Harem Online: My Party Is Full of Beautiful Celebrities

Chapter 83: Give Me The Sword

Thorn’Shield appeared in the death room, a shack perched on a cliff above the wide blue ocean. The view was calm, warm, almost soothing.

He kicked the chair over anyway.

"FUCK! THAT DOG JUST RUINED MY FUCKING WHOLE IMAGE!"

His own roar bounced off the walls and came back at him.

For weeks, he had built himself into someone people noticed through forum replies, dungeon tips, rankings, and sheer visibility. He had put real work into that name.

And now he had this mess in front of him.

The name at the center of it was Emperoar.

That bastard had always been there in the background like a stain Thorn’Shield could never wipe clean. He and his party never chased attention, which only made people look at them more.

They played however they pleased, cleared however they pleased, and somehow that became the kind of reputation Thorn’Shield wanted for himself.

People kept asking who the better tank was, and that question annoyed him far more than it should have.

He had endured weak group runs, dull teammates, and wasted time for long enough. None of those people had helped him carve his name into the dungeon.

Then Martin came in and did exactly that for the whole guild.

Since then, Thorn’Shield had wanted this duel.

He had leveled to match Emperoar. He had waited for the chance.

And this was how it ended?

There’s no fucking way the whole pack turns on me now, right?

His eyes dropped to the sword icon in his inventory.

They’ll back me up and pressure that Emperoar dog not to cash in. Haha. Yeah, dog. This is what you get for stepping into my ground without building a name first. Players bare their teeth hardest when the whole world is watching. Now watch the crowd turn into my pack and leave you with nothing.

With a sneer, Thorn’Shield lifted his chin and respawned at the Light Tree Hub.

The moment he appeared, his stomach tightened.

The crowd had packed in around the Light Tree Hub so tightly that no one could leave. Players stood shoulder to shoulder around the glowing trunk, their bodies forming a living wall around the clear circle at its center.

Nobody pushed. Nobody laughed yet. They only watched.

And in the middle of that open space stood Martin with his arms crossed, waiting for him.

The silence hit harder than noise would have. Only a few low murmurs slipped through, faint and hollow, like water dripping into the bottom of a well.

Thorn’Shield’s eyes flicked over the faces around him, searching for even one friendly look, one lifted chin, one sign that the crowd would swing his way.

He found none.

No one cheered for Thorn’Shield.

No one called out in support.

Worse, no one told Martin to back off either.

The space around him already belonged to Martin. Players gave him room without being asked, and not one of them stepped between the two men. Thorn’Shield felt that as clearly as the silence itself.

Martin smiled. "Give me that sword of yours. The one that made you so sure you could beat me. I’m already getting attached to it."

Laughter rolled through the crowd.

It spread fast, ugly and eager.

Crimson Halo rolled her eyes. Humans were so simple.

Even so, she liked the way Martin handled victory. He did not launch into some long speech about fairness or earned spoils. He simply said what he wanted, clearly and loudly. That pleased her more than she cared to admit.

Thorn’Shield stood frozen, pale and damp with cold sweat.

Aigo... this can’t be happening. Not one of them wants to back me?

When he still said nothing, the crowd started chanting.

"Give him the sword!"

"Give him the sword!"

"Give him the sword!"

There’s actually... not one fucking mutt here willing to stand with me. After everything I did for you... replying to your comments half the night, giving you tips, grinding all day long... you fucking...

His hands clenched.

If no one would stand by him, why should he honor the deal? There had been no contract. Nothing bound him. If everyone had already turned their backs on him, what did he still have to lose? At worst, he could make a new character, pass over the weapon, and start grinding again under another name.

"You really think I’m handing that sword over after clawing for it that hard? You idiots! Let this be a fucking lesson. Don’t bare your throat with stupid bets, dog."

He laughed as if the tide had somehow turned, as if he were the one slapping back the people mocking him.

