Silas let the last flickers of the estate’s system interface fade from sight. The blue glow around him died out, leaving only the dim corridor lamps and a dusty chandelier overhead.

He stood there, still winded from nearly being cut in half by Boneregard.

At least now, the skeletal butler had swapped his warlord plate for a disheveled but strangely pristine suit.

Boneregard tipped his head slightly, the monocle perched in his empty eye socket giving him an air of polite curiosity. “As I said young master, let us ajorn to a more comfortable setting. I fear I allowed my defensive measures to wreak havoc on this foyer.”

He rubbed at the bruise forming on his arm. “Lead on, caretaker. Just… no more swords, please?”

Boneregard bowed stiffly. “But of course, young master.”

He beckoned, and as they walked, Silas noticed how each step the skeleton took no longer boomed or echoed in the same ominous fashion.

Instead, the floors only let out faint groans from centuries of neglect.

"Your footsteps changed," Silas said, following the butler through the dim hallway. "Their not as loud, or threatening anymore."

Boneregard paused mid-stride, turning his skull toward Silas. "Ah, you noticed. Previously, I enhanced my presence through focused mana projection. A technique developed to make intruders, shall we say, reconsider their life choices."

"And now?"

"I see no reason to attempt making the rightful heir soil himself." Boneregard adjusted his monocle. "Though your composure during our earlier encounter proved quite remarkable. Most trespassers tend to scream more."

"Had enough practice with things trying to kill me." Silas touched the wall, feeling decades of grime under his fingertips. "Though usually they don't switch to offering tea afterward."

"I should hope not. That would be most improper." The skeleton's jaw clicked in what might have been amusement. "The estate's defensive measures require a certain theatrical flair. Fear, after all, is an excellent deterrent against those who might seek to plunder your inheritance."

Silas followed Boneregard down the wide corridor, his.

Old portraits lined the walls, the faces of whom Silas didn't recgonize, but the portraits followed him with their eyes as he moved.

A slight draft came through broken windows, stirring tattered curtains.

Boneregard paused to right a fallen suit of armor, his skeletal fingers brushing off dust and righted the armor. "You must excuse the estate's current condition. Maintaining everything alone proved challenging after the Archimage's demise. Though I do occasionally overdo the protective spells."

Silas shot him a glare. "So I noticed. Are we going to have another near-death scuffle in every room?"

The skeleton's laugh rattled like dice in a cup. "No, no, now that your claim is recognized, the wards will gradually adjust to your presence. Full-blown murder attempts should be minimal from here on out."

"Minimal." Silas stepped over what looked suspiciously like human bones piled in a corner. "Comforting."

"Ah, well." Boneregard adjusted his monocle. "Your grandfather Dewalt kept quite the menagerie"

"Menagerie?" Silas followed Boneregard down a set of stone steps, the air growing thick with stale magic.

They reached a massive iron door covered in pulsing red runes. Behind it, something shrieked.

"The Archive." Boneregard explained. "Your grandfather collected specimens others deemed too dangerous to study. Things that defied classification."

Another howl echoed through the metal, followed by the scraping of claws against stone.

"Like what?"

"The Hollow Child - appears as a weeping infant until it splits open to feed. The Flesh Weaver - it knits people together while they sleep. The Mirror Eater - it devours reflections, leaving victims as empty shells." Boneregard's eye socket dimmed. "Those are among the tamer ones."

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A bang against the door made Silas step back. Through gaps in the metal, he caught glimpses of writhing shadows and too many eyes.

"Most are sealed individually," Boneregard said. "Triple-layered containment circles, blessed chains, specialized purification wards. Your grandfather was thorough in his precautions."

Something laughed behind the door, a sound like breaking glass mixed with a child's giggle.

"And these seals are holding?" Silas eyed the pulsing runes.

"For now. Though they'll need maintenance soon. The Archive houses thirty-seven specimens. Each requires unique containment procedures." Boneregard straightened his tie. "I've managed basic upkeep, but some of the more... aggressive entities have begun testing their bounds."

As if to emphasize his point, the door shuddered as multiple things slammed against it at once.

Silas backed away from the Archive entrance. "Right. Let's continue this tour somewhere with fewer imprisoned horrors?"

"A wise suggestion, young master." Boneregard led them back up the stairs. "Though you should know - those thirty-seven are merely the ones we managed to contain. Several others still roam the estate grounds."

Boneregard's skull snapped toward the door. His eye socket flared purple.

