NTR: Barbarian Harem Conquest

Sunlight poured into the packed Celestial Aurora arena, heating the marble seats to a comfortable warmth.

Every single tier overflowed with eager spectators waiting for the quarterfinal bloodbath to begin.

Up in the shaded royal box, Prince Aelrindor sat with perfect posture to project calm confidence to his subjects.

Lothburk delivered the false report exactly as instructed that night.

Because of that lie, the royal heir firmly believed his barbarian problem was currently suffering from broken ribs and a shattered spirit.

And Firlia further confirmed his suspicions.

Down on the fighting floor, Dravek made his grand entrance.

The scarred human mercenary from the northern wastes played the crowd perfectly.

His entourage walked behind him, flexing their muscles and throwing cheap trinkets into the lower stands to work the gullible elven nobles into a frenzy.

Dravek built a long, lucrative career on eye gouging and joint breaks.

He ended countless tournament runs with dirty tricks that always looked like unavoidable accidents.

Kane walked out of the shadowy tunnel in total silence.

He chose not to wear a shirt today, putting his sculpted chest and rippling abdominal muscles on full display.

Sweat glistened on his pale skin, highlighting the physical power coiled beneath his flesh.

A few highborn noblewomen in the front rows leaned forward, fanning themselves rapidly.

They were captivated by the primal, deeply erotic energy radiating from the dominant barbarian.

’Let’s give the prince exactly what he paid for,’ Kane thought, rolling his neck to loosen his joints.

’System, dump my unallocated reserve points directly into Strength. I want to feel this cheating bastard break.’

[Stat Points Allocated]

[Strength: 210]

[Status: Prime Condition]

A surge of heat flooded Kane’s veins.

His muscles visibly tightened, swelling with newfound power.

He didn’t reach for Mjoldr, planning to handle this garbage with his bare hands.

Ding!

The starting gong echoed loudly across the stadium.

Dravek didn’t waste a single breath.

Skipping any traditional opening stances or honorable bows, the mercenary lunged forward like a striking snake.

He executed a blindingly fast finger rake aimed straight at Kane’s eyes.

It was a cowardly technique designed to permanently blind an opponent before the crowd could even register the foul play.

Kane simply raised his right hand.

His reflexes moved far faster than any normal human could ever track.

Kane caught Dravek’s wrist mid-strike, halting the mercenary’s forward momentum as if the man had just run into a solid brick wall.

A smirk spread across Kane’s lips.

He twisted his grip sharply to the side.

Snap.

The sound of Dravek’s wrist breaking cracked across the silent arena like a whip.

"GAHHHHHH!"

Dravek screamed, dropping to his knees as his own broken bones pierced his skin.

What followed next was not a competitive match at all.

It was a calculated public execution of pride.

Every single time the desperate mercenary tried to launch a dirty counterattack, Kane mirrored the same technique with devastating interest.

Dravek attempted a desperate knee hyperextension to cripple Kane’s leading leg.

Kane casually sidestepped the kick and stomped his boot directly onto the mercenary’s kneecap, inverting the joint entirely.

Dravek shrieked and went for a frantic throat strike with his good hand.

Kane brushed the weak attack aside and delivered a crushing elbow to the man’s sternum that caved in his leather chest plate.

Up in the stands, the rowdy crowd shifted from eager excitement to horrified silence.

"This isn’t even a duel."

The elven announcer gripped his magical crystal microphone with sweaty hands.

His voice trembled uncontrollably as he tried to narrate the one-sided carnage happening below.

"By the gods," the commentator stammered, his voice cracking.

"The barbarian is not even drawing his weapon. He is dismantling a seasoned veteran with his bare hands. Every single punch is landing with lethal intent. The brutality we are witnessing today is simply unmatched in the history of these games."

Sitting among the general audience, Kessa watched the blood spray across the white sand.

Her eyes dilated with a potent mix of lingering fear and intense lust. Watching her warlord dominate another male with such effortless cruelty made her thighs press together instinctively.

The magical bond connecting them flared with his rising adrenaline, sending a wave of hot arousal straight to her core.

’Thank the gods he didn’t kill me,’ Kessa thought, licking her lips as her breathing grew shallow and rapid.

Thora sat beside the beastwoman, feeling the same rush of desire. She bit her lower lip, completely mesmerized by the rhythm of Kane’s violent perfection.

Down in the pit, Dravek gagged on his own blood.

"Plea...se... spare.... me.."

The broken mercenary crawled blindly across the sand, desperately trying to escape the smiling monster standing over him.

Kane grabbed the back of the human’s neck and hauled him effortlessly upright.

Readers of his grand story would finally understand a crucial truth right in this very moment.

Kane didn’t spare everyone who crossed his path.

He showed grace and mercy to Kessa because she possessed honor and genuine potential for growth.

Dravek was nothing but a cheap thug fighting for dirty coin, so he received no mercy whatsoever.

Kane drove two stiff fingers directly into Dravek’s eyes.

Squelch.

"AHHHHHHHH!"

He didn’t push deep enough to pierce the brain, but the strike carried enough concentrated power to shatter the surrounding orbital bones entirely.

Dravek collapsed backward, screaming in absolute, world-ending agony.

Before the mercenary could even hit the ground, Kane delivered one final, closed-fist strike directly to the side of his skull.

Creak.

The human hit the sand unconscious, barely clinging to his fragile life.

Panting softly, Kane stood tall over the ruined body.

Blood coated his knuckles, contrasting beautifully against his pale, muscular arms.

He slowly raised his head, letting his gaze travel past the stunned nobles until he looked straight up at the royal box.

Prince Aelrindor’s perfect facade finally cracked.

Just the smallest flicker of genuine unease crossed his aristocratic features, and his jaw tightened visibly.

The royal heir realized his hired thug had lied to him.

The barbarian wasn’t weakened or injured at all, and the prince’s carefully paved path to the championship was suddenly covered in very real blood.

Over in the competitors’ section, Rutheus watched the brutal display without showing any outward expression.

The giant veteran understood exactly what he just witnessed. It was an undeniable warning broadcast to the entire elven empire.

[Title Acquired: No Mercy]

[Effect: Opponents who study your combat footage will now have a fifteen percent accuracy penalty due to psychological intimidation before the matches begin.]