Harem Stealer: Reborn with the God-Tier Sharing System novel Chapter 144

Chapter 144: Chapter 144: The Birth Cry

Chapter 144: The Birth Cry

Noah reappeared before a swirling vortex of mana—a massive, humming gate pulsing with cold power.

A dungeon gate.

This was the one Elira had told him about. The one with ice at its core.

He floated before it in silence, watching as pale-blue mana coiled and spiraled like a storm trapped in a mirror. The sheer cold radiating off it would have frozen an ordinary person solid from a distance. But Noah was far beyond ordinary.

As he gazed at the gate, Elira’s words echoed in his mind.

This dungeon was one of the reasons she had chosen him.

Because it wasn’t normal. This place... held something deeper. Something ancient.

It had an ice-based theme—frost-touched terrain, beasts of pure winter, and one critical secret.

"Inside lies a fragment," she had told him, "a shard of the Origin of Ice itself."

A piece of the original concept. Something not meant for mortals.

Noah’s silver eyes narrowed. "A dungeon formed by the residue of a origin concept... and I’m supposed to just walk in and take it?"

He smirked.

"...Sounds fun."

He glanced around.

"We’re not even at the end of the first semester yet."

Which meant—no one was supposed to be here. Not for months.

And at that thought, Noah couldn’t help but reflect.

How much had he already changed this world’s future?

The truth?

He had no idea.

He hadn’t just stolen women from Elijah. He’d stolen timelines. Stolen fate and destiny.

Events that should have happened—didn’t.

Wars that should have erupted—never began.

Calamities that were supposed to shake the world—fizzled into silence.

Echidna should have been more aggressive. She should have stirred chaos between demons and humans. She should have pushed this world to the brink of collapse—dungeon breaches, endless bloodshed, a war on two fronts.

But all of that... would have been Elijah’s path to glory.

A perfect storm for him and his harem to emerge as heroes. To become icons. To gain power. And through him—Justicia would rise.

But now?

Elijah had lost those chances.

Even Shadeva, one of the most powerful beings Noah had met—was supposed to be found by him on one of his scripted adventures.

Another piece of the puzzle, another power meant for him.

And Noah had taken that too.

Now, this dungeon?

This fragment?

Another thing Elijah was meant to have. _{freewёbnoνel.com}

Noah’s smirk deepened. "A fragment of the Origin of Ice, huh?"

He placed a hand to his chin, thoughtful. "First time I am hearing this. I’m curious now."

He stepped forward and pressed his hand to the gate.

Instant resistance.

Mana surged against his palm like a living will, rejecting him.

He frowned. "Ah, right. It’s supposed to be for those below S-rank."

This gate—this dungeon—wasn’t meant to be entered by someone like him.

By someone who had surpassed S-rank.

But that didn’t matter.

His True Name may have merged into his being and absorbing his trait, but it didn’t erase it.

It elevated it.

And with it—

"I am without limits."

Silence fell.

Then the gate shuddered violently. It trembled, the swirling vortex of mana convulsing like it was in pain.

But it was useless.

Noah stepped forward—and the dungeon yielded.

It had no choice.

He vanished into the light.

...

The moment he reappeared, he stood in a frozen land.

A world of endless ice stretched around him in all directions—jagged glaciers, still winds, and silence that pressed against the ears like cotton.

He hovered above it all, weightless.

Below him—his senses flared.

Dozens. No, hundreds of beasts.

He even sensed the boss monster immediately—an enormous Frost Snake of S-rank tier, coiled in slumber deep beneath a frozen lake.

It radiated power. Chilling, primal power.

"It would’ve been a challenge if I were still A-rank," he muttered.

"But now? As an S-rank being with the Elysiari bloodline..."

He exhaled.

"...This is nothing."

Yet strangely, he felt something stir inside him.

A tension. A restlessness.

A craving.

A desire to fight.