HAREM SYSTEM IN A FANTASY WORLDC101: Vanished
Chapter 101: Vanished
Just to have her to himself one time, he had been willing to sabotage her mission, destroy her reputation, hunt her down, and kill her afterward under the excuse of guild rules. The realization made her stomach churn. She had truly underestimated how vile men could be!
"Bind her hands and feet," Utah said calmly as he tossed a long piece of rope forward. "Then tie her tightly to the tree with her ass to me."
Zenovia gritted her teeth and tried to stand, using the tree for support. Pain lanced through her body immediately. Her left arm hung uselessly at her side. Her left leg was broken at the shin.
Her right leg had snapped at the thigh. Her shoulder was dislocated, and blood continued to flow from the deep gash across her forehead. Only her right hand was somewhat functional, and even then, she could feel that her shoulder had dislocated.
The situation was hopeless.
Yet as the two men approached, Zenovia lifted her head and glared at them with burning eyes, her sharp teeth still bared.
Her body was broken.
But her resolve remained unshaken.
However, despite the unyielding strength of her mind, Zenovia's body had reached its limit.
"Argggghhh!" She thrashed weakly as they closed in, kicking with whatever strength remained, the movement sending white-hot agony through her shattered legs.
The pair snickered, their smiles twisting into leers as they dodged her flailing feet. The burly one with the scarred cheek lunged low, snatching her ankle with a meaty hand while she snarled like a cornered wolf.
"Hold still, you wildcat," he grunted as he bound her ankles together, as the rope bit into her skin. Then her wrists were forced onto the tree, bound just as securely, before the rope was looped around the tree trunk and pulled taut, fixing her in place.
Throughout it all, the men snickered and whispered to one another, their smiles sharp and ugly.
Utah watched it all from a short distance away, his expression one of open anticipation, his mouth slack, a thin line of drool escaping the corner of his lips as he stared at her bound form—like a starving man before a feast he could finally devour.
Yet even his subordinates knew better than to cross a certain line. They kept their hands strictly to the task, avoiding any unnecessary groping. Utah was possessive in a way that made even seasoned killers uneasy.
They knew the rules—what was his was his alone until he gave the goods away, and impatience had a habit of costing fingers.
"Good work, boys," he murmured, voice husky with lust. "Step aside now. She's mine first."
When they finally stepped back, Utah approached slowly, his boots crunching on the fallen leaves, eyes locked on Zenovia's exquisite body—her narrow waist flaring to wide hips, her long legs now helpless, her doll-like face twisted in fury.
She wrenched her neck back awkwardly, the elegant line of her throat exposed, glaring at him with eyes that could scorch the earth. Her lips trembled, not from fear, but from the storm of rage boiling within her.
His cock twitched visibly in his pants, but he held back, savoring the anticipation.
"Relax, Zenovia," Utah said calmly, his voice low and almost gentle. "I'm no animal. I want you to enjoy this as much as I will."
Her response was instant and visceral. She hawked and spat, a glob of saliva mixed with her blood splattering across his cheek, warm and sticky against his skin.
He paused dead in his tracks.
Zenovia snickered. For a brief moment, she thought she had finally succeeded in provoking him.
Instead, his grin widened.
He chuckled low in his throat. Slowly and deliberately, his tongue darted out, licking at the mess on his face—tasting her blood and her spit, savoring the metallic tang and the salty texture. He licked it clean, his eyes never leaving hers, the act sending a shiver of revulsion through her.
"You are disgusting!" Zenovia snarled, her glare intensifying, those smoldering emeralds narrowing to slits. Even bound and bleeding, her beauty shone fierce—cheeks streaked with crimson.
Utah closed the distance, planting himself right behind her, his body heat radiating against her chilled skin. One hand clamped onto her slender waist, fingers digging into the solid bone of her side through the suit, feeling the rapid flutter of her pulse.
He leaned in, nose brushing the curve of her neck, inhaling her scent—sweat, blood, and the wild musk of a beastwoman. His other hand seized her chin, rough calluses scraping her bloody jaw as he forced her face toward his, locking their gazes.
