Silas trudged through Bastian's stone streets, the sheer amount of money owed pressed down on him.

Twenty-eight thousand gold.

The kind of sum that made his head spin.

He'd seen nobles throw away fortunes on wine and cards, but this? This was beyond anything he could wrap his mind around.

The route took him through the second ring's winding streets, past shops opening their shutters and merchants setting up their morning wares. His stomach growled at the smell of fresh bread, but he couldn't spare another copper. He needed every coin he had left for essential supplies—rope, bandages, maybe some dried meat if he could find it cheap enough.

But his purse was nearly empty after paying that inheritance fee.

A supply shop caught Silas's eye - the kind that catered to monster hunters like himself.

The wooden sign above the door bore a crude painting of crossed swords.

Inside, the familiar smell of leather and oil brought back memories of preparing for hunts in Dolan. Weapons lined the walls, but Silas walked past them to the practical supplies in back. No point wasting coin on fancy blades when his current sword worked fine.

"What'll it be?" The shopkeeper scratched his beard.

"Rope, bandages, dried meat." Silas counted out his remaining coins. "Whatever this gets me."

The shopkeeper nodded and started gathering supplies. "Heading out on a hunt?"

"Something like that."

The man returned with a coil of sturdy rope, a roll of clean bandages, and a small package of salted beef wrapped in paper. "Seven copper for the lot."

Silas handed over the coins, leaving his purse nearly empty. He packed the supplies into his worn leather bag, making sure the bandages stayed dry and protected. The rope he slung across his chest - it had saved his life more times than he could count.

The dried meat wasn't much, but it would keep him going if things went bad. And given what he'd heard about the estate, having emergency supplies seemed like basic survival sense.

Silas paused at the door, his hand hovering over the last three copper pieces in his purse. The weight of the coins felt insignificant compared to what he owed, but they might keep him alive long enough to worry about the debt.

"Got any purple wisteria?"

The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow. "Ghost problems?"

"Estate problems."

Understanding crossed the man's weathered face. He disappeared into the back room, returning with a small cloth pouch. "Last batch. Two copper."

Silas placed the coins on the counter. The dried flowers wouldn't stop anything truly dangerous, but they'd at least warn him if spirits were nearby - the petals turned black in the presence of malevolent entities.

"Salt?"

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The shopkeeper shook his head. "Fresh out. But..." He reached under the counter and pulled out a small vial of clear liquid. "Blessed water from the Temple. Normally it'll be another 3 copper, but I'll cut you a deal for the last one."

Silas dropped his final coin on the wooden surface. Holy water wasn't as reliable as salt for creating barriers, but it worked well enough in a pinch. He'd seen it burn through lesser undead and might give him a chance to run if a greater undead appeared. .

He tucked both items carefully into his bag. They weren't much, but against whatever waited at the estate, every edge counted.

The road curved up toward Bastian's third ring. Buildings stretched higher here, their stone facades clean and decorated with ornate carvings. Wide streets replaced the cramped alleys of the outer rings, leaving nowhere to duck out of sight if trouble started.

The crowd thinned. No more street vendors or workers rushing to their jobs. Instead, well-dressed merchants strode past without a glance, servants hurried on errands, and nobles rode in carriages that forced everyone else to the sides of the street.

Guards watched from their posts at every intersection.

Their eyes followed Silas as he passed, taking in his worn leather armor and the sword marks scored across it. One guard's hand drifted to his weapon, just waiting for an excuse.

Silas kept his movements slow and deliberate.

No sudden moves to spook them. No reason to give them what they wanted.

The summoning orb pressed against his chest beneath his shirt, a small comfort against what lay ahead. Two creatures - an owl and a salamander. Not much of an arsenal for tackling an estate that had already killed who knew how many. He could use proper healing potions instead of basic bandages, armor without patches, maybe even some enchanted tools to deal with whatever waited inside.

But those weren't options anymore. Not with twenty-eight thousand in debt hanging over his head.

He pushed the thought aside. Deal with what's in front of you first. Reach the estate. Get inside. Figure out how to stay alive once he was there. The rest could wait.

The grand houses grew sparse, their windows dark and shuttered. Fewer carriages passed. The streets widened but emptied, cobblestones cracked and split by creeping weeds.

Silas counted three patrols in the last hour, down from guards at every corner in the lower rings.

The mansions here bore the weight of age and neglect.

Elaborate stone facades crumbled. Vines consumed iron gates that hadn't opened in years. The few nobles who clung to their ancestral homes kept to themselves, servants scurrying between buildings with downcast eyes.

This district was a graveyard of fallen houses.

Looking at the decay around him.

The streets curved past more abandoned estates, their grounds wild and overgrown.

Even the birds fell silent.

Then he saw it, black iron gates rising from tangles of dead vines. The metal twisted with rust, warped by time and weather.

Above the bars, a family crest had nearly vanished beneath corrosion. Only traces remained of what must have been the Beckham seal.

Silas approached the gates. Beyond them stretched a courtyard consumed by tall weeds that swayed without wind. The manor itself loomed, a hulking mass of weathered stone and broken windows.

The walls bore scars of violence or neglect, their surfaces pitted and cracked.

His inheritance. His debt. His problem now.

Silas stood before the gates, taking in the decay. His fingers traced the rusted metal, flakes of iron crumbling at his touch.

"Is this really worth twenty-eight thousand gold?"

The question hung in the dead air. No birds answered. No wind stirred the overgrown grass beyond the entrance. Just silence and the weight of crumbling stone pressing down from above.

He'd seen better maintained graveyards in Dolan. At least those had flowers sometimes. This place looked like it hadn't seen life in decades, despite what the vendor said about Dewalt dying only six months ago.

Two creatures he knew of, four unknown, and a mountain of debt versus whatever killed or drove off everyone else.

Smart money said to walk away now. Let the city keep their cursed estate and their tax demands.

But walking away meant going back to Dolan. Back to five silver contracts and sleeping in abandoned buildings. Back to knowing each job could be his last, with no one to even mark his grave.

At least here the thing trying to kill him would have an address.

Silas ran his hand over the gate's lock. The metal had fused shut from rust, the keyhole filled with decades of grime. No getting through this way. But the wall to the right had partially collapsed, stones tumbled into a heap that would make for an easy climb.

He'd come too far to turn back now.

Whether the estate was worth the gold or not didn't matter anymore. He needed somewhere to stand his ground, and this wreck of a manor was all he had.