Primordial Villain With A Slave Harem

Seraphiel cast again.

The instant Quinlan staggered, she unleashed another wave of healing magic. Golden light flared in his direction as she forced every ounce of power she had into closing his rapidly worsening wounds.

But it was never enough.

No matter how quickly she acted, no matter how fast she cast…

Quinlan died.

Again.

And again.

And again.

She tried everything.

She pre-cast the spell, predicting the moment his wounds would come.

She pushed beyond her limits, channeling magic faster than her body could handle.

She screamed in desperation, pouring herself into her magic.

But it didn't matter.

Every time, the monster was faster.

Every time, its claws ripped into him.

Every time, his body was torn apart before her eyes.

And every time…

It turned to her next.

Her own death came quickly. The pain meant nothing compared to the utter agony of failure.

Seraphiel couldn't care less about her own death. As soon as Quinlan died, she would stop resisting. Why?

Because if she failed to save him, continuing life was an utterly worthless endeavor. Seraphiel knew Quinlan would want her to continue living her life if he were to perish…

But her heart was heavy. Every time she saw his death, tears welled in her eyes, and she screamed with pain, even though her brain now understood it was not exactly reality. Yet, her heart was just as taxed as before the realization dawned on her.

The battlefield reset.

Seraphiel burst into pained sobs, her hands trembling around her staff.

She had healed him.

She had tried.

And yet, she had failed every single time.

A hollow breath escaped her lips.

Her grip tightened.

Then, in a fit of overwhelming rage, she slammed her staff into the ground.

The useless piece of wood cracked against the dirt.

"If only I had a weapon and not this shitty staff!"

The world stilled.

Everything froze.

Then…

A golden radiance descended before her, swirling, reshaping.

Two objects materialized in the air, floating just within reach.

—[Staff of Restoration]—

A relic of divine healing.

—[Bow of Radiance]—

A weapon of war.

Seraphiel's breath caught in her throat.

Her eyes burned as she stared at the choices before her.

Her hand moved toward the staff. With that, perhaps she could end her beloved's suffering. Heal faster than he sustained injuries.

But then, she froze just before her fingers reached the artifact.

For so long, she had been the healer. The one who stood back. The one who patched wounds and supported others. She had her Lifebloom Arc, yes, and could fire [Arcane Arrows] when necessary, but she had never been a warrior.

Not like Quinlan.

Not like Lucille.

Not like Ayame.

And unlike Aurora, whose enchantments strengthened the team before a battle even began, Seraphiel's magic only had meaning when people were bleeding. When they were broken.

She was always waiting.

Always reacting, doing her utmost to prevent the worst from occurring.

But now…

Her lips curled into a mad grin.

She wouldn't just heal Quinlan so that he could stand tall.

No.

She would slay his enemies herself, protecting her beloved in the most surefire way she knew.

She reached out.

…

"?! What's going on?" Sylvaris awoke with a snap, eyes darting wildly as she took in her surroundings.

Celeste, who had been holding the unconscious woman up until now, gently let her down.

Before Sylvaris could steady herself, a tiny streak of golden light shot forth from my hands, targeting the silver-haired Mooncaller.

"Grandma Sylvaris! It's me, Rosie!" Rosie cheered, her voice bubbling with utmost joy.

The small, glowing daughter of mine zipped straight for the elf, nuzzling against her cheek with childlike affection. Sylvaris stiffened in shock, eyes wide. Rosie cooed, wrapping her tiny arms around her face, rubbing against her like a delighted kitten.

It wasn't hard to guess why Rosie had taken such an 'instant' liking to her—it wasn't instant at all. During Sylvaris's stay in my home, she must've visited the Geim tree every single day, interacting with it frequently, and as a result, unknowingly carving a place for herself in Rosie's heart.

"Grandma? Rosie?" Sylvaris gasped, looking at Rosie. But then, she realized what was going on, or at least some part of it. Her breath hitched. And she fainted again.

Celeste reached behind the falling woman's back, catching her once again while equipping the perfect poker face of a dutiful maid who would never judge her masters—well, only Yoruha was her master, but still.

Rosie barely seemed to notice what havoc she had wreaked because, in the next moment, she suddenly gasped and turned to look around. "Oh no! Rosie almost forgot about the pretty aunties!"

Before I could even blink, this eccentric little green girl darted away, rushing toward the five sentry elves I had assigned as her caretakers and protectors.

"Virele! Elaith! Nymari! Faelar! Lyselle!" Rosie chirped, flying between them in a blur of golden light. "You were all so nice to Rosie! Thank you for singing so many interesting tales! Rosie loved them all! They kept her mind busy when she was unable to converse!"

One by one, the five elves froze.

One by one, their ears twitched.

One by one, their complexions paled.

And one by one…

They collapsed like puppets whose strings have been cut.

All five fainted in perfect succession.

Rosie's head snapped in my direction, she was greatly agitated. "Daddy?! The pretty aunties fainted for some reason! They need help!"

I sighed, rubbing my temples. "Damn it, Rosie."

"Ehehe…" she giggled with a silly smile, letting me know this mischievous girl of mine was more aware of her actions than she let on.

She poked their faces for a bit, looking for signs of life, but when no answer came, she returned into my arms, nuzzling herself into her little throne. I turned my attention up toward Yoruha.

"Lady Yoruha, are you planning to come with us to deal with the lionkin and their allies?" I asked, hoping I could make use of her strength in one way or another. As long as she was on top of my head, she would surely protect the two of us from enemies, right? Even if she didn't care much about my health. I was her comfy pillow; who wouldn't fight to protect their favorite bed?

"Hmm…"