NTR: Barbarian Harem Conquest

[Tournament Status Update]

[Quarterfinals Complete]

[Bonus: You’ve received 1,000 Gold Coins]

[Prince Aelrindor has formally requested a seven-day delay, citing ceremonial obligations]

[Tournament administration approved: Unanimous]

[Note: The delay was not requested. It was ordered.]

[Semifinals relocated: Elaryndal, The Imperial Capital]

[All semifinal participants will be transported to the capital within 48 hours]

[Reason given: Grand tradition. The final two matches of the Celestial Aurora have always been conducted in the capital before the queen’s throne]

[Actual reason: The queen wants them on her ground.]

Kane sat on the edge of his comfortable mattress and swiped the text away. A chuckle escaped his lips as the political maneuvering was painfully obvious.

’A seven-day delay for ceremonial obligations,’ Kane mused, shaking his head.

’Aelrindor needs a full week for the royal healers to stitch that ruined shoulder back together. The prince must be screaming at his clerics right now, demanding they fix his perfect body before I get the chance to break it completely. Changing the location just adds another layer of control for his mother.’

He grabbed a fresh shirt from his travel pack and pulled it over his head.

Telling Thora, Sira, and Kessa to pack their bags could wait a little longer.

Right now, he needed to check on the man who bought him this precious opening.

Rutheus sacrificed his livelihood to give Kane a winning chance, so acknowledging that debt was the only honorable move.

Navigating the winding streets of the craftsman quarter took less than twenty minutes.

The air smelled of fresh pine shavings and meat from street vendors. It was a sharp contrast to the perfumed avenues near the arena.

Kane enjoyed the honest, working-class atmosphere. He found the cheap boarding house easily and climbed the creaky wooden stairs to the second floor.

Reaching the end of the narrow hallway, he pushed the unlocked door open without bothering to knock.

Rutheus sat at a small table near an open window. A jug of cheap red wine rested between two simple clay cups.

Both cups were already filled to the brim, which meant the giant barbarian had been expecting company.

Kane stepped inside and closed the door gently.

His eyes drifted naturally to Rutheus’s right arm. White bandages wrapped tightly around the giant’s shoulder, binding the dead limb securely against his broad torso.

The older warrior held his wine cup in his left hand, testing his grip with small, precise movements.

He lifted the cup an inch, set it down, and then lifted it again. He was deliberately practicing his coordination to compensate for the permanent loss of his dominant side.

”You already know about the capital,” Kane said, pulling out a chair and sitting down.

Rutheus took a slow sip of his wine before setting the cup back on the scratched table.

”I’ve been to Elaryndal twice in my life. I went once as a young fighter who got eliminated in the second round, and I went again as a spectator after I won the tournament here ten years ago. They invited the champion to the grand ceremony.”

”What’s it like?” Kane asked, picking up his own cup.

Rutheus stared out the window for a long moment, watching the evening swallow the sky.

”Sylvandar is a border city. It is prosperous and relatively open because they are used to dealing with foreign visitors, merchants, and mercenaries. People here understand that the world is much bigger than their silver walls. Elaryndal is completely different. It’s the beating heart of the empire. Everything the elven royalty actually believes about their own supremacy is written right into the architecture there. It’ll make this place look like a quiet fishing village.”

Kane absorbed the warning, letting the sour wine coat his throat.

The drink was cheap and bitter, but it suited the somber mood perfectly.

”So the queen will be present from the very beginning of the matches,” Kane stated, connecting the political dots.

”The queen has never left Elaryndal in five hundred years,” Rutheus explained, keeping his deep voice calm and serious.

”She rules exclusively from the center. Everything radiates outward from her throne, so going to the capital means stepping directly into her sphere of influence. You will be playing on her personal game board.”

”Good,” Kane smiled, leaning back comfortably in his chair.

The giant barbarian looked at him with genuine curiosity, resting his good hand on his knee.

”You don’t find that concerning?”

”I find it useful,” Kane countered. ”I’ve been trying to get her attention since I walked through the border gate weeks ago. She has been watching my progress from a safe distance through seers and spies. Moving the fights to the capital means she stops watching and finally starts participating in the game. I want her across the table from me.”

Rutheus turned the clay cup slowly in his left hand, tracing the uneven rim with his calloused thumb.

”She’s going to try to neutralize you before you ever step into the semifinal ring. She will not use violence as she is far too sophisticated for cheap assassination attempts. She leaves street brawls to her arrogant son. The queen will use the ceremony instead. They will drown you in endless social obligations and the overwhelming political weight of being a mere guest in the imperial capital. She will try to make you feel small before the fight even starts.”

’They think barbarians get intimidated by tall white towers and shiny crowns. They expect me to bow my head and feel grateful just for the invitation.’

”Let her try,” Kane said, his voice carrying absolute certainty.

Rutheus studied the confident warlord sitting across the table.

”I’m coming with you,” Rutheus declared.

”You don’t have to do that,” Kane pointed out. ”Your part in this tournament is over, and your clan needs you. You owe me nothing.”

”I know,” Rutheus replied simply.

”But I’m coming anyway. Somebody has to watch your back while you navigate the royal courts.”

They drank in comfortable silence for several minutes, enjoying the strong, mutual respect flowing between them.

As Kane reached for the door handle, Rutheus spoke without looking up from the table.

”Bring that axe,” Rutheus instructed.

”Don’t just save it for the arena fight. I want you to carry it everywhere you go in the capital. Let those arrogant nobles see the crimson blade every single day. That weapon makes people remember exactly what you are before their fancy ceremonies try to make them forget.”