An Unexpected Interruption

Thirty minutes later...

John finally stopped marveling at the message long enough to dismiss it. Freed from distraction, John instead became fixated with the rock-hard nipple before him, stiff and practically begging him to bite into it. He was so fixated that he failed to detect Moira's father approach from behind.

"Welcome, Mister Newman," the father greeted with an unexpected friendliness.

John turned from regarding the Helen of Troy bust in what appeared to be a second, smaller library than where their first meeting had taken place.

It had been some time since he was with Moira, of course: he had jumped out of the her bedroom and used the front gate to re-enter legitimately. That security cleared him, and that the butler had deposited him here with hardly any delay, all almost seemed too welcoming, and the wait for their boss made John anxious about why he we was so welcome. Ten minutes later, the Brighton patriarch had finally humored John with his presence. Eagerly, he looked upon the older man with his Gamer's eye, and finally saw what he couldn't in their first meeting.

"Hello, Mr. Brighto-"

Lord William Brighton
Level 65 Duelist
<Lord-Protector of the Golden Rose>
HP: 28,760/28,760
MP: 2,041/2,041
Relationship: 2
Former Bearer of the Golden Rose, Lord of the Brighton Clan, Holy Warrior of the Order, Shadow Baron of Great Britain, Anointed Slayer, Inquisitor Proxima. Wishes the world for his daughter, and more importantly for her honor as the Warden.
Status Effects: Blessing of Health, Bulging Biceps, Greased Lightning, Hate of Ariel, Hate of Barong, Hate of Daniel, Hate of Ishim, Hate of Ose, Hate of Preta, Hate of Puriel, Hate of Tennin, Memory of the Rose

John stared, wide-eyed at all he couldn't know before... and somewhat wished he still didn't. "What... did you do...?"

The Lord Brighton raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"A-Ah... sorry," John carefully muttered.

The new monster was quiet for a moment, but offered John that same, difficult-to-read smile. "Nothing to apologize for yet, Mr. Newman... and if anything, I suppose we're here to discuss the debt of gratitude my estate owes you. Unfortunately, I'm told my daughter is indisposed at the moment, and shan't be joining us."

John hesitantly met the man's gaze, but relaxed slightly as he considered the facts. He was probably this powerful when I first met him, and he obviously doesn't hate me much. Besides, I'm alive... so he probably doesn't know that I might've just butt-fucked his daughter into a sub...

*

Moira sneezed as she sat on the toilet, and an embarrassing toot followed from below as she continued to leak more of John's deposit inside her. She grumbled as she rubbed her aching belly. "Stupid Newman..."

*

"I'm... not sure what you mean, M-Mr. Brighton?"

The older gentleman bowed his head slightly before moving towards one of two leather chairs, each one on a half of the mirrored study, though different books framed either chair. He waved his hand towards the free chair and John obliged; Brighton sat by the various texts on monster slaying, and John by those identifying the properties and signs of witches and warlocks.

"Such humility is becoming of a gentleman of your age. Of course, I can not allow you to downplay all that you've done for us this day: not only in the capture of a dangerous criminal, and the execution of three others, but in saving my daughter's life? This goes beyond my mere duty as a man."

John's eyebrows perked up. Did Moira really tell him like that? "W-Well, really it was more to save... um... I mean, Moira was holding her own-"

"Moira?" A gentle shake of his illustrious mustache. "I did not know you were on such informal terms with my daughter, Mr. Newman."

"I-I mean... the Lady Brighton, of course, I'm sorry," John stammered. Why the Hell am I so riled? Sure, he might be even stronger than Yarrick... and has me in his home... and probably with an army... and I porked his daughter... John swallowed at a lump that wouldn't go away. "She helped us save... the Gorbachev."

Brighton nodded, his gaze piercing through John. "Well, I will be sure to let her know that you did so much to protect her honor, evidence such that it is of the heroism she described... and with all that, we can of course forgive the peculiar circumstance your magic left her and the prisoner in." The man's smile changed, and John felt it more than saw it. "As such, I owe you a debt, both as a servant of the Order and as a father. Ask of me whatever boons I may provide in exchange, and they will be yours."

John blinked at the "shadow baron", and considered what options he could ask for while secretly tapping along on his interface, analyzing the various status effects over the man's head. The "Hates" he was targeted by were all different degrees or versions of the same that plagued Dell: tens of thousands of soul gems, vaults whose names meant nothing to John, 50,000 acres of Canada, a spy satellite that could travel into the Abyss, a harem of succubi, a harem of incubi, a number of human slaves in the government of France... it was all a prize for whoever killed the man, unlikely as the task seemed (and as undesired as it presently was) for John. The rest were more evidence of his physical prowess, as much as he hid it:

Blessing of Health: ages at 10% of the normal speed, and requires only 20% of the normal amounts of food and water to live.

Bulging Biceps: +50 strength, and +5HP per point of strength over the regular rate.

Greased Lightning: The subject's agility bonuses to movements and attacks are no longer curbed by the laws of physics or the limitations of his body, and he, his worn and wielded items, and any subjects he carries are all immune to any damage that would result solely from violating said laws or limitations.

Memory of the Rose: user no longer possesses the Golden Rose, but retains those benefits earned while so blessed, and can transfer his health to the Warden with a touch.

