Travis was still in the study when the heavy oak door clicked open, the sound echoing faintly against the quiet hum of the room. His head snapped toward the entrance, his pulse quickening.
Standing in the doorway was a figure so familiar it made his breath hitch.
"Brandon?" he blurted out before he could stop himself.
The man—an older gentleman with a stately air—paused, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Master Lysil? Is anything wrong? Who is Brandon?" he asked, his eyes scanning the room as if expecting to find another person hiding in the shadows.
Travis's heart thudded as he stared, his mind racing. 'What's Brandon doing here?' But as he looked closer, realization dawned.
The man before him bore an uncanny resemblance to Brandon, his former personal assistant. From the silver streaks in his hair to the tailored suit he wore, it was almost identical. Almost.
It was the details that gave it away. The man's hair had a darker shade of silver, and he was taller by at least a head. Then there was the monocle perched over one eye—a unique accessory Brandon had never worn.
'Hell, even the clothes they wear are alike,' Travis thought, amazed at the similarities. But now, he knew better.
Realizing he'd been staring too long, he coughed into his hand to compose himself. "Ahm, ahm. I meant Henry," he corrected, injecting as much nonchalance into his tone as he could muster.
The older man's frown deepened with concern. "Is everything all right, young master?"
Travis forced a smile, waving off the question. "It's nothing. What did you come to tell me?" he asked, swiftly changing the topic. 'It's best if I don't act too suspicious,' he thought. 'I'll ease into my usual personality slowly. For now, I'll keep things official.'
Unlike Brandon, Henry wasn't a personal assistant but the house butler—a loyal servant of the Lysil family. Travis knew little about him, aside from his reputation for unwavering dedication, even during the darkest times.
Henry's posture straightened as he stepped further into the study. Despite his age, he carried himself with dignity, his weathered face betraying only the faintest signs of worry.
"Young master, the Maxwell family has issued a demand," Henry began gravely.
"They seek repayment of the debt your father owed before his passing. If we cannot meet their terms, they intend to claim this house as payment."
Travis's stomach dropped. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers curling into fists.
'Now they want to leave me homeless as well?' The thought settled heavily on his chest, but he forced himself to remain calm.
"What's the deadline?" he asked, his tone steady despite the storm brewing inside.
Henry hesitated, his expression faltering. "Ten days, young master. After that, they'll take possession of the mansion."
Ten days. The words echoed like a death knell in Travis's mind. It wasn't just short—it was impossible.
"And the amount?" he pressed, though he already knew the answer would sting.
"Ten thousand gold coins," Henry replied, his voice heavy with regret.
Travis's brow furrowed deeper. "Ten thousand?" he repeated, his voice rising slightly. For a mansion of this caliber, it was a paltry sum—an insult, really. But what choice did they have?
Henry nodded solemnly. "The Maxwell family's offer is far below the estate's worth. However, without backing, contesting their claim would be… unwise."
Travis's jaw tightened. He'd read enough of Lysil's memories to understand the power dynamics at play. The Maxwell family wasn't just wealthy—they were ruthless. Defying them without leverage would be tantamount to suicide.
"They can't just take the house over such a small amount!" he exclaimed, slamming his hand against the desk. "Why would they even demand this?"
Henry's gaze softened, though he looked no less burdened. "I cannot say, young master. Perhaps… if you became a ma—"
"Became a what?" Travis cut in, his tone sharp but curious. He wasn't one to dismiss a potential solution, no matter how far-fetched.
Henry hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "If you were to awaken as a mage through your training, the academy would extend its protection to you. The Maxwell family would no longer have the authority to act against us."
Travis's eyes narrowed. He'd already seen from Lysil's memories about the academy's influence and the privileges it afforded mages. But the problem was glaringly obvious:
'I'm not a mage. I've never had the opportunity to become one.'
Henry's shoulders sagged slightly, his voice growing more somber. "If only we had something… anything… to generate income."
The butler's words stirred something in Travis's mind. He leaned back, his gaze unfocused as he sifted through memories and ideas. Then, like a flash of lightning, inspiration struck.
'The count's daughter.'
A vivid image formed in his mind—a girl with bright blue eyes, her face pale and fragile.
'Wait, this is-' All the information pertaining to the girl flashed in Travis mind.
"Henry," Travis said suddenly, his voice carrying an edge of urgency. "Has the count's daughter recovered from her illness yet?"
The question seemed to catch Henry off guard. He blinked, momentarily speechless. "No, young master. Not to my knowledge. Is something the matter?"
Travis's lips curled into a smile—a smile that was equal parts relief and determination.
"Perfect," he muttered under his breath, standing abruptly. His mind raced with the possibilities. 'It's almost as though the system predicted this. Everything is falling into place.'
Henry watched the sudden transformation with a mixture of bewilderment and wariness. "Young master… if I may ask… why do you inquire about the count's daughter?"
Travis's grin widened. "Henry, arrange a meeting with the count. I believe I have a plan."
The butler hesitated, his thoughts clearly racing. 'Even in the midst of crisis, the young master is thinking about a lady? Truly, he is… passionate.' Despite his reservations, he gave a curt nod.
"As you wish, young master."
As Henry exited the room, Travis sat back down, steepling his fingers.
'The system isn't useless after all. It's time to put it to work.'