Primordial Villain With A Slave Harem

I awoke the next morning refreshed and ready to grind. Hugging my petite Samurai's naked frame truly helps me boost the quality of sleep I receive.

After a bit of morning cuddling, I managed to escape from the clutches of my ladies. It wasn't easy, especially for my heart which was shedding tears of sorrow. We have work to do, and I'm a diligent, responsible adult who would never choose hedonistic activities over leveling up…

Never.

I check on the twins and see that they forgot to lock the door last night. Well, I was the last one who left after watching Beatrice climb into Anna's bed, and I couldn't close it from outside, so it was inevitable.

Luckily nothing bad happened. When I step in, a pair of eyes immediately snap to me, and upon witnessing who am I, Anna first relaxes- due to me not being an assailant- and then tenses, and tries to get up to greet me. I gesture for her to stay.

She reluctantly agrees. We both glance at Beatrice's sleeping form, and her cheeks that have dried tears stuck to them.

Good. I've been told that crying is a good sign, and she has the support she needs to climb out of this hole. I nod towards Anna in an effort to wish her good morning, then step out, letting them rest and enjoy a sisterly morning free of servant duties.

My next stop is the architect duo. I wonder if they've achieved anything in such a short time. I imagine first many rough drafts need to be made, edited, discarded, etc.

I knock and Iselda welcomes me in with a reverent bow. She seems to be the most affected by my revelation of being a primordial.

The door opens to reveal the contrasting workspaces of two brilliant minds as if divided by an invisible line of order and chaos.

On the left side of the room, Iselda's domain is a beacon of precision and meticulous organization. Her work desk is spotless, every tool and material perfectly placed with care and intent. A wooden drawing board dominates her space, propped up at a gentle angle, with parchment sheets pinned to it.

Detailed sketches of architectural designs fill the page, neatly drawn with crisp lines and delicate annotations. Rolls of unused parchment are stacked evenly to one side, and her quills are arranged in a perfect row, ready for use. The serenity of her space radiates calm, and professionalism.

Then, I shift my gaze to the right side of the room- Ronan's territory. Yes, even indoors he seems to like to sport his sunglasses. I can't help but wonder if there's more to them than what initially meets the eye.

The stark contrast between his side and the widowed woman's is straight-up comical. It's complete mayhem.

Papers litter the floor, crumpled and discarded in what appears to be the aftermath of an artistic storm. His desk is barely visible beneath the scattered sheets of half-finished sketches, hastily scribbled notes, and open ink pots.

Several rough drafts are pinned haphazardly to the walls, some overlapping, as if Ronan was in such a rush to capture his ideas that he didn't care about the mess he was leaving behind. Tools- rulers, compasses, quills- are strewn about, some on the floor, others stuck between books and parchment as makeshift placeholders.

Even a few small bits of charcoal are scattered here and there, adding to the disarray.

Despite the chaos, there's a certain energy to Ronan's workspace, a raw creativity that shines in the disorder. It's clear he's been working furiously, driven by inspiration, even if that inspiration leaves a trail of destruction in its wake. His side of the room looks like the embodiment of a mind racing with ideas too fast to be contained.

Ronan himself is seated at his desk, hunched over a piece of parchment, furiously sketching something with a charcoal stick. His hair is tousled, and he looks like he hasn't slept much, but there's a certain shine to his eye as if he's on the verge of a breakthrough.

"Morning, Boss." Ronan grunts without looking up, still focused on his drawing.

Iselda gives him a glare that has a strong stench of disapproval but says nothing.

"I've just come to check up on you, I can't help but be excited at the prospect of having my own stronghold. I feel like a child about to receive a grand present. Please don't take this as a form of pressure to speed up your work, though. I can wait."

"Master, I don't think there's a need to worry about the speed with which your home's planning will be finished." Iselda stated with a bit of a grimace on her face while glancing at the other side of the room.

Ronan is the one responsible for the exterior with her being a helper and auditor. The blonde woman's main job will be the creation of the ladies' rooms as well as the neutral ones, so she has more time to come up with her designs, thus I imagine she spent most of her time trying to be of assistance to the manic architect.

"How is working with Ronan, do you think you two can form a team?" I inquire curiously. Their personalities are complete opposites, but maybe for a strictly work-related relationship that's strangely ideal.

"He makes me want to rip my hair out every other minute, Master, but I can't deny his genius. The previous architect I worked with held no candle to him whatsoever. And, although it's painful to admit, neither do I. If you only bought me, the end result would've definitely turned out to be worse. Well, worse in the sense that it wouldn't be this elaborate and unique."

"I appreciate the honesty. We're going to visit Broderick and his wives in an hour or so, could you two get ready?" I changed the topic, which made Ronan snap his attention to me.

For whatever reason, this guy idealizes Broderick. I can't decide why. If all he wants is a strong adventurer, then there are others, after all, Broderick is only of the Mithril rank, and above him are the Orichalcum and Adamantite adventurers. Though to be fair, with him being less than a century old, his strength is supposedly quite prodigious.

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