Silas stared at Bonereghard.

"How can we improve mana production?" he asked, already dreading the answer.

Bonereghard waved a skeletal hand dismissively. "Connection to the leyline can be improved, sigils upgraded, channels diverted, etc., but such endeavors require significant coin."

Silas sighed, rubbing his temples. "I know we have plenty of coin tucked away, but what's the fastest way to make it? I'd prefer our secret room full of coin to stay secret and prevent an audit of the estate."

Bonereghard paused, a faint glint of amusement in his hollow eyes. “Ah, the solution is quite simple then my lord. Monster battling.”

Silas blinked. “Monster battling?”

“Yes,” Bonereghard replied, his voice gaining momentum. “The city of Bastian thrives on its arenas, where summoners, tamers, and all manner of beastmasters compete for wealth, fame, and resources. With a creature of mythic rank, like your Diog, you have a rare advantage. Participating in these battles, either in public arenas or private high-stakes matches, could bring in the gold you need.”

Silas glanced down at Diog, who sat at his feet gnawing on a small piece of leather. “So, battling is the fastest way?”

Bonereghard nodded. “It is. And while there are risks, your potential for wealth is significant. Win a few high-stakes matches, and your debt could be halved in no time.”

Silas considered it. The idea of throwing himself into the monster battling scene wasn’t something he’d planned for, but if it could save the estate… “Alright,” he said finally.

Silas asks DioG what DioG thinks about that, DioG snaps the bone, like very ecited about the prospects.

Silas knelt beside Diog, his fingers brushing through the wolf cub’s thick fur. "What do you think, Diog? Ready to show the world what you’ve got?"

Diog paused in his gnawing, blue eyes locking onto Silas’s with a spark of energy. The small bone in his jaws snapped with a sharp crack, and Diog’s tail wagged furiously, thumping against the dusty floor.

"Guess that’s a yes," Silas murmured, with a smile.

He straightened up, feeling a rush of determination fill him. If Diog was ready for this challenge, so was he.

Bonereghard’s monocle glinted in the dim light as he observed the exchange. “A wise decision, my lord. The Hexgear Coliseum is always looking for new talent.”

Silas turned to Bonereghard, curiosity piqued. “Hexgear Coliseum? That’s where the big matches are held?”

“Yes, young master.” Bonereghard confirmed. “It is the crown jewel of Bastian’s competitive scene. Winning there would not only provide substantial financial rewards but also elevate your status significantly.”

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"Looks like I’m going to need to train Diog then," Silas said, determination lacing his voice.

Bonereghard gave a solemn nod. “Tomorrow will mark the beginning of your life as a trainer. But for now, you should rest, my lord. The road ahead is long and arduous.”

With that, the skeletal steward gestured for Silas to follow him through the winding halls of the manor. They passed ancient portraits of the Beckham lineage, their stern faces silently observing, long-forgotten relics gathering dust on ornate shelves, and the ever-present hum of the estate’s magic vibrating through the walls.

Eventually, they arrived at a large, imposing door at the end of the hall. Bonereghard pushed it open with a creak, revealing a spacious chamber dominated by a four-poster bed draped in heavy, velvet curtains. T

he room was filled with an air of faded grandeur, remnants of the Arch Magus’s presence still lingering in the shadows.

“This is your new quarters, my lord,” Bonereghard said, stepping aside to allow Silas to enter. “The Arch Magus’s former room is now yours. It is warded like all key areas of the estate. You will be safe here.”

Silas walked in, feeling the weight of responsibility settle over him as he glanced out the window at the city of Bastian in the distance, its lights twinkling like a thousand eyes watching his every move.

Bonereghard stood at the door with quiet respect. “Rest well, my lord; tomorrow your training begins in earnest.”

Silas nodded, the gravity of the day catching up to him as he collapsed onto the bed. Diog leaped up and curled beside him, the warmth of the Fenrir cub a small comfort in the vastness of the room.

As exhaustion hit him all at once, sleep claimed him swiftly, and thoughts of battles, debts, and the uncertain future swirled in his mind, mingling with dreams of what lay ahead.

Bonereghard waited until Silas’s breathing had settled into the deep, rhythmic pattern of sleep before quietly closing the door to the master’s chamber. He turned to find Diog, sitting silently in the corridor, looking staight at the steward.

"Fenrir Diog," Bonereghard said, inclining his head slightly in a gesture of respect. "I trust you understand the gravity of the situation."

Diog’s gaze remained steady, unwavering. The skeletal steward continued as though he were receiving an answer. "Your choice of master is... unexpected, yet not without merit. Young Silas will need your assistance to overcome the days ahead."

Silas stirred slightly, the comfort of the bed doing little to keep him in a deep slumber.

Bonereghard’s continued. "Dewalt's enemies are numerous, Fenrir Diog. They have been waiting for an opportunity like this, an inexperienced heir, unfamiliar with our ways, and the ways of our city. But there is no alternative, only him."

DioG's quiet growl followed in agreement.

"And young Silas," Bonereghard continued, his tone dripping with dry sarcasm, "is far too innocent and naive for his own good. I daresay he would not survive his first encounter with Dewalt’s enemies."

Diog tilted his head slightly, a gesture that seemed almost contemplative.

"Indeed," Bonereghard agreed, as if responding to an unspoken thought. "Silas will require guidance, guidance that extends beyond my capabilities as a mere steward. He will need your wisdom and strength. Power borrowed in the meantime."

DioG's tail flicked once in acknowledgment.

"Rest assured," Bonereghard said, his tone softening slightly. "I will do everything within my power to support you by supporting him. His success is paramount to us both."

He looked back at the closed door for a moment before turning back to Diog. "But be warned, Silas must grow quickly into his role if he is to overcome the challenges that await him."

Diog’s eyes met Bonereghard’s empty sockets, and for a moment, there was an understanding, a silent pact between ancient beings.

Bonereghard straightened his suit jacket with a bony hand. "We shall ensure that he rises to meet his destiny," he promised.

Diog padded back into the room, his paws barely making a sound on the old wooden floor. Silas felt the mattress dip slightly as Diog leaped up and settled himself at the foot of the bed, curling into a comfortable ball.