NTR: Barbarian Harem Conquest

Kane nodded once.

”We will depart the day after tomorrow.”

The table accepted the timeline with a scatter of short acknowledgments.

Thora finished the last of the meat she had claimed from his plate.

Misha closed the ledger.

Sira guarded the remainder of her food until the older maid began clearing.

Kessa emptied her own dish without offering a scrap to anyone.

Griselda and Firlia rose with the efficiency of people who already had lists forming behind their eyes.

Breakfast broke apart the way their meals usually did: noise, arguments about portions, and the gradual drift of bodies toward training yards, notes, and the rest of the morning’s work.

Kane stayed behind only long enough to finish the cup, then walked the corridor to the quieter side hall that had become his temporary working room.

He sat, braced the left arm on the table, and opened the Bloodfang market through the system.

The interface unfolded in clean panels of light.

High-quality stock scrolled past, things most frontier buyers never saw because the price tags assumed a different class of coin.

Kane had the gold.

Berakamon’s aftermath, Menual’s yields, and the accumulated purses of too many settled fights had left the gold weight in his ledger heavier than it had been at any previous point on this run.

He filtered for durability and immediate use.

>Bloodfang Market

[Ironvein Shoulder Guard – Densified Impact]

[Blackforge Chest Plate – Self-Repairing]

[Reach Compact Axe]

[Stormveil Travel Cloak – Weather/Scry Resist]

[Clawlock Gauntlets – Striking Edge]

Shoulder plates first: articulated, dark-forged, rated to take densified impact without the cheap fracture lines that had failed lesser gear in the arena.

A matching chest plate followed, heavier than parade armor, light enough not to rob him of the speed the Giants would punish him for losing.

The system confirmed the set as bound-on-equip and self-repairing to a limited degree.

Grathak had already proved that things existed in this world capable of putting real damage through him.

Walking onto an island of mass and precedent without closing that gap would be stupidity dressed as confidence.

He bought both.

Then he moved down the list for the others.

A compact, dense-headed axe for Thora, shorter than Mjoldr, weighted for one-hand work and brutal close hooks.

A travel cloak for Misha, lined and spelled against weather and casual scrying, the cut practical rather than noble.

A recurve bow for Sira with a draw weight that would make elven instructors complain and a quiver of matched shafts.

A focus caster for Firlia, small enough to sit against a ledger wrist, strong enough to turn her tidy administrative magic into something that could crack a shield line if the landing went wrong.

Gauntlets for Kessa, claw-compatible, reinforced across the knuckles and the striking edge of the palm.

The gold numbers dropped as his inventory filled.

Kane closed the market and sat with the residual glow of the interface fading from his vision until the room was only wood and morning light again.

Footsteps gathered at the doorway.

Misha entered first, ledger under one arm.

The others filtered in behind her until the small hall held the full set.

Misha’s gaze went to the system afterglow still fading around him, then to his face.

”How many of us are you taking to the Island?”

Kane looked at them in turn.

Thora’s solid readiness, Misha’s precise attention, Sira’s restless energy, Kessa’s striped focus, Griselda’s quiet assessment, Firlia’s carefully controlled hope.

”All of you.”

Sira’s eyebrows rose.

”Hmm?”

”I didn’t plan on it at first.”

Kane flexed the braced hand once against the table edge.

”Giants aren’t as immediately hostile as the worst versions of the stories if you approach on precedent instead of pride. But the sky might break while I’m on the wrong side of open water, and I’m not interested in being two days away from any of you when it does. A few elven commanders come with us for coordination and legitimacy. We move as a group. No more solo runs.”

Firlia’s ears colored.

She had never had a clean chance to leave the administrative orbit of one empire for the threshold of another.

The professional mask slipped just enough to show the interest underneath.

Thora folded her arms.

”If you are bringing us, you can’t sleep with other women. You know that, right?”

Kane’s mouth curved.

”There are five of you already in the active rotation, six if we count the way Firlia keeps ending up in the doorway. Why would I move to others? Also, Giants aren’t my type.”

Sira made a satisfied noise. Kessa’s tail flicked once in agreement. Misha didn’t smile, but the line of her shoulders eased a fraction.

Kane opened the spatial storage and began distributing what he had bought.

The shoulder plates and chest piece settled against his own gear for later fitting.

He passed Thora the compact axe.

She tested the balance immediately, expression approving. Misha received the cloak and ran the spelled seam between her fingers with professional assessment.

Sira took the bow like she had been insulted by every other weapon in the manor and finally been vindicated.

Firlia accepted the focus caster with both hands, eyes widening as the small device woke to her magic.

Kessa slid the gauntlets on, flexed, and nodded once.

”Good weight,” Thora said.

”I’ll make the first Giant who talks down to us regret having knees.”

”The cloak will do,” Misha added.

”Weather and attention both.”

Sira was already sighting down the bow’s length toward the far wall.

”If the elven instructors complain about the draw, I’m going to use them as range markers.”

Firlia’s voice was quieter.

”I’ve never had a focus that answered this cleanly. Thank you.”

Kessa turned one gauntleted hand in the light.

”These will hurt. Correctly.”

The group dispersed to focus on their duties.

Kane left them with their new gear and turned to Mjoldr, resting the axe across the table to check the head seating and the grip wrap after the lighter morning forms.

The familiar weight settled his hands.

He was still adjusting the binding when the bathroom door on the far side of the chamber opened.

Misha stepped out.

Long white hair hung damp around her shoulders and down her back.

She was completely naked: skin pale as a fresh page, pink nipples drawn tight in the cooler air of the hall, the soft line of her cunt bare and unmistakable as she paused on the threshold.