NTR: Barbarian Harem Conquest

Emerging from the northern tunnel, Prince Aelrindor finally stepped onto the sand.

The physical compensation was definitely there from his previous fight if you knew what you were looking at, but the screaming crowd didn’t know how to spot the subtle weakness.

Stopping twenty feet apart in the center of the arena, the two fighters finally shared the same physical space for the very first time.

The prince studied him.

”You declined the court attire,” the prince stated. His tone was entirely conversational, completely ignoring the screaming crowd around them.

It was just two men talking.

”Seemed unnecessary,” Kane replied casually.

”My mother found it quite interesting,” the prince noted.

”Your mother finds most things interesting,” Kane shot back, offering a relaxed smile.

”That is probably why she has survived for five hundred years.”

A tense pause stretched between them.

”The northern clans,” the prince said quietly.

Kane simply looked at him, waiting.

”I know you know,” the prince continued, his eyes narrowing slightly.

”I know,” Kane agreed simply.

”I’m not going to explain myself to you,” the prince warned.

”I’m not asking you to,” Kane dismissed him smoothly.

Another pause followed, heavier than the last.

”You should know,” the prince murmured, shifting his stance slightly, ”that what happens today in this arena... the fight itself... is not the only thing happening right now. There are specific variables in play that your little game data did not prepare you for.”

Meeting his gaze without blinking, Kane kept his voice ice-cold. ”I know about those too.”

The prince’s flawless aristocratic composure held firm, but something deep behind his eyes rapidly recalibrated.

”Then you must understand the stakes are vastly larger than winning a simple tournament,” the prince challenged.

”I understand,” Kane said.

”And you’re still standing here.”

”I’m still here,” Kane confirmed, rolling his shoulders to loosen his muscles.

Staring at the confident barbarian for a long moment, the prince wore an expression that was almost impossible to categorize.

It wasn’t fear, and it lacked the arrogant hostility Kane originally expected.

The starting gong echoed across the stadium.

The arena erupted.

Skipping any polite warmups or cautious reading periods, the royal heir exploded off his back foot with terrifying speed.

Five years of obsessive preparation culminated in this moment, and Aelrindor clearly wanted the fight finished before any unexpected variables could surface.

Starfall activated instantly.

Silver afterimages filled the arena as the spear duplicated into dozens of phantom strikes, attacking from multiple angles simultaneously while hiding the true blade within the chaotic visual noise.

”Starfall!” a noble shouted from the luxury boxes.

”Aelrindor opened with Starfall immediately!” the official commentator yelled into his amplification crystal, his voice echoing across the stadium.

”The barbarian has never seen this elite technique!”

Kane didn’t reach for his axe.

Keeping his hands casually at his sides, he simply watched the afterimages multiply.

”Wait, the barbarian is not drawing his weapon,” the commentator stammered, sounding genuinely confused.

”Is he frozen? Is this fear? Can someone please tell me what I am looking at up there?”

’Let’s see just how fast you really are,’ Kane thought, tracking the subtle shifts in the prince’s shoulders.

The first strike arrived.

Stepping smoothly to his left, Kane let the real spear thrust bite into empty air.

Swoosh.

”Did he just... dodge it?” the commentator gasped.

”How did he even track the real blade?”

Another phantom strike flashed forward, and Kane stepped casually to his right.

There was no dramatic leap or panicked scramble, just a calculated absence.

Aelrindor unleashed a third strike, aiming right for the chest.

Instead of retreating, Kane stepped forward, letting the silver blade pass mere inches from his ear as he walked directly into his personal space.

Realizing his spacing was compromised, the prince recalibrated and drastically increased his speed.

Phantom spears multiplied faster and faster, blurring into a web of lethal light that would confuse even the most seasoned royal guards.

Fourth strike. Fifth. Sixth.

Kane just kept stepping.

Left, right, forward, side.

Seventy thousand screaming spectators gradually went quiet.

”He is reading the pattern,” a wealthy merchant whispered in the front row.

”That’s impossible,” an older elven lord argued, gripping his robes.

”Then why hasn’t he drawn his weapon yet?” another noble demanded.

”Why is he just walking through it?”

Aelrindor finally stopped his assault, letting the afterimages dissolve into thin air.

Standing in the center of the ring, the prince stared at his opponent with the baffled expression of a seasoned fighter who just deployed his ultimate technique against a man who treated it like a light breeze.

Kane flashed a mocking smile but refused to say a single word.

Dropping the spear stance, Aelrindor shifted his tactics and summoned twin elven blades.

These short swords were infinitely faster in close combat, and while his injured shoulder slightly limited his left arm’s range, his flawless footwork easily compensated for the weakness.

Launching forward, the prince unleashed a combination that would have butchered most arena veterans in under four seconds.

Kane still refused to draw Mjoldr.

Slipping past the first biting blade, Kane redirected the second strike with his bare forearm, using the royal’s own aggressive momentum against him.

He ducked under the third horizontal slash entirely.

When the fourth strike aimed for his throat, Kane sidestepped so cleanly that Aelrindor’s extended arm shot past his face, causing the prince to stumble forward a clumsy half-step.

Snapping his hand out, Kane flicked the prince directly on the tip of his pointed ear.

Tap.

Just a humiliating flick.

The stadium completely erupted, though the noise didn’t come from the noble sections.

”Did he just flick the prince?!” a human mercenary roared with laughter.

”He’s playing with him!”

”This is a disgrace,” an elven duchess gasped, clutching her pearls.

”This is wildly disrespectful!”

”He’s not even using his axe yet!” someone screamed from the upper benches.

Sitting in the competitors’ gallery, Kessa watched the humiliating exchange with a satisfied smirk.

Aelrindor’s aristocratic composure finally cracked.

Abandoning his elegance, the prince launched a full assault.

Both blades slashed simultaneously, his intricate footwork generating impossible angles that eliminated standard defensive options.

His speed spiked so high that even Kane’s enhanced Agility stat had to work overtime to keep pace.

Three combinations blurred into six, then escalated into ten.

Kane deliberately slowed his rotation by a fraction of a second.

Taking a hit on purpose, Kane allowed the silver blade to bite into his left shoulder.

Blood welled up from the cut, but he didn’t even flinch.

He just kept moving, kept ignoring the axe on his back, and kept forcing the royal heir to chase him across the sand.

Seeing the stain, the noble sections settled slightly, letting out collective sighs of relief.

”The barbarian is bleeding!” a lord cheered.

”Our prince is finally landing hits!”

Frustrated by the endless dodging, the prince finally tried his hidden nerve strike.

Aelrindor telegraphed the dirty move by a mere two percent, making it practically invisible to the untrained eye.

But Kane had been patiently listening for that specific breath hold and subtle weight transfer ever since Rutheus described the crippled shoulder in detail.

Instead of dodging sideways, Kane simply took one step backward.

The prince’s fingers struck empty air, and his aggressive forward momentum carried him just slightly past his safe recovery point.

’Checkmate,’ Kane thought.

Pivoting smoothly, Kane drove his fist right into the prince’s jaw.