She stared back at him, unblinking, even as her expression contorted in pure venom. If looks could kill, he'd have crumpled a hundred times over, her emerald eyes promising vengeance.
This only fueled Utah's laughter, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated against her skin. "You know, there's nothing more satisfying than breaking a strong spirit like yours into submission. Tell me," he murmured, his breath hot on her lips. "Are all beastwomen this feisty? Or are you just special?"
Zenovia said nothing, her jaw clenched even tighter under his grip, refusing to dignify him with words. Even as she felt the hand on her waist slide lower, and a finger tracing the curve of her hips, and slowly approach the swell of her ass, she didn't make a sound.
The only sound she made was her breath coming in heavy, ragged heaves, her chest rising and falling so fiercely it might have intimidated a lesser man. Her rage poured, but it was ll useless.
Utah only seemed to enjoy it more.
"Yes," he said, straightening at last. "Very special indeed."
Just as Utah's hand moved from her waist toward the fastenings of his bodysuit, intent clear and disgusting in his eyes, the ground beneath all of them suddenly flared to life.
A brilliant surge of light exploded upward from the forest floor, flooding the clearing in blinding white and gold. Intricate runes ignited beneath their feet, lines of mana snapping into place with perfect precision as a fully formed teleportation circle activated in a single, decisive instant.
None of them had sensed it in time. The magic was too clean, too fast, too absolute. Utah swore in sudden panic, his grip on Zenovia breaking as instinct took over and he stumbled backward, eyes wide as the light swallowed everything.
For a heartbeat, the world ceased to exist.
Then the light vanished.
The clearing was empty.
No men, no blood and no broken branches or trampled leaves.
Even the scuffed earth where they had stood was smooth once more, as if untouched by conflict or struggle.
The tree Zenovia had been bound to stood tall and silent, its bark unmarked, the ropes gone, her blood gone, her presence erased so completely that it was as though she had never been there at all.
The forest returned to its natural stillness, moonlight filtering gently through the vast canopy.
Whatever force had intervened had done so with terrifying precision.
And whoever had been taken—
Had been taken far away.
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HAREM SYSTEM IN A FANTASY WORLDC102: The Near Future
Chapter 102: The Near Future
Some time in the near future.
The skies above Grimholt City roared with life.
A colossal coliseum stood at its heart, the walls carved from white stone and ancient runes, large enough to swallow tens of thousands of spectators.
This was the stage chosen for the selection tournament tied to the opening of the Legacy World, an event so important that elders, professors, and powerful figures from multiple factions had gathered in person.
At the very center of the arena, surrounded by floating figures radiating overwhelming pressure, stood a single young man.
Elion was hunched low on one knee, one hand pressed against the shattered stone beneath him as he struggled to breathe. Each breath came out heavy and uneven as he forced mana through his body, trying to accelerate the healing of his injuries.
Blood dripped steadily from his chin, his hands, and his eyes, staining the arena floor, while his limbs felt impossibly heavy, as though his blood itself had turned to molten lead. His body was covered in wounds, and yet his expression remained calm.
To say he was wounded everywhere would be an understatement.
Cuts, burns, fractures—his body bore the marks of a battle no one his age should have survived.
Surrounding him were powerhouses so far above his station that the scene itself felt absurd. Old fogies, grand mages, arch mages, a sage, and elders of the academy floated high above him, radiating pressure that could crush mountains.
Officially, Elion was only an Adept Mage, which made the situation look even more one-sided. In truth, he had already reached the Advanced Mage realm, but even if he revealed that now and burned every single ounce of strength in his body to fight, it would not have changed the outcome in the slightest.
Against the forces gathered here, that difference was meaningless. In fact, only one of them had acted, and he was already in a sorry state.
Elion lifted his head slowly and looked up at the people who called themselves the pillars of the academy. His expression was calm—unnervingly so. There was no rage in his eyes. No panic. Only disappointment.
"I see," he said quietly, his voice carrying clearly across the arena. "I guess there is no place left for me here."