The crowd answered with insults dragged straight from the nastiest corners of the internet.

Martin did not move. Yeah, it’s not like I can steal it out of his inventory. All he has to do is keep it there. That’s pissing me off. Was I really worried about fighting a clown like this?

Then a message appeared in front of Thorn’Shield.

[Cassandra Selfmore: Honor the duel]

That one line was enough to make all the fight drain out of him.

She knows my real name, what I look like, and where I work... If I get on her bad side, she could kill my competitive career in this game. Fuck, maybe even my real-life career.

She wasn’t called a cold businesswoman for nothing. When Cassandra Selfmore decided someone was a problem, she erased them.

Thorn’Shield hesitated.

The crowd noticed at once.

"Is he squealing like a dog now?"

"He’s got all those cool wolf skills, but maybe he has to start as a dog first!"

"Man, that’s the evolution path the game promised! Haha!"

"Haha!"

Thorn’Shield summoned his sword.

Steel flashed into his hand.

He gripped the handle hard enough to whiten his knuckles and took a few slow steps forward. For a second, his hand did not move. His fingers stayed locked around the hilt as if letting go of it would tear something out of him along with the weapon.

The crowd went fully silent.

Then Thorn’Shield drove the blade into the ground.

The sound rang out clean and hard.

He kept his hand on the hilt for one moment longer before finally letting go. Only then did he force himself to walk the rest of the way to Martin, leaving the sword standing there between them like the visible shape of his defeat.

He stopped beside him.

"Keep your teeth on it while you can. I’ll rip it back later."

Martin gave him a sidelong glance. "Then get lost already, or you’ll get fucked twice."

He stepped past Thorn’Shield instead, closed one hand around the hilt, and pulled the sword free of the ground in one clean motion. The weapon had weight to it. Good balance too. For all Thorn’Shield’s noise, his taste in gear had not been trash.

Martin gave the blade a brief look, then lowered it at his side as if taking possession of another man’s prized weapon in front of a full crowd was the most ordinary thing in the world.

The weight settled into his hand cleanly.

It felt solid and reliable, and it was expensive enough that half the people watching were probably measuring its value already, while the other half were measuring him for taking it so calmly.

That hit harder than any speech could have.

For the briefest moment, Thorn’Shield looked at his empty hand. Then his fingers curled into a fist so tight his whole arm went rigid.

His jaw locked hard enough to sharpen the muscles in his face. He did not look back at the sword again. Looking once had already cost him enough.

Martin looked at him and saw no pride worth respecting.

Thorn’Shield had skill. He had talent too. But the moment things stopped going his way, he had tried to squirm out of the wager like a rat from a trap. That alone would have been enough. Dragging Martin’s friends into it made it worse.

Thorn’Shield scowled and walked off with his back rigid and his shoulders tight, as if fury alone were holding him upright. He did not turn around again, but the hatred in his retreat was plain enough.

From the side, Crimson Halo heard every word clearly.

What interested Crimson Halo even more than the insult itself was the way the crowd moved around Martin now.

No one was treating him like a side figure anymore. Their eyes followed him first. Their silence bent around him. Even Thorn’Shield’s humiliation had become, in some ugly way, one more stone laid beneath Martin’s feet.

No one rushed to fill the space Thorn’Shield had left behind. If anything, the players nearest Martin shifted back half a step, as though the balance around him had changed and they all felt it at once.

That irritated her even as it thrilled her.

Crimson Halo did not move, though her fingers pressed a little more firmly against her folded arm as her gaze lingered on Martin a fraction longer than before.

That calm way of his, the way he accepted noise, attention, and envy without once reaching for them, only made him stand out more.

How vulgar... how exciting...

Nothing about the exchange felt staged.

The emotion in it was raw, and she could not help wanting more.

This was no longer just the result of a duel.

By tomorrow, half the academy would know exactly what Martin had taken, and the other half would want to know what he planned to do next.