If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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Hearing the precise, detailed instructions, the guard nodded his head sharply. "Understood, Don McLaughlin. Wallace Station, full guard to Strawberry, deliver to Mr. Leopold Strauss. I will convey the orders immediately." Right after then, the guard turned on his heel and left the mansion, jogging back out into the twilight to inform the messenger of the Don's exact will.
With the industrial empire moving smoothly in the background, Caleb finally went to his room. He walked into the massive, opulent master suite, the sheer luxury of the space still a pleasant novelty. He stripped off the midnight blue three-piece suit, the fabric smelling faintly of swamp mud and cigar smoke, and tossed it onto a velvet settee.
He washed the grime from his face and hands in the porcelain basin, the cool water refreshing his tired senses. He changed his clothes into much more comfortable attire, a soft, high quality linen shirt left unbuttoned at the collar, and a pair of dark, tailored trousers. It was the attire of a wealthy man at leisure in his own home, befitting the status he have now.
AAfter that's finished, he went back downstairs, the soft soles of his indoor shoes making no sound on the Persian carpets, and entered the dining room.
The food was already served. The long mahogany table, which have been used usually used before by Angelo Bronte and also the witness of how Bronte was disposed several days before, was now set with fine silver, crystal, and a staggering spread of culinary masterpieces. The crown roast of pork sat in the center, glistening with a rich glaze, surrounded by roasted vegetables and steaming breads.
Caleb sat down at the head of the table and ate lavishly. He carved thick slices of the tender meat, savoring the incredible flavors that his wealth now commanded effortlessly.
As he ate in the quiet, candle lit room, his thoughts began to drift away from the blood soaked politics of Saint Denis and the cold, hard steel of the Pelton Wheel. He found himself thinking about the life he had left waiting out in the rugged heartlands. He was thinking that maybe it was finally time to return back to Valentine.
The war with the Italian mob was over. The city was completely pacified under his iron grip. The vaults were overflowing with capital. It was safe now. He wanted to bring Mary-Beth here to live in Saint Denis.
Caleb took a slow sip of the vintage Bordeaux Antonio had poured for him, a soft, genuine smile touching his lips. Mary-Beth had been living out on the homestead southwest of Valentine, safe from the chaos of the Van der Linde gang, but still relatively isolated. She deserved better than a dusty ranch house.
He wanted to bring her here so she could have a nice, opulent place to stay in. Living at the Garden District mansion in Saint Denis would offer her the absolute pinnacle of the Gilded Age luxury. She could have access to the finest dressmakers, the grandest theaters, and the safest streets in the state.
But more importantly, Caleb knew that bringing her to the city would allow her to finally realize her true potential. He wanted her here so that she could formally begin to publish the novels she wrote. Saint Denis was the cultural capital of the South, it was teeming with printing presses, publishing houses, and literary critics.
And, specifically, he wanted to fast-track the publication of the rewritten version of Harry Potter that Caleb had her make.
It was a brilliant, incredibly lucrative side project he had initiated months ago. Using his knowledge of the future, Caleb had recounted the core narrative of the boy wizard, the magical school, and the dark lord to Mary-Beth.
He had her use her exceptional, romantic prose to adapt the story, retrofitting the setting to fit the sensibilities of an 1899 audience while keeping the magical wonder entirely intact. She had been working tirelessly on the manuscript, and Caleb knew it was an absolute goldmine waiting to be tapped.
If they published it under a pen name here in Saint Denis, utilizing his max level Business Skill to ruthlessly negotiate the distribution rights and marketing, it could become a massive source of clean, legitimate income for him and for her as well. It would make Mary-Beth a wealthy, independent author in her own right, securing her future entirely outside of his criminal empire.
With that ambitious, heartwarming plan solidifying in his mind, he made his decision. He decided to go to Valentine back tomorrow. He would ride out toward the homestead located southwest of the muddy livestock town to pick up Mary-Beth there and bring her home to her new palace.
After finishing his lavish dinner, his body completely satiated and his mind at peace, he thanked the kitchen staff and went back to his room to rest and sleep. The moment his head hit the down pillows, the sheer mental exhaustion of orchestrating a city-wide coup pulled him under into a deep, restorative slumber.
