NTR: Barbarian Harem Conquest

”How are you, Misha?” the woman asked, finally pulling her attention away from the knights still pinned helplessly to the floorboards.

”I am fine, Saintess,” Misha answered, taking a sip of her spiced tea.

”And your heart?” The silver veils shifted slightly as the guest tilted her head, her tone carrying a genuine note of concern.

”The curse placed upon it?”

”It has been healing,” Misha replied, a rare softness entering her dual-tone voice.

”Slowly, but steadily.”

Turning her gaze back across the mahogany table, the Saintess studied Kane with renewed interest.

”You did this? You eased the oracle’s burden?”

”She’s my wife,” Kane stated simply, leaning back in his chair.

”You didn’t rape her?”

The question came out blunt, devoid of courtly manners or polite phrasing.

Kane let out a laugh, finding the absurdity of the question amusing.

”Why would I do that?”

”Barbarians usually do,” she pointed out calmly, her voice echoing gently in the large room. ”Conquerors of your particular reputation tend to claim their spoils without asking for consent. It is what the history books record.”

”I’m different,” Kane corrected, swirling the remaining tea in his cup.

”A forced bond breaks the second you turn your back on it. I prefer loyalty that actually holds up in a fight. Plus, I enjoy women who actually want to be in my bed.”

Footsteps echoed from the main corridor just then.

The grand doors swung open wider, admitting Thora, Sira, Firlia, and Lyssel into the hall.

They had just finished organizing the southern recruits and sorting the treasury ledgers for the evening.

Seeing the paladins still kissing the wood, Thora smirked, nudging Sira’s shoulder before they all walked forward to claim empty seats around the long table.

Looking around at the capable women flanking the warlord, the Saintess hummed a quiet note of amusement.

”You have many wives,” she noted, her eyes crinkling beneath the translucent silver fabric.

”I take care of them,” Kane replied, refusing to justify his unconventional council to a temple representative.

”They run this empire just as much as I do. Anybody who touches them they lose their head. Now, about that overgrown snake sleeping on your mountain.”

”Right to business,” the Saintess agreed, her demeanor shifting into something much more clinical.

”Then you need to know how it hunts. The Serpent does not just live in the snow. It generates a localized freezing domain. Once you step into its territory, the air itself will try to stop your heart.”

”I can buy potions for the cold,” Kane noted, already doing the mental math on system shop prices.

”Potions only delay the frostbite,” she corrected, tapping a slender finger against her teacup.

”Its scales blend perfectly with the mist. The beast erases its own presence completely. You will not see it until its fangs are already inside your throat.”

’Just like the game,’ Kane remembered, drumming his fingers on the table.

’Invisible boss mechanics always annoyed me. You cannot hit what you cannot track. Brute strength is useless if you are swinging at empty air.’

”How do I fight something I cannot see?” Kane asked, leaning in closer.

Reaching into her robes, the Saintess pulled out a small brass bell tied to a frayed crimson rope.

She slid it across the mahogany table until it stopped right in front of him.

”This is a temple relic,” she explained softly.

”Ring it once when the fog rolls in. The chime disrupts divine camouflage for exactly ten seconds.”

Kane picked up the brass object, inspecting the intricate runes carved into the metal. It felt warm against his palm, carrying a faint hum of ancient magic.

”Ten seconds,” Kane repeated, testing the weight of the bell.

”That is all the opening you will get,” the Saintess warned.

”The relic requires an hour to recharge between uses. If you miss your strike, the Serpent will swallow you whole.”

’Ten seconds is plenty if I time the berserker aura right,’ Kane calculated, his combat instincts running through various scenarios.

’I just need to bait it close enough to guarantee a fatal blow. Make it think it has the upper hand.’

Thora leaned forward, eyeing the bell with intense curiosity.

”Why are you helping him? Your temple worships the mountain deities. Giving away a relic to kill their familiar feels like treason to your own gods.”

”My gods abandoned us a long time ago,” the Saintess confessed, a bitter edge slipping into her bright voice.

”That serpent has eaten three of my initiates this winter alone. It is not a divine guardian anymore. It is a starving plague. If Kane wants to remove it, I will gladly offer him the tools to do so.”

Firlia retrieved a fresh piece of parchment from her satchel, dipping her quill into the nearby inkhorn.

”What else does the creature do? Does it have ranged attacks we should prepare for?”

”It spits a freezing venom,” the veiled woman answered, turning toward the elven clerk.

”If the venom touches your skin, it crystallizes your blood instantly. Armor offers zero protection against it. A shield will just freeze and shatter in your hands.”

”So don’t get hit,” Kane summarized, tossing the bell lightly in his hand before slipping it into his pouch.

”Sounds straightforward enough.”

”Nothing about this is straightforward,” the Saintess sighed, standing up from her chair and brushing out her robes.

”You are walking into a suicide mission. But since you spared my idiotic guards, I will offer one last piece of advice. Do not bring an army. The Serpent senses vibrations in the snow. A marching battalion will wake it up before you even reach the halfway point. Go alone, or take a very small, elite team.”

”I planned on keeping the raiding party light anyway,” Kane agreed, standing up to match her height.

Glancing down at the five paladins still struggling to breathe under the lingering pressure of his aura, Kane finally snapped his fingers.

The crushing weight vanished instantly.

Gasping loudly, the knights collapsed against the floorboards, coughing and clutching their chests in desperate relief.

”Gather your men,” Kane suggested, offering a polite, almost mocking smile.

”We have guest quarters prepared for you in the east wing. Rest up before your journey back north.”

”Thank you, Kane,” the Saintess bowed her head slightly, offering him a genuine sign of respect.

”May fortune favor your blade on the mountain.”