"... I want to know more about the Abyss, about who else might come after us, and why they were allowed to come as close as they did without your intervention." The request sounded too much like an accusation, but if the Lord Brighton was offended he did not show it. "That is what I want from you... as a servant of the Order."

"You ask for much already," he sharply replied, "but perhaps this situation could have been averted if you had these things from the start. So be it: I will create sufficient arrangements to... tutor you for a time, if you truly wish it. Now what would you ask of this servant as a father?"

John swallowed hard, but pressed on. "I want you to give me your word that your Order won't harm me for knowing too much."

John leaned back as he waited for the nobleman's answer. He seemed frozen as he weighed John's words, his expression shifting here and there as if going through phases of consideration... and John only allowed himself an exhale as the man replied, "I cannot guarantee anything from those others in the Order, should they learn of some unfortunate, dangerous knowledge you possess... but this father would not dare refuse you his word, responsible for his own hand. I can promise you, then, that such which you tell me in confidence, and my sworn agents in confidence, shall remain so, and I will not raise my hand against you for the simple crime of knowing." John felt the gravity of the promise, and could've sworn he began to sink into his chair. "Would this suffice?"

"Y-Yes!" Lord Brighton nodded, his hands steepled before him as the promises were paid. John just had to be careful not to upset him... and not to ask for too much too soon, he wagered. I'll have to leave the question of those bounties for another day...

"I hope you'll forgive me," the nobleman said, rising as he spoke, "but I must return to the inquest relating to the criminal you brought to us. If that is all, Mr. Newman?"

"W-What about that tutoring-?"

"You will be contacted within the week. Those I would trust with the task are predisposed, but I shall avail you a teacher post-haste."

The man's word sounded like law, and John knew it would be followed. John nodded gratefully, and let yet another butler escort him towards the front door. It was not until he had left the man's grand presence that he allowed himself a seed of doubt... but dismissed it just as quickly.

*

Another knock at her door, and though Moira was finally cleaned (but in no mood for dinner) she still managed to feel irritated. "I'm sorry, but please let father know I'm still feeling under the weather-!" she called out to the door... until it opened without her permission.

She had a sharp admonition for whoever dared until her father's voice rang out. "Are you decent, my daughter?"

"Y-Yes..." Nervously she tucked herself under her sheets, and in the process hid the un-belted state.

The man walked into the room, radiating joy even as he readied to lecture. "A lady does not shout at the door, Moira... certainly not to her father, but especially not to those who serve her."

"I'm sorry, father, I didn't know it was you-"

"And that should change nothing of my instruction, wouldn't you agree?" She nodded sheepishly, half-burying her face in the sheets. "Good, good... you should continue resting, then. That Newman lad has already left, but you're to... hmm."

She looked up at him, and was suddenly conscious of the warmth that flooded her face. He pressed his massive hand onto her forehead, and she loathed how her nether regions tingled at the mention of that damnable mage, even here in this sacred moment of fatherly contact. "Y-Yes?"

"You feel a bit warm... yes, you should certainly rest. We'll discuss your arrangements for that mage at a later time."

"... Arrangements?"

He nodded, managing to hold his smile. "We're going to accelerate your learning: you're to begin your tutoring with Professor Stolt and Seer Varnik concurrently with your time at the Academy."

Moira's eyes widened to saucers, and all the inappropriate sensations melted away before a genuine, child-like glee that bubbled inside her. "I... then I'm... then I'm ready? Father, I... I was sure my failure had only set back my-"

"I am not finished," he almost muttered, but silencing her as if it were shouted. "Your lessons will only be once a week, likely in the weekend, at first... and you will take them alongside Mr. Newman."

"... What." Her deadpan response surprised her father, and she quickly corrected herself. "I-I mean... he is a... a rogue mage, barely bound by contract, and.... and dangerous..." ... and so well-hung... and passionate- and Lady help me why must I be naked under these sheets?!

"You show wisdom in your assessment, but he released us from the debts incurred by two simple requests... requests that may, in the end, make him less dangerous than moreso. You will be there every step of the way, able to study him, to report anything of concern to us, and help us determine if he should be allowed to live."

"W-What? Do... do you think he would turn-"

"Do not ask questions that will torment you in the coming days, my dearest," he solemnly whispered. "It is but a precaution... and an important one. I have promised that he shall suffer no harm from me, or from my agents, for what he may know; this was my promise to him as your father." Moira sighed a bit of relief, though she'd never admit why. "... but you are the Warden. I am your agent; you are not mine."

Moira stared at her father until she slowly realized what he was saying. "You... want me to..." She couldn't finish the question. She didn't need to; his long silence with her filled the void with knowing what her duty demanded.

"All I want you to do now is rest, Moira. If the Lady wills it, that will be all I want you to do regarding all that has transpired today." He beamed at her daughter, too warmly for the grim warning she just received, and she **** a smile back as they exchanged early kisses good night. He would be in the dungeon for the rest of the day, after all, torturing the fat Artificer John had brought low, all just in case the **** collar did not work well enough. Moira had pled John's request for mercy, and her father would grant it in the form of a swift execution once the inquisitors were done. As the door to her bedroom closed, she knew she would spend the rest of the night contemplating her father's definition of mercy... the Warden's definition of mercy.