

He didn’t think. He just moved. His legs burned, each step sending pain lancing up from his earlier exercises, but he leaned forward and sprinted. Hard. Fast. Wild. It wasn’t a hunter’s movement. It wasn’t elegant or graceful.

It was the sprint of a man who’s had enough.

The creature darted left. He followed. It zipped right, scaled a small ledge, but Quinlan threw himself up with a grunt, with his arms screaming in protest. A protest that was thoroughly ignored. Sand and dust filled his mouth, his eyes, and his nose. His footing slipped.

Still, he chased.

"Stop running and become my meal, you shitty budget dragon!"

Feng called after him—something about strategy, teamwork—but her voice was left behind in the storm of his footsteps. His breath heaved like a furnace. His vision blurred. But that damned lizard was still ahead.

He dropped lower, forced his burning legs to go harder, faster, even when the world narrowed to a tunnel of heat and heartbeat and prey.

Then... After five minutes of being chased...

It finally hesitated.

Just for a heartbeat. A misstep. A twitch of a leg that was too slow.

Quinlan launched himself off the ground with all he had.

He tackled the beast with one of his arms locking around its torso, the other forcing its head sideways with all the strength he had left. They hit the ground in a tangle of limbs and dirt, rolled once, then stopped in a cloud of sand.

A single crack echoed into silence as he used all his strength to snap its neck.

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Panting, drenched in sweat, Quinlan looked at the limp body.

It was dead.

Finally.

He didn’t cheer. Didn’t speak.

Just lay there with his arms wrapped around the carcass, feeling like he’d just wrestled a dragon instead of a two-foot lizard with an attitude.

Feng arrived a whole minute later, breathless from laughter more than running. She looked down at the sight—him collapsed, the kill in hand—and clapped once, daintily.

"Well done, Uncle. Very primal. So Manly. I’m starting to see why you have eight hot babes fawning all over you."

"I’m gonna strangle that old man," he rasped, ignoring the brat’s taunting words.

"No, you’re not. Even if you had the strength, you wouldn’t. You’re too kind-hearted for that. You just like to whine."

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"..."

She extended a hand, smiling. "Come on, Uncle. We’ve got the meat. Let’s feast!"

Together, they walked back, with Quinlan half-dragging the corpse, half-dragging himself while Feng cheerily hopped next to him like a happy little bunny girl. The old man didn’t so much as glance at their return. He just gestured toward a fire pit.

A silent acknowledgment.

Maybe even approval.

Not that he’d say anything like that.

Quinlan took over skinning duty. The beast was tough, its hide leathery, but he made do with rocks and bare fingers, scraping off what he could. Feng built the fire in the meantime, to the best of her ability. Which wasn’t much, but after a great deal of trial and effort, she succeeded.

Eventually, the lizard was being roasted on a makeshift spit of dry branches. Its flesh hissed and popped, skin blistering under the heat. No spices. No seasoning.

Only the raw, hard-earned reward of survival.

Quinlan took a bite. It was chewy. Slightly rubbery. Charred in some places, raw in others.

"...Tastes like victory," he said after a moment, chewing stubbornly.

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Feng grinned. "I’ve tasted worse." frёeweɓηovel.coɱ

"Really? Aren’t you the young lady of some clan?"

"I am," she nodded before adding, "But I tried cooking myself... Thinking about how I’ll have children in the future after I seduce some handsome, genius cultivator with my extreme feminine charms, and I want my kids to eat food cooked by my hands, not a servant’s. I hadn’t managed to make anything taste good, they were barely edible..."

"Flat chested, talentless at cultivation, and bad at house chores... You sound more like a one-night stand than wife material."

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"H-hey!" Feng didn’t quite know what a one-night stand meant, but she still understood that she was greatly insulted right now. "S-stupid Uncle! How many times do I have to tell you that I’m still developing?! I’m only fourteen!"

"Hmm... Perhaps you still have some hopes of growing two little peaches. Good luck, brat."

Feng froze.

Then she blinked.

Then, slowly, like a storm building on the horizon, her face turned scarlet. Her jaw dropped. She pointed an accusing finger at Quinlan as if she were about to cry blasphemy to the heavens themselves.

"T-two little peaches?! That’s-I’m-I’m not flat! I’m just... modestly endowed!"

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Quinlan took another bite of the overcooked lizard, calmly chewing as he watched her meltdown with the air of someone watching a soap opera from a lawn chair.

"I’m going through a delayed blooming! I’m in my growing phase! I’m still developing!" she shouted, voice cracking from sheer outrage. "You’ll see! Someday I’ll have to tie my robes tighter to keep the boys from drooling!"

"Mhm."

That lazy, dismissive response of his sealed it.

With a loud, offended huff, Feng crossed her arms in front of her incredibly delicate chest and whipped her head to the side so sharply her lush hair was whipped across the air.

"I’m not speaking to you anymore."

"Blessings of the heavens," Quinlan said under his breath with a giant smirk.

She caught that, of course. Her cheeks puffed like she was about to breathe fire, but she remained silent and thoroughly offended. Completely done with this man and his vile slanders. She didn’t speak another word during the meal, simply gnawed on her own portion of roasted beast with tiny, angry bites like a wronged squirrel.

Eventually, the flames dwindled, and the sun began to dip ever so slightly in the sky.

That was when the old man stirred for the first time since lunch had begun. Still seated on his rock, he didn’t open his eyes or even glance their way. He only muttered:

"Meditate. Gather Qi."

Then silence.

Quinlan let out a tired sigh, casting one last glance at the lizard bones. No salt. No herbs. But somehow, he hadn’t felt this full in ages. Not in body. Nor in... effort.

He hoped to catch some comfy nap time, but he was more than ready to work, especially when it was finally about cultivation.

So he dusted his hands and sat cross-legged beside the fire. Despite Feng’s earlier declaration of silence, she followed suit not long after, still refusing to look at him. Though her cheeks remained pink and puffed, her back was straight, posture disciplined. It seemed she hadn’t entirely given up on being taken seriously as a cultivator.

Quinlan exhaled slowly.

Then, for the first time in this world, he truly turned his senses inward.

The world within was... quiet.

He saw it—felt it—more than with physical sight. His awareness dipped past the surface of flesh and blood, diving into the formless sea of his inner self.

...

Author’s note below.

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