There was not a sign of bitterness in his tone, only disappointment, because while he had never truly trusted them, he had still hoped things would not end like this.
Knowing that something can happen was different from watching it unfold before your eyes. It was... disappointing.
"Do not be impulsive, boy!" Professor Halbrecht thundered, his voice echoing loudly through the arena. "Sometimes you must learn to bow your head, listen to your elders, and accept your fate. There is still a chance for you, but only if you learn how to take a loss." His words carried authority, but they rang hollow to Elion.
Elion let out a chuckle filled with contempt. "Don't bother," he replied simply.
A ripple of shock passed through the spectators.
"How dare you spit in the face of Professor Halbrecht's kindness!"
Several senior students surged forward in anger, unable to tolerate his disrespect, but before they could move any closer, a single raised hand stopped them in their tracks.
Maximus.
The Grand Principal floated forward slightly, his ancient staff hovering beside him. "It would pain me to see such a talented youth die so young," he said calmly. "I understand your frustration. We are giving you face because we all respect your talent, Elion Nova. Surely, you can afford to give the elders some face in return."
A glowing scroll of mana unfurled before Elion.
"Sign this," Maximus continued, "and we will let you live and return to your studies as usual." The implication was clear to everyone present, even if it was not spoken aloud.
Elion suddenly burst out laughing, the sound echoing across the coliseum and cutting Maximus off mid-sentence.
Professors frowned, and some elders shook their heads slowly, while spectators in the stands sighed in pity. "I guess he's lost his mind." It wasn't clear who said it first, but they all came to the same conclusion.
"I wouldn't blame him," Evander said quietly, his expression conflicted. "Anyone would break after having to deal with shamelessness like this." He spoke to a Liora whose usual carefree smile had completely vanished, replaced by a rare serious expression.
She didn't answer him, as though she couldn't hear him. In truth, she really didn't hear a word he had said; it looked like her line of sight was completely focused on Elion, but if you looked closer, you would see that her gaze was distant.
Memories she had buried deep inside were resurfacing, like she was living through the events of that day all over again.
What it was, only she knew.
Evander wasn't very happy either, but he was powerless. Every elder floating above Elion could crush him with a thought. And there was too much at stake.
He couldn't help but feel indignant, after all, hadn't he given Elion promises of protection? Now was the time to deliver, and yet, here they were. He wasn't willing to stick his neck out when it actually mattered.
What did that say about him as a person?
To his credit though, Elion's stubbornness wasn't helping the situation either. But that was probably something he told himself to help him sleep better at night.
High in the stands, Mira, Aria, and Isolde stood among their peers, with wrong looks on their faces. Isolde was crying silently, tears streaming down her cheeks as she struggled not to sob aloud.
"LET ME GO!" While Aria strained forward with all her strength, trying desperately to rush down into the arena to stand beside Elion.
Mira, who looked like the calmest of the three, held Aria down firmly, her expression terrifyingly controlled, but the fire in her eyes perhaps burned even hotter than the grief and rage of the other two.
She was only holding herself together because of one thing.
Trust me.
That was all Elion had sent through their mental link, and she was clinging to those words with everything she had.
Nearby, several familiar faces watched with complicated expressions. Selene and Eveline stood tense, clearly unhappy with the situation but neither willing to act.
George stood beside them wearing his usual faint smile, which seemed unusually genuine today, though that was to be expected, since he was partially responsible for how things had turned out.
Floating above the arena was his brother, Cain Dawncrest, holding his battered son William by the shoulder, and it was Cain who bore the greatest blame for Elion's battered state.
Elion's laughter slowly faded, and when he spoke again, his voice was calm in a way that unsettled everyone listening. "You want to turn me into a slave," he said plainly.
The words caused discomfort to ripple through the arena, because while Maximus had not explicitly said it was a slave contract, everyone understood the truth.
"A mana contract is not a slave contract," Maximus replied evenly.
But he wasn't really fooling anyone. A mana contract could be worse than a slave contract if its terms were twisted carefully enough.
Elion chortled and met his gaze without fear. "If you twist the terms enough, it might as well be."
His eyes hardened.
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