NTR: Barbarian Harem Conquest

Stepping into the royal banquet hall on the palace’s second floor felt like walking into a painting that cost more than a dozen human cities combined.

Long tables had exotic dishes that cost more per plate than a border village earned in an entire month of hard labor.

Tournament participants from every invited faction filled the seats alongside high-ranking nobles who were specifically assigned to host them for the evening.

Kane’s group sat near the far end, a deliberate slight that screamed: ”You are not welcome here.”

Up at the front, the prince’s empty golden chair sat at the head of the table, flanked on both sides by stoic silver wardens.

The pale elf sitting directly across from Kane introduced himself with an arrogant title that took forty seconds to recite, tilting his chin upward as if smelling something rotten.

”I do hope you know how to use proper utensils, savage. We don’t eat with our hands in civilized company.”

Kane took a slow sip of wine, then smiled.

”I’ve been eating just fine without forks lately. But if you keep talking, I might shove that silver one up your ass so you finally have something inside you.”

The elf’s face turned purple.

He snapped his mouth shut and went quiet, choosing to stare at his roasted pheasant rather than risk another verbal spar with the smiling warlord.

Kane looked at the human, who had been harassing Thora for a while.

”A woman like you deserves better company.”

He didn’t stand up from his chair, he didn’t raise his voice, and he did not reach for the crimson axe strapped to his back.

He just looked at the man, letting his dominant aura press down on the space between them.

The human met his cold eyes for approximately four seconds before the suffocating pressure broke his fragile confidence entirely.

”...Great tournament so far,” the mercenary muttered to no one in particular, suddenly finding the tapestries on the far wall incredibly fascinating as he scrambled to look anywhere else.

Watching this silent exchange from across the table, Kessa allowed a slow, satisfied smirk to curl her lips.

”You didn’t even say a single word to him.”

”Didn’t need to,” Kane noted, returning his attention to his meat.

The elven women scattered around the hall presented a completely different situation.

Three noble daughters assigned as social hosts for the tournament participants had been watching Kane like hungry wolves since the moment he sat down.

The elven noblewomen were more subtle.

”Is your goblet empty again, Warrior?” the first noblewoman murmured, leaning across the table for the fourth time in half an hour.

”I’ve plenty, thank you,” Kane replied smoothly.

Before he could even take a proper sip, the second woman leaned in from his left.

Her gaze locked firmly on the crimson handle protruding from his back, though her posture suggested she had no idea what she was actually looking at.

”I simply must know,” she breathed, her voice dropping to a whisper that ignored the banquet hall.

”Is the haft made of true ironwood? It looks so... formidable. Does it require a very firm grip to wield properly?”

”It requires tracking a beast for three days and carving the wood yourself.”

”Fascinating. You must show me how well those strong hands grip something much thicker than a weapon sometime.”

The third woman proved to be much bolder than her peers.

Waiting for a scheduled course change, she slipped into the empty chair right beside him and leaned close enough that he could smell her expensive floral perfume.

”You fight like someone who’s been watching the game from the shadows for years... and finally decided to play. What do you want from our beautiful city, Kane?”

Kane turned his head, letting his gaze drag slowly down her body before meeting her eyes.

”Everything,” he said, voice low.

”Every proud elven in this hall, every noble title, and every drop of royal blood I can claim. Starting with yours if you keep looking at me like that.”

A genuine, slightly surprised laugh escaped her lips. ”Most people who say that only mean the tournament prize.”

”I don’t,” Kane promised, letting his gaze drop briefly to her painted lips.

Pausing for a long moment, she seemed to weigh his confidence against his barbarian status.

”My name is Lyssel.”

”I know,” Kane said softly.

”You are the third daughter of House Varenthal, and you have been watching me since the soup course.”

Lyssel’s aristocratic composure held firm, but her eyes sharpened with deep interest rather than flashing with embarrassment.

”You noticed.”

”I notice most things,” Kane murmured.

He let the heated eye contact hold for exactly one beat longer than socially necessary before finally turning his attention back to the table.

Sitting two seats away, Thora watched this entire flirtatious exchange unfold.

Her expression remained completely pleasant on the surface, yet her eyes carried an entirely possessive edge.

Eating steadily beside them, Rutheus said nothing.

His left hand had stopped practicing the repetitive cup motion and was now simply gripping the clay surface.

Watching the crowded room the way a seasoned veteran watches a potential battlefield, the giant barbarian quietly cataloged every exit, evaluated the armed guards, and mapped out the shifting social patterns.

Up at the front of the hall, the prince’s golden chair remained empty.

Halfway through the decadent banquet, a royal herald stepped forward and announced that Prince Aelrindor sent his deepest regrets.

’The prince is actively avoiding the banquet,’ Kane thought, filing the announcement away in his mental ledger.

Then the energy in the room shifted.

The queen had finally entered.

She stood near the entrance doors and looked across the crowded room with an expression of total authority.

Her piercing eyes found Kane immediately.

She held his gaze across the sea of nobles for exactly three seconds.

Breaking the connection, she looked away and spoke quietly to a nervous functionary hovering right beside her.

Less than two minutes later, a silent palace attendant appeared right at Kane’s elbow, slipping a small, folded piece of parchment onto the table before vanishing back into the crowd.

Kane picked up the note and opened it under the table.

It contained only one line of elegant script and bore no royal signature.

The old district.

Dawn.

Come alone except for the girl.

An invitation.

Kane read the note again, then slowly folded it and tucked it into his pocket.

[Quest Active: Claim Five Elven Wives 1/5]

His eyes drifted across the hall and locked onto the three elegant elven noblewomen who had been shamelessly flirting with him the entire night: Lyssel, Vaelira, and Serelith.

’This should be fun,’ he thought, already imagining their proud faces pressed against the marble while he fucks them.