Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 938: Yandere Daughter

While the Gremlord was still mentally spiraling in silence, the others had already shifted their focus elsewhere. To the tiny star at the heart of this strange world.

Rosie.

She zipped through the air in a streak of green light and laughter, zeroing in on her target.

*Thump.*

“Rosie’s taking the high ground!” she declared, perching herself right on top of Quinlan’s head like a tiny queen atop her rightful throne.

Her little feet dangled over his forehead, her hands clutching a few loose locks of his dark hair. She wiggled happily in place until she found the spot that felt just right.

“Being close to Papa helps Rosie focus more! Yep yep!” she beamed down.

“Is that so…” Quinlan murmured, amusement bubbling in his voice. A lopsided grin spread across his face as he tilted his eyes upward—well, as much as he could while his daughter used him as a living nest. “Papa can’t help but wonder how that can be the case.”

In truth, he knew it was nonsense.

A cute excuse.

A transparent, ridiculous excuse to get the chance to do her magic while close to him.

But far be it from him to deny his daughter when she showed affection. As such, his hands rose and protectively clasped her tiny ankles, holding her in place as her energy fluttered and grew around them.

“Need anything else?” he asked with a warm smile.

“Oooh!” Lucille chirped suddenly, “How about a good-luck kiss from your mothers? One on each cheek? That’s gotta fuel a miracle, right?”

But Rosie immediately shook her head, cheeks puffing strongly.

“Rosie only needs her Daddy.”

Lucille blinked.

Seraphiel raised an amused brow.

Ayame’s eye twitched.

Even Blossom tilted her head.

Then, like a synchronized ritual, every single one of them turned their heads and stared.

“Excuse me?” Ayame muttered.

The realization settled into the air like a drawn blade.

“What a possessive little yandere daughter we have…” Seraphiel giggled.

“Utterly hopeless… She was so affectionate with us until now, too…” Lucille laughed, arms folding, though the fondness in her eyes was unmistakable.

Every single one of them had witnessed firsthand the little dryad’s playful antics, her mischief, her independence if she so desired. But the moment Quinlan was around, Rosie transformed instantly and entirely.

From a cheeky chaos spirit to a clingy, single-minded storm of love that required her father’s affection more than she did basic sustenance.

Rosie’s hands tightened in his locks. Her body pulsed with rising magic, threads of brilliant emerald and white-gold light dancing up and down her limbs. Her glow swelled to a new intensity.

She closed her eyes.

And the world around them responded to her call.

A ripple spread through the air. The distant gateway between Thalorind and this soul realm shimmered, the portal it held beginning to shift, contract, and then move.

Gasps echoed across the clearing as the dimensional doorway hovered away from its position and glided through the air. It obeyed the pull of Rosie’s magic until it reached their side… and settled just a few paces away from where Lysandra’s body lay.

Then, branches of Rosie’s fairy-tale tree slithered through the portal.

Long, vine-like limbs reached into the realm, twisting and twirling. One by one, the branches weaved around Lysandra’s form. They formed a spiral of braided bark and magic around her, creating an open cocoon of magic, preparing to cradle her.

This sort of dryad magic was something slow.

Deep.

Meaningful.

Serika, who had remained quiet throughout the proceedings and had no clue how magic really worked, could hold her silence no longer. She stepped closer to the woman she somehow felt some sort of strange connection to, innately getting the sense that she could trust her.

So, she leaned closer and whispered softly to Iris, mindful not to interrupt Rosie’s delicate spellwork. “…Can I ask what’s happening?”

Iris didn’t turn toward the source of the voice. Her bright red eyes remained fixed on the surreal display ahead. Then, after a few silent seconds, she exhaled a quiet sigh. “I gave up on understanding that man a long time ago… Or his even more eccentric daughter.”

Then, after a beat, softer, fonder, filled with memory of the things they’d been through together, she added, “But I do trust him. He’s going to do his utmost to help.”

Serika stood quietly beside her for a moment, then slowly nodded.

