Mage Heir - The Summoner of Beckham Estate?

Silas turned to leave, his mind swirling with the crushing weight of the debt. He heard the clerk shuffle behind the desk. The sound of hurried footsteps caught him off guard as he reached for the door.

"Wait!" she called out, a little too urgently.

Silas froze, his hand hovering over the door handle. He turned slowly, dread already crawling up his spine.

The clerk bustled out from behind her counter, waving the parchment frantically. "I—uh—forgot something," she stammered, her expression both apologetic and exasperated. "There's one more thing."

Silas narrowed his eyes, barely able to believe there could be more. "What now?"

The clerk stopped in front of him, catching her breath. "Inheritance tax," she said, flipping the parchment back open and scanning it quickly. "I forgot to factor in the inheritance tax on the total value of the estate now that it's officially passed to you."

Silas felt his stomach knot even tighter. "How much?"

The clerk bit her lip, running her finger down the page before finding the number. She hesitated, as if bracing for his reaction.

"Based on the estate's assessed value," she said carefully, "which includes the property, mana conduit, ley line, and potential revenue sources... the inheritance tax comes to an additional twelve thousand four hundred eighty-nine gold."

Silas stared at her, his mind going completely blank for a moment. The numbers felt like a slap in the face. "Twelve thousand...?"

She nodded, her expression a mix of pity and discomfort. "Yes. The state has to collect on such… valuable properties. You know, to ensure proper allocation of resources in Bastian."

Silas let out a hollow laugh. Fifteen thousand in back taxes was bad enough, but now the total had ballooned to an almost laughable amount. Twenty-eight thousand gold.

He could barely comprehend it.

The clerk adjusted her glasses awkwardly. "Look, I know this sounds overwhelming, but this is, um, standard practice for estates of your size."

Her muttering seemed less businesslike and more uncertain now. Silas picked up on it immediately.

"The Arch Magus was quite… prolific in his holdings," she continued nervously, "even if they've fallen into disrepair. You've inherited a great deal of potential wealth."

Silas shook his head, unable to keep the bitterness from creeping into his voice. "Potential wealth doesn't pay taxes."

She gave a half-hearted shrug. "Well… no. But you have to start somewhere."

Silas felt the walls of the room closing in around him. The numbers on the parchment seemed to grow larger, more menacing. He clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"Twenty-eight thousand gold," he muttered, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. The clerk nodded sympathetically, but her pity only fueled his growing anger.

"Twenty-eight thousand gold."

The absurdity of it all was too much.

What was an inheritance he couldn't afford when the sum attached to it was worth the wealth of a city?

He took a step back, feeling the heat rise to his face. His jaw tightened, and he could feel the floodgates about to burst.

All the frustration, the overwhelming sense of being overwhelmed, was boiling over.

The clerk stepped back instinctively, sensing the change in him. "Sir, I—"

But Silas didn't hear her. His vision blurred with rage as he opened his mouth to unleash a tirade that had been building since he first set foot in Bastian.

Before he could let loose, a sharp tug at his pant leg yanked him off balance. He looked down to see Diog's eyes locked onto his own, the wolf cub's teeth firmly clamped around the fabric.

"Diog, what—"

Diog growled softly but insistently and began dragging Silas toward the door. For a moment, Silas resisted.

But Diog's persistence was unrelenting.

Silas stumbled as Diog pulled harder, practically hauling him out of the office with all the strength of a mythic level creature. He could hear the clerk's confused murmurs behind him as Diog, small as he was, dragged Silas through the door and into the hallway.

The cool air hit Silas, and some of the red haze lifted from his vision. He took a deep breath and looked down at Diog, who had finally released his pant leg and now stared up at him with those intelligent eyes.

"Alright," Silas muttered, rubbing his temples and trying to regain some semblance of composure. "Alright… thanks."

Diog wagged his tail once before trotting ahead down the corridor, leading Silas away from what could have been a disastrous outburst.

Diog seemed to know exactly when he needed rescuing, from both external threats and himself.

With a resigned sigh, he followed Diog's lead.

«Bonereghard's Unconventional Advice»

Silas returned to the estate, the weight of his newfound debt completely dragging on him. As he approached the main gates, the imposing figures of The Gemini loomed in their usual positions, silent and vigilant, and staring directly at him with their wispy eyes.

For a moment, he hesitated, but this time something was different.

He reached into his satchel and pulled out the deed, holding it up as he neared. The cursed armors shifted slightly, their eyes locking onto him. Silas swallowed, bracing for the confrontation, but instead of raising their weapons, they stepped aside, the gates creaking open.

The Gemini allowed him through without so much as a glance, acknowledging him as the rightful heir for the first time.

The estate had recognized him.

Silas stepped inside, Diog trotting beside him as they made their way through the grand foyer. The manor felt less hostile now, its latent magic humming quietly, as though welcoming him at last.

Bonereghard appeared in the distance, his towering skeletal form moving with his usual poise down the hall toward Silas.

The steward bowed his head slightly as he approached. "Ah, Lord Beckham," he said in his deep, hollow voice. "I see you have returned, and with the deed in hand. Congratulations on your promotion."

Silas gave a weak smile, but it quickly faded as the weight of his debt pressed down on him again. "Yeah, about that…" He rubbed the back of his neck. "Turns out there's a little more to handle than just the deed. Back taxes, inheritance tax, and interest—well, it's… a lot. The magistrate says I owe nearly 28,000 gold."

Bonereghard's empty gaze remained fixed on him, unblinking. "A sizable sum," he said after a moment, his voice devoid of surprise. "The Arch Magus foresaw such troubles. His wealth was always a double-edged sword in the hands of the state."