"SILENCE!" The butler's voice boomed with otherworldly force, each syllable carrying crushing weight. "RETURN TO YOUR CHAMBERS AT ONCE!"

The creatures behind the door went quiet. A few whimpers echoed through the metal, followed by the sound of shuffling and slithering as things retreated deeper into the Archive.

Silas stared at the skeleton. "That's effective."

"Yes it is. They require a firm hand." Boneregard's voice returned to its usual proper tone. "Your grandfather insisted on collecting them, you see. He claimed to be from another realm entirely and that he wanted to be the very best."

"The best" Silas raised an eyebrow. "What does being the best have to do with any of those horrors back there?"

"Ah, well." Boneregard adjusted his tie. "The Archmagus would often ramble about 'catching them all' during his earlier years. Eventually shifting towards a one purpose focuse on monster girls and 'waifus', whatever those might be."

Silas grimaced.

"The Archmagus was... eccentric, certainly. But his research was methodical. Each specimen carefully documented, their abilities and origins recorded in precise detail in what he termed his codex." Boneregard's jaw clicked thoughtfully. "Though his notes did occasionally devolve into disturbing sketches of human-monster hybrids in various states of undress."

Silas felt a headache building. "So my inheritance includes a dungeon full of monsters because grandfather was obsessed with... collecting them?"

"More or less," Boneregard said, leading them back up the stairs. "Though the Archmagus insisted on calling it a 'magical creature sanctuary.' The fact that most specimens attempted to devour him never dampened his enthusiasm."

Silas rubbed his temples. The pounding in his head grew worse with each revelation about his grandfather. "So he kept collecting them even after he new they were dangerous?"

"Oh yes. Your grandfather viewed each attack as a learning opportunity." Boneregard chucked.

"And this seemed normal to everyone?"

"The other noble families learned not to question his methods." Boneregard paused at the top of the stairs.

Silas caught movement in a darkened doorway, something that shouldn't bend that way disappeared into the shadows that scurried away at the sight of Boneregard. "How many of thes 'specimens' are loose in the manor?"

"Plenty unfortunately young master." Boneregard adjusted his monocle. "Most keep to the darker corners and sealed wings. They're quite territorial, they tend to kill any new creatures that wander in."

"That's..." Silas searched for the right word. "Horrifying."

"Indeed. Though it does simplify containment somewhat." The skeleton's jaw clicked. "The truly dangerous ones eliminate the merely lethal ones. Makes tracking them easier, if nothing else."

"And where do you rank in all this?" Silas eyed the skeleton butler. "You can keep me safe, right?"

Boneregard's skull turned with a dry click. "In terms of raw power, I stand near the apex of the estate's current residents. Only three entities surpass my capabilities, all sealed within the deepest chambers of the Archive."

"Just three?"

"The Maiden of A Thousand Mouths. Your grandfather attempted to summon what he termed a 'tsundere snake girl.' Instead, he brought forth an ancient horror that devoured half the east wing before we contained it." Boneregard's eye socket flickered. "The Dark Suitor, Dewalt believed he'd found a 'demon princess waifu.' The resulting entity wore the skin of its victims.."

Silas shifted uncomfortably. "And the third?"

"That would be She Who Walks Between. Your grandfather's notes claimed he sought a 'magical cat girl.' What emerged..." Boneregard's voice grew tight. "We lost sixteen servants before forcing it into containment. Their screams lasted weeks after their bodies had already died."

"My grandfather summoned these things for companionship?"

Boneregard snorted then laughed. "Sure young master. 'Companionship". The Archmagus became rather fixated on certain... artistic works from another realm. He believed they depicted actual beings he could summon."

Boneregard straightened his tie. "His later journals grew increasingly deranged, filled with sketches of impossible anatomies and rambling theories about 'perfect waifus.'"

Silas watched shadows writhe in a doorway down the hall. "But you can handle everything else loose in the manor?"

"Yes young master. The lesser horrors know better than to challenge me directly." Boneregard's eye socket flared purple. "I've had decades to establish dominance over the more troublesome specimens. They remember what happened to those that tested my patience."

Silas followed Boneregard down another corridor, past more portraits with following eyes.

A scratching sound came from behind a door they passed. Something inside whimpered, not quite human, not quite animal.

Silas quickened his pace to keep up with the butler. "Does anything in here not want to kill me?"

"The kitchen rats are relatively harmless." Boneregard's continued down the hall. "Though I wouldn't recommend testing that assumption."

Boneregard paused before a set of ornate double doors. "Ah, here we are young master. We've arrived at the study."