The silence that followed the knights' chaotic departure was a thick, heavy blanket. Leo leaned against the cool, solid wood of the bar, his legs shaking with the delayed shock of it all. He took one deep, ragged breath, then another. The air tasted clean and still, carrying only the scent of old wood and dust. His territory. His safe harbor. He had defended it.
His eyes fell on the woman still slumped against the pillar. The immediate threat was gone, but a new, more practical problem remained. The dark, wet patch on her side was growing, and her breathing was shallow. Whatever relief she felt at her saviors' departure was being rapidly overshadowed by the very real possibility of bleeding to death.
A dead tenant provides zero Value, a pragmatic corner of his brain noted with cold clarity.
"Right," he muttered to himself, pushing off the bar. Action was the antidote to fear. He walked behind the long counter, hoping to find something, anything, useful. He half-expected to find nothing but dusty bottles of unidentifiable liquor, but as his eyes scanned the shelves, a small, clean wooden box seemed to stand out, almost glowing with a faint light of its own. He pulled it down. It was a first-aid kit. It wasn't a modern plastic one, but a beautifully crafted box with neat compartments containing rolls of clean linen bandages, small crystalline vials filled with a clear, viscous liquid, and oddly shaped metal tools that looked like a cross between surgical implements and a jeweler's kit. The Inn provided.
He grabbed the box and a clean bar towel and knelt beside the woman. "Don't move," he said, his voice coming out steadier than he felt. "I'm not a doctor, but leaving that wound open isn't an option."
She flinched as he got closer, her grey eyes sharp with suspicion. She was a cornered animal, wary of any hand that reached for her, even one offering help.
"Who are you?" she rasped, her voice tight with pain.
"I'm the manager," Leo replied simply, deciding it was the easiest and truest explanation. He began to clean the edges of the wound with a cloth dampened by the clear liquid from one of the vials. It was a nasty gash, a deep cut that had sliced through her tunic and the chainmail beneath. His work was clumsy, efficient but lacking any sort of gentle bedside manner. He was assessing damage and mitigating a problem, just as he would with a property suffering from water damage.
As the strange, cool liquid touched her skin, the bleeding slowed, and a faint, silvery steam rose from the wound. The woman's pained expression eased slightly. The stuff was clearly magical.
"Manager?" she questioned, her brow furrowed in confusion. She had likely been expecting 'Archmage,' 'Demon Lord,' or 'Spirit King.'
"That's right," Leo said, concentrating on applying a pressure bandage. "And you're bleeding on my floor, which is a potential health code violation and depreciates the property value."
Her eyes widened slightly at his bizarrely mundane response. Before she could reply, her own name was called by a booming voice that echoed in the hall. "Lyra, the Apostate..." She closed her eyes, a flicker of deep pain crossing her features that had nothing to do with her physical injury. So that was her name. Lyra.
After Leo's strange display of power neutralized her pursuers, she had fallen into a semi-conscious state, only to be awoken by the clumsy prodding at her side. Now, with the immediate threat gone, she watched him with a calculating gaze. This man, who looked no more threatening than a merchant's clerk, had effortlessly defeated three Paladins of the Order of the Sun with… rules? And bread? None of it made sense. He was either a god-tier illusionist or something far stranger.
"The Order of the Sun does not give up," she finally said, her voice regaining some of its strength. "They will return. You are not safe here with me." It was a warning, but also a test.
"I'm aware," Leo said, tying off the bandage with a final, neat knot. He sat back on his heels, appraising his handiwork. It wasn't pretty, but the bleeding had stopped. "But I think we've established that their authority ends at my front door. You, on the other hand, are now inside. Which makes you my problem. And my opportunity."
He stood up, brushing the dust from his knees. He was back in his element now. The violence was over; the negotiation could begin.
"You can stay here," he announced, his tone shifting from awkward medic to professional landlord. "This place is safe. Probably the safest place in this or any other world for someone like you. There's food, a comfortable room, and a proprietor who has a vested interest in keeping his clients alive and well."
Lyra pushed herself up fully, her back straight against the pillar, her expression guarded. "What is the price for this… sanctuary?"
"I'm glad you asked," Leo said, a small, genuine smile touching his lips for the first time. "It's not a charity. This Inn runs on something called 'Value.' You can think of it as rent. It can be a unique skill, a piece of rare knowledge, a powerful artifact, anything that has worth. You stay here, under my protection, and in return, you pay your rent on the first of the month. No exceptions, no delays."
Lyra stared at him, trying to comprehend the situation. She had been betrayed by her sacred Order, hunted across the land, and prepared herself for a martyr's death. Now she was being offered refuge in a mystical fortress by an otherworldly being whose primary concern appeared to be timely rent payments.
"I was a Knight-Captain of the Argent Wings," she said slowly, her voice heavy with the weight of her past. "I was framed for consorting with shadowmancers by a rival who wanted my position. They declared me a heretic. I have nothing left. No artifacts, no wealth. All I have is my skill with a blade and the clothes on my back."
"Skills have Value," Leo replied instantly, his eyes lighting up. "Knowledge has Value. Your experiences have Value. We can work out the details of a payment plan."
He was so earnest, so focused on the contractual nature of their relationship, that it was disarming. This wasn't a trick. This was simply a transaction. For a woman who had just been betrayed by those who spoke of honor and faith, the simple, clean honesty of a business deal felt strangely… safe.
"Alright," she said, finally giving a slight nod of agreement. "I accept your terms."
"Excellent," Leo beamed. "Then we just need to formalize the agreement."
He closed his eyes for a second, focusing on the system that only he could perceive. He pictured the contracts he used to draft—the clear clauses, the signature lines, the official letterhead. He poured that intent into his connection with the Inn. Create a standard one-month tenancy contract for Lyra. Rent to be paid in 'Skill Value'.
The air between them shimmered. Golden lines of light began to etch themselves into existence, weaving together like a celestial tapestry. Words appeared, written in an elegant, glowing script that was both beautiful and undeniably powerful. It formed a translucent document that hovered in the air, detailing the terms they had just discussed: one month's sanctuary in exchange for one teachable skill. At the bottom were two glowing lines. One was already signed with the name 'Leo.' The other, designated 'Tenant,' was blank.
Lyra stared at the magical, floating document, her jaw slack with awe. Any lingering doubt she might have had about the man standing before her evaporated. He wasn't just a sorcerer. He was something else entirely. He was the Master of this place, and this was his contract. This was his law.