Elara stands in the doorway, her green eyes moving from Rosalind's naked, cum-dripping body to me on the bed, my cock still semi-hard and glistening.
"Well," she says, closing the door behind her with a soft click. "Father did say to be thorough with his training."
Rosalind scrambles for her robe, her face flushed with embarrassment and something else—fear, maybe. "Lady Elara, this isn't—"
"Isn't what?" Elara interrupts, moving closer with that same predatory grace her father has. "Isn't you submitting to my father's new slave? Isn't you screaming loud enough for half the manor to hear?" She smiles. "The walls here are thick, Rosalind. If we heard you, imagine who else did."
The color drains from Rosalind's face.
I feel that strange bond connection pulse—she's terrified, and I can sense it through whatever links us now.
"Please, my lady," Rosalind says quietly, clutching her robe. "I'll do anything. Don't tell Lord Derek."
Elara studies her for a long moment, then laughs. "Tell him? Rosalind, he already knows. Father sees everything in this house." She gestures dismissively. "You're dismissed. Leave us."
Rosalind doesn't need to be told twice. She gathers her clothes and practically runs from the room, not even bothering to dress properly.
The door closes, and Elara turns her full attention to me.
"Impressive performance," she says, her eyes dropping to my cock, which is hardening again under her gaze. "The servants weren't exaggerating about your... dimensions."
"Your father really knows?" I ask, suddenly very aware I'm still naked.
"Of course. He has peepholes throughout the manor." She walks to the wall beside my bed, runs her finger along a barely visible seam in the wood paneling. "This one has a perfect view of your bed. Someone was definitely watching."
My status window flickers:
```
[WARNING: Surveillance Confirmed]
Privacy Level: ZERO
Recommendation: Assume all activities are observed
```
Great. I've been fucking in front of an audience without knowing it.
"Don't look so disturbed," Elara says, sitting on the edge of my bed. "Father collects information. It's what he does. Your... activities with Rosalind only confirm what he already suspected about your abilities."
"And what's that?"
"That you're exactly the kind of transmigrant he needs for the Spring Tournament." She traces a finger along my thigh, making my cock twitch. "Sexual dominance, physical prowess, the ability to bond servants. You're valuable."
"I'm not fighting in any tournament."
She laughs. "You don't have a choice. But that's a conversation for later." Her hand moves higher, almost touching my cock before stopping. "Right now, I have a proposition for you."
"Which is?"
"Meet me in the library tomorrow morning. I have something... educational planned." She stands, moving toward the door. "And Daren? Don't touch yourself tonight. I want you desperate when I see you next."
Before I can respond, she's gone.
I lie back on the bed, my cock throbbing with need, wondering what the fuck I've gotten myself into.
---
The next morning, I arrive at the library as instructed. Master Harlowe is already at his desk, barely glancing up as I enter.
"East wing historical texts," he croaks. "Reorganize by publication date. Cart's already there."
I find the cart loaded with ancient books and start working. The repetitive task gives me time to think about Elara's cryptic proposition, about the tournament, about Derek watching everything.
About an hour in, I find a book that doesn't belong.
The cover is gray, made of something that feels like sharkskin—slightly warm and textured wrong. No title. When I open it, the pages are thin, almost translucent, covered in text that shifts between languages.
*"Champions from beyond the veil,"* I read, piecing together the archaic English-like script, *"bearing gifts of unnatural vigor, appear throughout the ages. These vessels of power are recognized by azure light during moments of great exertion."*
Azure light. The blue glow when I fucked Rosalind.
I flip through quickly, finding more:
*"The Spring Tournament tests champions through trials of martial and carnal prowess. Those who bond servants through pleasure energy gain strength from their bonds. The harem system allows up to three primary bonds, each providing different advantages."*
So that's what the "Harem Capacity: 1/3" meant. I can bond three servants total.
There's an illustration—a figure surrounded by blue energy, multiple women kneeling around him, connected by glowing threads. Symbols that look disturbingly like my status window float above.
```
[QUEST UPDATE]
Discover Your Purpose
Progress: 15% → 25%
New Information: Spring Tournament (Martial & Carnal Trials)
Reward: +10 XP (Earned)
Experience: 110/200
```
"Found something interesting, have we?"
I jump, slamming the book shut. Master Harlowe stands there, hand extended.
"That belongs in the restricted section," he says. "How it got out here, I don't know. Give it."
Reluctantly, I hand it over. His watery eyes study me.
"You're the fifth I've seen," he says quietly. "Lord Derek collects transmigrants. Two survived their first tournament. The others..." He trails off, limping toward the restricted section with the book. "You're not a rescue, boy. You're a weapon. Remember that."
He disappears behind the gated area, leaving me with a cold knot in my stomach.
Before I can process this, heavy footsteps approach.
"Getting settled in, new slave?"
Gareth stands at the end of the aisle, blocking the exit. He's wearing that fake friendly smile that makes my skin crawl.
"Just cataloging books," I say, keeping my voice neutral.
"Good, good." He steps closer, too close, invading my space. "Lord Derek wanted me to check on you. Make sure you understand how things work here."
"I think I'm figuring it out."
"Are you?" His smile vanishes. "Then you understand that some things in this house are off-limits."
I stay silent, waiting.
