Primordial Villain With A Slave Harem

After a few minutes of affectionate play, I disentangle myself from Blossom's embrace. We stand, brushing ourselves off and exchanging knowing glances. I meet Ayame's gaze and I see a plethora of unarticulated emotions hiding in there.

The most obvious being is amusement; she finds the situation funny, which I can understand wholeheartedly. Especially since I'm 99% sure she never had a dog in her life, thus Blossom's antics must be brand new for her. Of course, I'm not calling Blossom a dog, but she certainly resembles some of their tendencies.

Then there's a hint of playful mockery in her gaze, a silent commentary on how Blossom toppled me and lavished me with her saliva and hug shower as soon as I opened the door. What Ayame might not realize is that I welcome Blossom's exuberance with wide arms and an open heart. Blossom has endured the chains of slavery longer than Ayame, and arguably under harsher conditions.

If my dear dog-girl can find healing and happiness in this way, then she is more than welcome.

Even after healing to full she is still welcome, of course. Knowing that I see her as more than just a tool for profit, but as a person, a companion I depend on, and someone I'm about to take a pretty big risk for, must feel liberating to Blossom.

I also sense a touch of jealousy from Ayame, noting how quickly I've earned Blossom's unwavering trust in just a few hours of actual time spent together. Blossom regards Ayame with a certain air of reservedness, as if she were a distant friend rather than a close ally. Yet, when she sees me, Blossom's emotions overflow, her body betraying the abundant affection she simply can't hide.

Not that she tries.

It's time to shed our warrior mantles and assume more mundane guises.

We change into our linen civilian clothes, the fabric rough but familiar against my skin. I really wish I could get into the fit I got transmigrated in, but that would defeat our attempt of trying to blend in. The simplicity of our attire stands in stark contrast to the imposing starforged steel gear sets that we leave behind.

The armor, polished and deadly, now rests quietly in the corner, its presence a silent promise of power should we need it again. The transition feels like stepping out of one world and into another, each with its own set of rules and dangers.

Before we leave, I head down to the inn's reception. This time, I find the owner manning the desk instead of Martha. I still don't know his name, and frankly, I don't care enough to ask. Instead, I simply request a bucket of cold water and a rag to clean our armor, and he obliges without question.

I carry the items back to our room and hand them to Blossom, asking her to clean our gear while we conduct our surveillance. My armor is particularly filthy, caked with blood and gore, so there is plenty of work to be done. She happily accepts the task, eager to be of help.

"We'll be back soon, Blossom," I promise, my voice a low murmur in the dimly lit room. "If all goes well, I'll officially be your master in a few hours."

Her tail wags at the promise, and she nods with clear excitement at the prospect.

Ayame steps forward, her presence calm and steady, a noble warrior's grace evident in her every movement. She smiles at Blossom, a kind softness visible in her eyes, something I've never seen her display towards me... "Keep this place safe, Blossom. We're counting on you." It's adorable how she tries to wrestle her way into Blossom's heart by using any means necessary.

Ayame seems intent on earning her trust, which is rather understandable since the two of them are not only going to be teammates (and sister-wives), but they both suffered from the chains of slavery forced upon them, and Blossom is also a woman which might enable Ayame to share things she wouldn't want to discuss with me.

With one last fond scratch behind Blossom's ears, we turn to leave. The door closes with a soft click behind us, leaving her to watch over our temporary home.

The streets of the city are alive with the shifting shadows of late afternoon, the sun dipping low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the cobblestones. We move with purpose, the path to the slave district well-worn and familiar by this point. The air is thick with the scents of the city: smoke, spice, and the unmistakable tang of salt from the distant sea.

Our destination is a place where freedom is a commodity, where lives are bought and sold under the guise of civility and the protection of the law. The slave district is a harsh reminder of the world we inhabit- a world where power is everything, and the weak become the literal possessions of the strong.

…

- Pov: ??? -

The day drags to a close in this pit of misery and broken souls, the slave market a wretched reminder of life's harshest truths. It has been decades since the smell of sweat and despair first became a comforting balm to me, but lately, it seems even this small satisfaction in my life is slipping away.

I turn my head towards the recent cause of my depression and grimace at the sight. Marla was supposed to be my prized possession. I bought her with the intention of flipping her for a handsome profit. Her extraordinary beauty and status as a level 9 Warrior had real potential on the market, and I thought she would fetch me a tidy sum.

But that notion soured quickly when I allowed myself to indulge. She'd already lost her virginity before captivity, which should have made her fair game for my desires. But I didn't count on how quickly her mind would unravel, turning what could have been a lucrative investment into a financial liability.