“…I know. I know that perfectly well.”

Her fingers curled against her armor as the tension left her chest after hearing the black haired woman’s words.

“Quinlan saved my world. I fought side by side with him… Of course, I trust him, too.”

She looked toward Rosie, whose tiny body burned brighter than ever, the tree branches becoming living conduits of unfathomable essence.

“…Then I’ll trust his little green miracle, too.”

Soon, a cocoon of living nature, vibrant and pulsing with dryad essence, had fully wrapped around Lysandra’s body.

Time passed.

Hours rolled on.

Still, the cocoon remained closed. Silent.

Rosie, perched still atop Quinlan’s head, had relaxed somewhat, her glow dimmed to a steadier rhythm, no longer the overwhelming beacon of divine verdure it had been earlier. Her little body leaned into her papa’s forehead, eyes sleepy.

Quinlan finally broke the silence, tilting his eyes up toward her.

“Do you have any idea how long this’ll take?”

Rosie let out a tiny yawn. “No clue! But probably a lot. Like… days. Maybe more!” she chirped.

He sighed with a lopsided smile and lifted a hand to ruffle her leafy hair.

“It can’t be helped then. You’re amazing nonetheless. Thank you for your hard work.”

“Ehehe!”

His eyes shifted to Serika, still standing where she had been for hours, her gaze fixed on the cocoon with unblinking intensity. The tension in her jaw, the trembling in her fingers, none of it had left. Not even as the hours passed.

She hadn’t eaten. Hadn’t moved.

Quinlan stepped toward her.

“Serika.”

She didn’t respond.

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “You can’t do anything here.”

She flinched at the contact, then slowly looked up into his eyes.

“I know it’s hard to step away. But it’s out of your hands now. Rosie’s doing something, but it won’t be fast.”

Serika opened her mouth, but no words came.

“My mothers and I have told you this many times, Serika. You’ve carried enough. You deserve a moment to breathe. Come with us. I’ll show you my home. My wives. My maids. My stronghold. My everything.”

He smirked lightly.

“C’mon. Relax a little. You’ve earned it. I swear I’ll notify you as soon as the smallest of changes occur.”

Serika looked at the cocoon one last time. Her hand trembled, but she laid it briefly on one of the glowing vines. “Do you promise…?”

“Of course.”

She stared into his eyes before flashing him a little smile. “Alright… Show me your world, Quinlan.”

He nodded and then turned his gaze away from Serika, toward a different scene nearby.

Seraphiel knelt beside the ruined figure of Rykar Vael.

The old man, once a paragon of strength and might, now looked smaller than Quinlan had ever seen him. His limbs—gone. His mind—blank. His spirit—fractured. The death of his daughter had shattered whatever part of him had still clung to consciousness.

Golden light shimmered from Seraphiel’s staff as she poured magic into his frail body. Complex healing spells floated around her hands, intricate patterns overlapping one another with fluid elegance as she whispered incantations.

She glanced over her shoulder when she noticed Quinlan watching. “I’ve done what I can. Internal damage, physical trauma, lingering rot from some sort of corruption… I stabilized it all. He’s not dying anymore.”

Quinlan nodded solemnly.

“But… I can’t regrow his limbs. Not after so many years,” she added, her voice tinged with reluctant defeat. “They were lost too long ago. The wounds are cold and sealed far beyond where I can reach.”

“I understand. Thank you, Seraphiel,” Quinlan replied. She replied with a nod of her head, unsatisfied with her performance despite the fact that any Healer-classed person would’ve looked at her after what she’d done to that practically dead body as if she were the second coming of the Goddess herself.

Quinlan turned to Serika again and gently squeezed her hand.

“Your father just needs more time, too. Let him rest now. His body is safe. His soul is quiet. Let him gather himself in peace.”

Serika looked at the man on the ground and then nodded once, squeezing his hand back, and releasing a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

“Then… let’s go. I’d like to be introduced to your friends and family properly.”

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