NTR: Barbarian Harem Conquest

Instead of drawing his blade or calling for a formal guard of honor, Kane laughed out loud and walked right past his own defensive line, opening his arms wide as he approached the giant leader.

Rutheus let out a roaring laugh that echoed off the central keep, tossing his greatsword to a nearby shield-bearer before catching Kane in a fierce, brotherly embrace that rattled the armor plates on their shoulders.

”Took you long enough,” Kane said, clapping his hand hard against Rutheus’s fur-clad back as they parted.

”I was beginning to think you got lost in the southern valleys.”

”I heard the little Elves were trying to stir up trouble on your border,” Rutheus boomed, his grinning face crinkling around deep scars as he looked Kane up and down.

”Figured I would bring some real men down from the mountains and help you break a few shields!”

Sira pushed past Thora’s elbow, her eyes wide with total reverence as she stared up at the banners fluttering behind the newcomer.

”Ah! He’s back.”

Rather than treating the northern leader like a newcomer, the fortress guards and inner circle moved around the towering barbarian with familiar ease, passing plates of roasted meats and topping off mead mugs.

At the same time, loud boasts echoed off the stone walls.

Sira sat in heaven among Rutheus’s vanguard, excitedly demonstrating proper axe-throwing grips to warriors twice her size.

At the same time, Thora stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Rutheus near the weapons rack, debating the durability of Kane’s new Tier III mana-forged steel against traditional northern black-iron.

Firlia watched the feast from the shade of the treasury pavilion, clutching a ledger to her chest as she tracked the dwindling supplies with a look of profound suffering.

”Commander... they are eating the profit margins from the eastern spice trade,” Firlia sighed, marking another line on her parchment as Rutheus downed his third roasted boar leg.

”They are going to save us five thousand silver coins in mercenary bribes, Firlia,” Kane laughed, snatching a fresh tankard of southern ale from a passing tray and handing it across the table to his old friend.

”Let them eat whatever they want.”

Rutheus took a generous gulp of the ale, wiping foam from his silver-braided beard with the back of his hand as he squinted at the accountant.

”Your accountant has a sharp eye, Kane,” Rutheus rumbled, offering Firlia a wide, toothy grin.

”In the mountains, we usually just eat the people who complain about the meat.”

”Try eating me, and I will deduct your burial expenses from your warlord’s estate,” Firlia stated flatly, turning on her heel and walking away to check the armory manifests without a shred of fear in her step.

Rutheus roared with laughter, slamming his open palm against the table hard enough to rattle the wooden bowls.

”I like her! You always did know how to surround yourself with dangerous women, brother!”

”Yes.”

”Wasn’t she the one at the tournament?”

”Indeed. I stole her.”

”You are a shameless monster.”

”She is the only person in the empire who scares me,” Kane admitted, pulling up a wooden stool as Misha and Thora joined them at the table.

’Rutheus hasn’t changed a bit since our early border skirmishes,’ Kane thought, watching his old friend trade a friendly insult with Thora.

’He brings chaos wherever he goes, but having his mountain bands here turns Menual from a strong trade hub into an unstoppable military force.’

Clearing a space between the mead mugs, Kane unrolled a wide parchment map across the stained wood, using two empty goblets to anchor the curled corners.

”Let us talk about Sylvander,” Kane began, tapping a finger on the southern pass where the trade roads narrowed into the forest.

”My Tier III Ballistae are already positioned along the main ridge. Nothing moves in or out of the Elven borders without our permission, which means their treasury is currently trapped inside the city walls.”

”And without gold reaching the border, the Black Vanguard mercenaries they hired are sitting in their tents on empty stomachs,” Thora added, tracing the mercenary camp’s location with the butt of her dagger.

”Exactly,” Kane nodded, looking up at Rutheus.

”Which is why I am sending Sira and Seraphine into their camp tonight. We are going to offer the Black Vanguard two choices: take my silver and walk away, or stay and starve for an Elven Queen who cannot even pay their weekly wages.”

Rutheus rubbed his chin, staring down at the map with a critical glint in his eyes.

While he loved the cruelty of buying out an enemy’s army with their own blocked trade profits, the mountain warlord preferred strategies that left no room for betrayal.

”If your girls simply walk in and offer them silver, those easterners might take the coin and try to ransom them back to the Elves anyway,” Rutheus warned, pointing a scarred finger toward the southern ridge line.

”Mercenaries only respect gold if they also fear the steel standing behind it.”

”Seraphine doesn’t get ransomed, Rutheus,” Kane noted smoothly, taking a sip from his own cup.

”She usually just leaves a trail of bodies if a negotiation goes sour.”

”Even so,” Rutheus grinned, leaning his massive frame over the table until his shadow covered the map.

”Why take the risk? Let me march my mountain band along the western ridge before your girls initiate the talk. When Seraphine walks into their command tent with the gold, I want my hundred tribal banners sitting on the hills right above their camp.”

”You want to ambush a negotiation?” Thora asked, a slow smile spreading across her face as she caught his drift.

”Not an ambush, little vanguard,” Rutheus chuckled, his eyes gleaming with northern cunning.

”A reminder! We give those easterners a very simple choice: take Kane’s silver and get rich, or face the mountain tribes and feed the crows by sunrise.”

Misha leaned forward from Kane’s side, closing her eyes for a brief second as her gentle oracle magic rippled through the air around them.

”The oracle sight confirms it, Kane,” Misha agreed, opening her eyes as a silver spark faded from her pupils.

”Fear will seal the contract much faster than coin alone. The eastern mercenaries are deeply superstitious about northern berserkers, and seeing Rutheus on the ridge will break their morale before Seraphine even opens the gold chests.”