Nyx stood at the edge of his property, an unfamiliar sense of unease settling in his stomach. The bald bureaucrat who had arrived unannounced adjusted his spectacles, his beady eyes scanning the expanse of farmland before him.
"We'll begin with a tour of your property," the man declared, his nasally voice grating on Nyx's nerves. "My associates," he gestured to the four stone-faced guards flanking him, "will need access to all areas of your farm and business operations."
Nyx nodded stiffly, leading the group towards his prized fields. Each plot boasted rows of vibrant magical herbs, their leaves shimmering with arcane energy. At the center of each field stood a mana tree, its presence both a source of pride and now, potentially, a problem.
As they approached the first field, Nyx's heart raced. Would the auditor recognize the mana trees for what they were?
To Nyx's surprise, the bureaucrat waddled forward, bending down with a grunt to examine the nearest patch of herbs. "Hrmmm," he muttered, his jowls quivering as he squinted at the plants.
"Magical ingredients," he announced suddenly, straightening up. "Most common in health and recovery potions."
Nyx's eyebrows shot up. This paper-pusher knew his herbs?
The bureaucrat continued, his voice taking on a lecturing tone. "One field can yield approximately 789 kilograms per harvest season. You have ten fields, so... roughly 7,890 kilograms of total harvest." He paused, his piggy eyes narrowing in calculation. "A typical potion requires about 10.6 ounces of harvested material."
With surprising speed for his bulk, the man whipped out a clipboard and began scribbling furiously. Behind him, the guards spread out, their eyes roving over the fields as they made their own notes.
Nyx watched them, a mixture of amazement and apprehension swirling in his chest. He'd expected a cursory inspection, not this level of scrutiny. As the bureaucrat waddled towards the mana tree at the field's center, Nyx held his breath.
"Interesting choice of shade tree," the man remarked, not even glancing up from his clipboard. "Provides excellent magical resonance for the surrounding herbs, I'm sure."
Nyx exhaled slowly, relief washing over him. The bureaucrat hadn't recognized the mana tree for what it truly was. But as the portly man turned, fixing Nyx with a calculating stare, the young mage realized this inspection was far from over.
"Now then, Mr. Shadowbrook," the auditor said, his tone deceptively light, "shall we discuss your potion production facilities?"
The group moved on to the renovated root cellar, its earthy scent mingling with the sharp aroma of drying herbs. The bureaucrat's nostrils flared as he entered, his beady eyes darting around the space with keen interest.
"Impressive setup," he muttered, lifting the lid of a nearby barrel and peering inside. His stubby fingers reached in, pulling out a pinch of dried leaves which he brought to his nose, inhaling deeply.
Nyx watched, a bead of sweat trickling down his back, as the inspector methodically examined each corner of the cellar. The man's thoroughness was both impressive and unnerving.
As the guards spread out, one of them approached a section of wall that looked no different from the rest. Nyx's heart leapt into his throat. Behind that innocuous-looking wall lay the entrance to his underground base – a sliding panel that led to a staircase descending into the earth.
Nyx's mind raced. Was there a law against having a secret underground base? He couldn't recall ever hearing of one, but then again, he'd never thought to ask. The guard's hand hovered near the hidden panel, and Nyx held his breath.
After what felt like an eternity, the guard moved on. Nyx exhaled slowly, his knees weak with relief.
"Let's proceed to the next area," the bureaucrat announced, making another note on his ever-present clipboard.
They made their way to the glass furnace workshop, the heat hitting them like a wall as they entered. Zara stood at her workstation, her face flushed from the heat, carefully shaping a delicate glass vial.
The inspector's eyes narrowed as he spotted her. "Hello, young lady," he called out, his voice cutting through the workshop's ambient noise. "How long have you been working here?"
Zara looked up, startled by the sudden appearance of the official and his entourage. "I... I'm not sure," she stammered, her usual confidence faltering under the man's intense gaze. "I've only come recently, with my Uncle Thorne."
"Oh?" The bureaucrat's eyebrow arched. "And where does your uncle work?"
"Well, he's Master Shadowbrook's retainer," Zara replied, finding her footing. "I'm also one of his retainers."
The inspector made a disapproving 'tsk' sound, scribbling furiously on his clipboard. His eyes roamed over the shelves lined with finished glass products, taking in every detail.
Nyx watched the exchange, a knot forming in his stomach. He'd never considered how his arrangement with his retainers might look to an outside observer. As the inspector continued his meticulous examination of the workshop, Nyx couldn't shake the feeling that this audit was far more complex and potentially problematic than he'd initially thought.