Silas grimaced. "Yeah, and now it's my sword to fall on. How am I supposed to pay off that kind of money? The longer I wait, the worse it gets and... even if I somehow manage to earn it, I'll be drowning in even more taxes."

Bonereghard's skull tilted slightly as if pondering Silas's predicament. "Indeed, the more you earn, the more the state takes. A vicious cycle the bureaucrats use to push down the worthy."

Bonereghard adjusted his monocle and then his suit like he was getting ready to give some very professional advice, like an accountant giving harsh news.

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Tell me, my lord… have you ever considered… tax fraud and money laundering?"

Silas blinked, stunned into silence.

For a moment he wasn't sure if he had heard the steward correctly. Then as the reality of what Bonereghard was suggesting hit him, he couldn't help but laugh, a dry incredulous laugh.

Silas couldn't help but chuckle, shaking his head. "Tax fraud? Really, Bonereghard? You're joking, right?"

Bonereghard's skeletal face remained stoic, but his hollow eyes gleamed faintly. "I assure you, my lord, I am quite serious."

Silas's laughter died in his throat. He blinked at the steward, waiting for the punchline that never came. "You're… actually suggesting it?"

Bonereghard adjusted his monocle with a precise flick of his bony finger. "Tax fraud is such an ugly term," he said with a tone of disdain. "I prefer to think of it as a reallocation of resources best served by the estate, rather than the state."

Silas's mouth opened and closed a few times as he tried to process this. "But that's illegal," he finally managed to say.

"Ah," Bonereghard said, raising a finger as if delivering a lecture, "illegal is a relative term. What we are discussing here is not outright evasion but rather a strategic minimization of financial obligations."

His voice was smooth, almost soothing in its calm rationality.

Silas shook his head again, trying to clear it. "You can't seriously expect me to commit tax fraud."

"Consider it a necessary measure," Bonereghard replied with an air of impeccable logic. "To navigate the labyrinth of finance in Bastian requires not just wealth but cunning. The Arch Magus was well-versed in such matters."

Silas took a step back, running his hand through his hair. "So you're telling me my grandfather was… what? A criminal mastermind?"

Bonereghard chuckled, a dry sound like rustling leaves. "Criminal mastermind? Hardly. He was merely adept at ensuring that his resources were utilized most efficiently for the benefit of the estate."

The steward stepped closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially again. "The state takes what it does not need and squanders it on frivolities and inefficiencies. Your task is to ensure that the estate thrives, not to become another cog in their bureaucratic machine."

Silas frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. "And how exactly do you propose we do this?"

Bonereghard's eyes gleamed brighter as if he had been waiting for this moment. "Simple adjustments," he said smoothly. "Creative bookkeeping and minor alterations to your income reports can make a world of difference."

Silas stared at him, still incredulous but now completely interested..

Bonereghard continued with enthusiasm uncharacteristic of his usual demeanor. "For example," he explained with an elegant sweep of his skeletal hand, "declaring certain assets as depreciated or funneling revenue through intermediary trusts can reduce taxable income significantly."

The steward leaned in closer, and Silas could almost feel the cold aura emanating from him. "It is merely about presenting your financials in a way that ensures the estate's survival and prosperity."

Silas couldn't help but admire the steward's confidence and competence, even if the plan itself seemed highly questionable.

"You make it sound so, simple. AND easy," Silas admitted reluctantly.

Bonereghard straightened up with an air of finality. "Indeed, my lord. It is merely another form of strategy, one that ensures your family's legacy endures. That this Estate endures.."

Silas stood there, still grappling with the absurdity of Bonereghard's suggestion.

He wanted to dismiss it outright, to cling to some semblance of legality.

But the skeletal steward's unwavering confidence made him hesitate.

"Still unsure?" Bonereghard's hollow eyes flickered, catching Silas's uncertainty. "Have you considered for a moment, young master," his voice sharpened, taking on a rare edge of anger, "that such an egregious sum being levied against you may have no legal standing and may instead be exactly what it seems like? An attack on the Beckham Estate? A deeper conspiracy?"

Silas funease at Bonereghard's sudden shift tone. The skeletal butler's normally composed demeanor cracked just enough to reveal the anger simmering beneath.

"An attack?" Silas echoed, his mind struggling to catch up.

Bonereghard nodded, his bony fingers curling into fists at his sides. "Indeed. The Beckham name has always carried weight, power, and influence. There are those who would see it crushed under the guise of legal procedures and taxation."

Silas frowned, trying to process this new perspective. "But... why would they do that?"

Bonereghard let out a dry chuckle. "Envy, fear, greed, take your pick. The estate's power is a threat to many who prefer the status quo."

Silas shifted uncomfortably, feeling the enormity of his situation weigh even heavier. "So you're saying this debt is just... a ploy?"

"Precisely," Bonereghard said sharply. "Against such enemies, there is no 'legal' recourse. They wield bureaucracy like a weapon, one designed to bleed you dry while appearing legitimate. An attack against you, but also through you, an attack against the late Arch Magus."

Silas swallowed hard.

He wanted to believe in fairness and justice but was faced with a reality that seemed anything but.

Bonereghard's anger simmered just below the surface as he continued. "You must understand, my lord, this is not merely about money. It is about survival, yours and that of the estate."

Silas looked down at Diog who watched him intently with those wise eyes that seemed to understand everything.

"Survival," Silas repeated softly.

"Yes," Bonereghard confirmed. "And sometimes survival requires actions that are not strictly... within traditionally legal boundaries."

Silas took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. The path before him was becoming clearer but no less treacherous.

Bonereghard's unwavering gaze urged him to see reason. "The estate cannot thrive if shackled by unjust demands."

He looked up at Bonereghard.

"Alright," he said finally, feeling the decision settle upon him. "Let's see what we can do."