His hand shoots out, gripping my shirt and slamming me back against the bookshelf. Books tumble to the floor.
"Lady Elara," he hisses, his face inches from mine. "Stay the fuck away from her."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't lie to me!" His grip tightens. "The laundry maids saw her leaving your quarters last night. They talk, and they told me."
So that's how he knows.
"She came to check on my orientation," I say carefully. "With Madame Rosalind."
"I know what you did with Rosalind. The whole manor knows—you weren't exactly quiet." His jaw clenches. "But Elara is different. She's Lord Derek's daughter. She's not for you. She's not for anyone."
The subtext is clear in his voice: *She's supposed to be mine.*
"Three servants disappeared last year," he continues, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "All about your age. All caught looking at Lady Elara the wrong way. Want to guess what happened to them?"
"Lord Derek doesn't seem like the murdering type."
"He doesn't have to murder. He just has to send you somewhere worse." Gareth leans closer. "There are houses in the capital that pay well for exotic slaves. Especially transmigrants. You'd spend the rest of your short life servicing nobles until your body breaks."
My status window flickers:
```
[NTR OPPORTUNITY DETECTED]
Target: Gareth desires what he cannot possess
Current Threat Level: HIGH
Potential Reward: +25 XP (if successfully claimed target of his desire)
Warning: Subject has capacity for violence and access to Lord Derek
```
"I've served Lord Derek for eight years," Gareth says. "I've earned my place. You're just this month's novelty. When he tires of you—and he will—I'll make sure you disappear."
Before I can respond, a voice cuts through the tension.
"Gareth. I believe Father is looking for you. East wing. Now."
We both freeze. Elara stands at the end of the aisle, arms crossed, her expression cold.
Gareth releases me immediately, his entire demeanor shifting. "Lady Elara. I was just—"
"I know what you were doing." Her voice could freeze fire. "Leave. Now."
He hesitates, glancing between us, then gives a stiff bow and walks away.
As he passes Elara, he slows, his eyes lingering on her face with desperate longing. She doesn't even glance at him, her gaze fixed on me.
The dismissal is absolute. She doesn't see him as a man—just a servant to command.
I watch Gareth's shoulders tense, see his fists clench as he disappears around the corner. That casual rejection hurt him worse than any insult.
Once he's gone, Elara approaches. "Are you alright?"
"He threatened to have me sold to a brothel."
"He's jealous." She reaches out, adjusting my shirt where Gareth wrinkled it. Her fingers linger on my chest. "He's been in love with me since I was fifteen. Pathetic, really."
"Your father knows?"
"Of course. Father finds it amusing." Her hand slides lower. "Gareth will never have me. He's a failed transmigrant, a servant. But you..." Her eyes meet mine. "You're different."
Before I can ask what she means, another voice interrupts.
"So THIS is the famous naked intruder!"
A tiny figure steps out from behind a shelf, and my brain needs a second to process what I'm seeing.
An elf. Purple eyes, pointed ears with silver piercings, skin with an iridescent shimmer. She's barely five feet tall, wearing what looks like fantasy club-wear—a leather crop top and micro-skirt that leaves almost nothing to imagination.
"By the stars, you're enormous!" She walks right up to me, pressing her small body against mine without hesitation. "I'd need a ladder to kiss you."
"Lyn, I told you to wait outside," Elara says, annoyed.
The elf—Lynara—ignores her, running her hands over my chest. "His aura is so bright! And these muscles..." Her purple eyes drop to the obvious bulge in my pants. "Oh, the rumors weren't exaggerated at all."
"Are all elves this forward?" I manage.
She laughs, musical and shameless. "I'm being restrained! You should see me at court." She reaches for my crotch—
Elara grabs her wrist. "Enough. He's not a toy."
There's a possessive edge in her voice.
"You've already claimed him," Lynara says, delighted. "Does Derek know?"
"Shut up, Lyn."
"What's your name, handsome?" Lynara asks me.
"Daren."
"Lovely. Has Elara told you about the Spring Tournament yet?" She traces a finger down my chest. "The trials, the champions, the pleasure challenges?"
"We shouldn't discuss this here," Elara cuts in, glancing around nervously. "Too many ears."
"True," Lynara agrees. "The walls have eyes in this house. Especially the bedrooms." She winks at me. "Be careful where you perform."
Before I can ask more, a servant appears. "Lady Lynara, the ambassador requires you."
"Mother's meetings are so boring," Lynara groans. She leans close as she passes, whispering: "Watch out for Gareth. He's more dangerous than he looks."
She leaves with an exaggerated sway of her hips.
Now I'm alone with Elara.
She steps closer, her hand sliding up my chest. "She's right about Gareth. He'll try to destroy you. But I won't let him."
"Why?"
"Because I want to see what you're really capable of." Her hand drops to cup my cock through my pants. I'm already hard. "And I have plans for you."
She squeezes gently, making me groan.
"Follow me," she whispers. "Somewhere private. I want to taste you."
She leads me deeper into the library, to a secluded corner hidden behind tall shelves. Dust motes float in the dim light. Perfect privacy.
When we reach the spot, she turns to face me, backing against the shelves.
"Now," she says, dropping to her knees, reaching for my belt, "let's see if you're worth all this risk."