The next day, Caleb woke up to the sound of songbirds outside his massive bay windows. The morning sun was bright, promising a clear, crisp day for riding. After taking a hot, refreshing bath to loosen his muscles, he went downstairs to have breakfast.
He found Antonio in the sunroom, organizing the daily ledgers and preparing the household schedules.
Caleb sat down at the small glass table, pouring himself a cup of dark, rich imported coffee. He looked at the butler and told Antonio that he would be going to Valentine today, and that he would be traveling alone.
"I am heading west, Antonio," Caleb instructed, buttering a piece of fresh toast. "And I need you to keep the house completely locked down. Do not tell anyone that I am gone. If the capos ask, or if the Mayor sends an envoy, tell them I am in deep negotiations in my study and am not to be disturbed under any circumstances."
Antonio frowned slightly, his pen pausing over the paper. "Of course, Don McLaughlin. Your privacy will be absolute."
"I will return tomorrow," Caleb added, taking a bite of his breakfast. "Do not worry. I have someone very important that I have to pick up and bring here to live with us. Prepare the finest guest suite on the second floor. Ensure it is stocked with fresh flowers, writing paper, and the best ink you can procure."
Antonio's professional facade slipped for just a fraction of a second. The idea of the undisputed, newly crowned Don of the criminal underworld traveling across the state without an army of heavily armed guards triggered his deeply ingrained protective instincts.
Antonio, of course, at first said he couldn't allow it. "My Don, forgive my overstepping, but you simply cannot go alone! It is far too dangerous! The roads to New Hanover are plagued by the Night Kins, Lemoyne Raiders, and opportunistic highwaymen. You just seized the city, there may be assassins waiting beyond the walls. Please, allow me to wake Silvio and a dozen of our best rifles to escort you."
Caleb stopped eating. He slowly lowered his coffee cup to the saucer with a soft clink. He looked at the worried butler, a slow, incredibly confident smile spreading across his face. He didn't project the arrogance of a fool, but the terrifying, undeniable certainty of a man whose combat stats were entirely maxed out.
Caleb just said, his voice a low, rumbling purr of lethal confidence, "Antonio... if there is anyone on that road who could actually kill me, then this world is already doomed."
The sheer, overwhelming weight of his max level Leadership and Persuasion skills hit Antonio like a physical wave. The butler looked into Caleb's cold, calculating blue eyes and realized he was not looking at a vulnerable politician who needed bodyguards.
He was looking at the apex predator of the entire continent. A man who had dismantled an empire from the inside out and who possessed a terrifying reputation as the most lethal gunslinger alive.
The statement completely silenced Antonio. The butler swallowed hard, all his protests dying in his throat. He bowed his head deeply. "I... I understand, my Don. The suite will be prepared perfectly for your return tomorrow. May your journey be swift."
And so, after finishing his breakfast, Caleb went back upstairs to prepare for the road. He shed the silk shirts and tailored charcoal trousers of the corporate Don. Instead, he opened his massive armoire and began putting on his Vaquero Outfit.
It was the attire of a man ready for war and hard riding. He slipped into the rugged, dark denim trousers, the heavy, scuffed leather riding boots adorned with silver spurs, and a durable, crimson red patterned shirt that breathed well in the heat.
He strapped his heavy, custom tooled leather gun belt around his waist, ensuring his twin Navy Revolvers were oiled and loaded with high velocity express rounds. Finally, he threw on his dark, wide brimmed Vaquero hat, pulling it low over his eyes.
He didn't look like Don McLaughlin anymore. He looked like Caleb Thorne, the ghost of the frontier.
He walked out the back doors of the mansion and went straight to the expansive, impeccably clean stables.
He found Marco, the young stable boy, currently brushing down one of the white carriage horses. When Marco saw Caleb approaching in his rugged riding gear, he immediately dropped the brush and stood at attention.
"Don Caleb! Good morning!" Marco chirped respectfully.
"Morning, Marco," Caleb replied. "I need my horse."
Marco didn't need to be told twice. He immediately ran down the aisle of stalls and had the stable boy bring out Morgan.