The final stop on their tour was Nyx's main workshop, a cavernous space filled with an eclectic array of equipment and materials. The acrid smell of hot metal from the blacksmithing furnace mingled with the pungent aroma of alchemical ingredients, creating a unique fragrance that permeated the air.
The portly auditor, now drenched in sweat, his balding head glistening in the workshop's warm light, turned to Nyx. "Do a bit of blacksmithing, Mr. Shadowbrook?" he wheezed, dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief.
Nyx nodded, trying to keep his voice steady. "Yes, I take on some contracts from time to time for extra coin. It also helps to fix tools that break down around the farm."
The guards spread out, their eyes roving over every surface. One examined the half-finished weapons laid out on a workbench, while another rifled through boxes of components. Nyx's eyes darted between them, his heart racing as he tried to anticipate where the next potential problem might arise.
A third guard approached the large closet filled with an assortment of clothes from various regions. Nyx's breath caught in his throat as he remembered what lay hidden beneath – boxes containing masks of disguise. He watched, paralyzed, as the guard began to sort through the shoes at the bottom of the closet.
Time seemed to slow as the guard bent down, his hand reaching for one of the boxes. Nyx's mind raced, searching for a distraction, an excuse, anything to stop what was about to happen. He took a step forward, his mouth opening to shout—
"What's this?" Another guard's voice cut through the tension like a knife.
Nyx stumbled, his planned interruption dying on his lips. He turned to see the fourth guard holding aloft a sword, its blade catching the light in a way that made it seem to glow from within. It looked like Damascus steel with its wavey pattern mixed small leaf patterns.
With a jolt of horror, Nyx recognized the weapon – it was the sword he'd crafted from a branch of one of his mana trees. His relief at the distraction from the masks was quickly replaced by a new wave of panic.
The fat auditor waddled over, his beady eyes narrowing as he examined the sword. "Interesting craftsmanship, Mr. Shadowbrook," he said, his tone unreadable. "I don't believe I've ever seen a blade quite like this before."
Nyx's mind raced, trying to formulate an explanation that wouldn't raise more questions than it answered. As all eyes in the room turned to him, waiting for a response, he realized that his carefully constructed world might come crashing down around him.
Nyx's mind raced as he blurted out, "A wooden ornamental sword that is a family heirloom?" His voice lifted at the end, making it sound more like a question than a statement.
The guards exchanged glances; their curiosity piqued. One stepped forward, holding the sword up to the light. "May I?" he asked, not waiting for an answer before running his hand along the blade.
"It is wooden," he muttered, surprise evident in his voice.
Another guard reached out, gingerly taking the sword. His eyebrows shot up as he hefted it. "Light as a feather," he remarked, passing it to his colleague.
The third guard couldn't resist giving it a few experimental swings. "Smooth balance," he commented, a hint of admiration in his tone.
The portly auditor cleared his throat, his jowls quivering with the effort. "You should put such things on display, Mr. Shadowbrook," he admonished. "I don't think your ancestors would want it tossed in a corner."
Nyx nodded vigorously, relief washing over him. "You're right," he agreed, his head bobbing like a bird pecking at grain.
The guard still holding the sword seemed reluctant to part with it, continuing to swing it in wide arcs.
"Put that wooden sword down," the auditor barked, his patience wearing thin.
The guard's face fell, looking for all the world like a child having his favorite toy confiscated. A mischievous glint appeared in his eye as he raised the sword one last time.
"Now, Mr. Shadowbrook," the auditor began, turning towards Nyx, "shall we go inside to go over the audit?"
In that moment, the guard brought the sword down on a nearby empty wooden table. The blade whistled through the air, followed by a resounding 'thunk'.
Silence fell over the workshop as all eyes turned to the table. Where once there had been a solid piece of furniture, there were now two perfectly cleaved halves.
Jaws dropped in unison. The guard holding the sword looked as if he'd seen a ghost, his face drained of all color.
Nyx felt the blood drain from his face as well. His mind scrambled for an explanation, but came up empty.
Into the shocked silence, Nyx forced a cough. "Yes," he said, his voice cracking slightly, "let's head inside."
As he turned to lead the way, Nyx could feel the weight of their stares on his back. The simple wooden ornament had just revealed itself to be something far more extraordinary, and Nyx knew that his troubles were far from over.