NTR: Barbarian Harem Conquest

[Quest Updated: The Coming Storm]

[Menual western campaign: Neutralized]

[Siege engines captured: 12]

[Pass fortification: In progress]

[Political chain: Pending investigation]

Forty hours after the slaughter in the channel, the mountain pass looked different.

Seraphine’s engineers worked tirelessly to modify the twelve captured siege engines.

Repurposing offensive machines proved complex, but the first four were already bolted into place for defensive use.

Their intricate mechanisms were entirely inverted, and their throwing arms were meticulously reset for downward projection rather than forward assault.

The rocky choke point was rapidly becoming a permanent military installation that didn’t exist seventy-two hours ago.

Below, the World Tree node pulsed faintly.

Above, archers manned high ridge positions. At the entrance, deadly repurposed engines waited to rain stone on anyone foolish enough to approach.

Sitting across from Kane at a camp table, Commander Ravan rubbed his unbound wrists.

He wasn’t a flight risk.

The officer had already assessed his grim situation and made the calm decision that professional soldiers make when the board is unambiguously lost.

Despite taking a brutal strike to the solar plexus, he remained in surprisingly good physical condition.

Ravan stared at the barbarian across the table with the specific, evaluating expression of one seasoned professional studying another.

”You jumped off the high ridge,” Ravan noted, his voice perfectly steady.

”I did,” Kane nodded, leaning back in his chair.

”Fifteen vertical meters right onto a packed cavalry formation trapped in a confined channel,” Ravan continued, shaking his head slightly.

”I genuinely don’t recommend it,” Kane offered with a dry smile, pressing a hand against his side.

”Ribs don’t enjoy the landing.”

Ravan almost smiled. He didn’t, but it was a near thing.

”You are the tournament champion.”

”Yes.”

”The Elven Empire’s new military commander.”

”Since very recently,” Kane agreed.

”You are a barbarian,” Ravan stated.

He didn’t say it with aristocratic contempt, but rather with the flat, emotionless tone of a man simply cataloging facts.

”Yes, I am,” Kane smiled proudly.

Glancing around the busy channel, Ravan took in the staggering amount of work happening around them.

Modified siege engines were actively being repositioned by hauling teams.

Fresh ridge fortifications were taking shape out of stone and timber.

Seraphine’s polished Milfheim soldiers and Kane’s rugged Bloodfang barbarians worked alongside each other, displaying the casual, shared efficiency of people who just bled together.

”Who authorized this disastrous campaign?” Kane finally asked, dropping the pleasantries.

Ravan remained quiet for a long moment, staring at the scarred wooden table.

”You know I can’t answer that.”

”You can,” Kane corrected him smoothly.

”The only real question is whether you actually will.”

”There is a distinction,” Ravan conceded.

Leaning forward, Kane met the commander’s eyes.

”Look around you, Ravan. Your expensive siege engines are currently being repurposed to fortify this pass permanently. Your five hundred and thirty-five surviving soldiers are slowly being processed through official imperial channels. Your grand campaign is over before it officially began. The political argument for this whole operation, that it would succeed quickly enough to present the continent with a sudden fait accompli before anyone could respond, that argument is now completely void.”

Ravan said nothing, his jaw tight.

”Whoever authorized this foolish operation,” Kane continued, his voice dropping, ”is currently receiving reports. They are reading that their forward scouting camp was eliminated, their herald returned with a severe legal complication, and their primary invasion column was utterly neutralized in its very first engagement.”

”Yes,” Ravan admitted quietly.

”I want to know who that person is,” Kane demanded softly.

”Because in approximately two weeks, they are going to have to make another major decision. Either they blindly escalate the conflict, or they stand down. If they choose to escalate, I need to know exactly where to position my resources to crush them. If they choose to stand down, I need to know what specific terms they will accept.”

Ravan stared at the red-haired warlord, a new understanding dawning in his eyes.

”You are not asking for military intelligence,” Ravan realized.

”No.”

”You are asking for a direct political contact.”

”I’m asking for the name of the person who can end this mess without forcing me to launch another bloody campaign,” Kane clarified.

A pause settled over the table.

”General Sevarith,” Ravan finally answered, his shoulders slumping slightly in defeat.

”He’s the Eastern Campaign Commander. He holds the operational authority. But the actual political authorization came directly from Chancellor Morvak. The Menual emperor is very old and tired. The chancellor controls all the actual decision-making now.”

’Morvak,’ Kane filed the name away instantly.

”He has been quietly building toward this invasion for eight years,” Ravan elaborated, offering up the secrets of a failed strategy.

”The deep harbor strategy, the aggressive naval ambitions, and the timing to coincide with your supposed border conflict with Milfheim.”

”How does the Chancellor usually respond when things don’t work?” Kane asked, genuinely curious.

Ravan thought about it for a moment.

”He retaliates.”

”So if I offer him something actually worth recalculating toward,” Kane proposed.

”He will take the meeting,” Ravan confirmed.

Kane nodded, satisfied.

”Thank you.”

Standing up from the table, Kane stretched his stiff back.

”What happens to us now?” Ravan asked, looking up at his captor.

”You go straight back home,” Kane answered casually.

”Only you, carrying a message for that fuckass commander.”

Ravan frowned, confused by the sudden release. ”What message?”

Looking around, Kane admired the modified siege engines bolted to the stone.

”Tell him the western approach is officially closed,” Kane instructed, turning back to the commander.

Leaning down, Kane lowered his voice. ”And tell him that the man who did all this wants to talk about what Menual needs, and whether there is a viable way to get it that does not require trying to take it by force.”

Ravan stared at him for a very long time, processing the sheer audacity of the offer.

Ravan nodded slowly, a profound respect settling over his features. ”I will deliver the message personally.”

”I know,” Kane grinned.

”If he retaliates, I won’t hold back again.”