The beautiful, sturdy thoroughbred mare trotted out of her premium, oversized stall. Her coat was gleaming, a testament to the high quality grooming and oats she had been receiving since Caleb moved her to the city. She looked rested, powerful, and slightly impatient.
Caleb approached her, running a gloved hand down her strong neck. He grabbed the horn of the custom saddle Marco had already secured and got on her in one smooth, fluid motion, settling comfortably into the leather.
And as he sat in the saddle, he knew, due to his Max Level Horse Mastery Skill, exactly what the animal was feeling. The skill wasn't magic, but it bordered on the supernatural, he could read the micro expressions, the twitch of her ears, the subtle shifts in her weight, and the rhythm of her breathing with flawless empathy. It was as if they shared a telepathic link.
He knew instantly that Morgan was saying to him, in her own equine way, that it had been far too long since she rode out. She stomped her front hoof against the cobblestone, tossing her head indignantly. She was a creature built for open plains and long runs, not for standing in a gilded cage eating sugar cubes. The subtle tension in her muscles screamed a clear question. 'What took you so long?'
Caleb couldn't help it, he chuckled warmly, leaning forward to pat her muscular shoulder.
Saying to her, his voice a low, comforting murmur that instantly calmed the spirited mare, "Easy, girl. I know it's been a while. But I was letting you have some holiday time. You enjoyed the best treatments you can, the premium oats, and the daily brushing, right? You can't complain about the accommodations."
Morgan simply tossed her mane and let out a loud, highly expressive snorted breath through her nostrils, a sound that clearly communicated her disdain for being pampered when she wanted to run. She chewed on her bit, pulling lightly against the reins, eager to move.
"Alright, alright. I hear you," Caleb smiled, gathering the reins in his left hand. "Let's go stretch those legs."
Caleb then rode out of the mansion's rear gates. The perimeter guards quickly hauled the heavy iron grates open, saluting the Vaquero as he passed through.
Caleb spurred Morgan into a brisk trot, navigating the winding, cobblestone streets of the wealthy northern district. He kept his head down, drawing no attention to himself, just another heavily armed rider moving through the sprawling metropolis.
He soon left Saint Denis entirely, the towering smokestacks and crowded, smog choked avenues fading behind him. He hit the open dirt roads, the heavy, humid air of the swamps slowly beginning to thin out.
Heading Northwest, Caleb urged Morgan into a smooth, ground eating canter. The wind whipped past his face, carrying the scent of pine and fresh earth. He was leaving the empire of blood and money behind for a brief, beautiful moment, riding hard toward the homestead located southwest of Valentine, ready to bring the woman he cared about out of the dust and into the light.
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Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 8/10
- Agility: 8/10
- Perception: 9/10
- Stamina: 8/10
- Charm: 8/10
- Luck: 9/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl MAX)
- Rifle (Lvl MAX)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl MAX)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl MAX)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl MAX)
- Sneaking (Lvl MAX)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl MAX)
- Poker (Lvl MAX)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl MAX)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl MAX)
- Dead Eye (Lvl MAX)
- Bow (Lvl MAX)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl MAX)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl MAX)
- Crafting (Lvl MAX)
- Persuasion (Lvl MAX)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl MAX)
- Teaching (Lvl MAX)
- Trilingual Language Proficiency - G, I, & C (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 100x100x100)
- Acting (Lvl MAX)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
- Drugs Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Business (Lvl MAX)
- Leadership (Lvl MAX)
Money: 3,322 dollars and 60 cents
Inventory: 286,492 dollars and 61 cents, 11 gold nuggets, 74 gold bars, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 Colm's Schofields, 1 land deed (Parcel), 1 Mauser, 1 Semi Auto Pistol, 1 Lancaster Repeater, 1 Old Wood Jewelry Box, 1 F.F Mausoleum small brass key, 1 Ruby, 1 Braithwaites Land Deed, 1 Broken Pirate Sword, 1 Milton's Safety Deposit Key, 1 Senator Pendleton Sealed Envelope, Proof Of Marlin-Thorne Firearms Co., 10 Dynamites, 1 LeMat, 1 M1899, 1 Carcano, 1 Ownership deed of Doyle's Tavern, 3 Diamonds, & Important Documents & Deeds Of Cornwall
Bank: -