Weeks bled into a month, and the Threshold Inn, once a silent, dusty mausoleum, was filled with the quiet hum of life. The terror of the Archmage's siege had faded, leaving behind a comfortable peace and a very healthy balance of 12,685 Value Units in Leo's mental account. The Duke and his pet mage had vanished, seemingly having decided that harassing an entity that could bankrupt them with a single rule was a poor investment.
Life settled into a rhythm that was as strange as it was comfortable.
Leo had become the reluctant patriarch of the multiverse's most dysfunctional family. His days were spent poring over his [Renovations] menu, a giddy excitement bubbling in his chest. It was the same thrill he used to get when planning a major urban development project, but without the soul-crushing board meetings and endless paperwork. He would spend hours debating the merits of different investments.
"A Training Hall would be good for Lyra," he'd muse aloud, pacing the lobby. "It would increase her 'Value' as a tenant, which is a good long-term strategy. But the Ashen Baths… a luxury amenity could attract a higher class of clientele willing to pay more upfront. It's a classic growth vs. profit dilemma."
The Grimoire of Whispers, which had claimed a sturdy lectern near the fireplace as its permanent residence, would usually interject. "Your priorities are absurd, little landlord," its dry, papery voice would echo in his mind. "You have access to the foundational arts of the cosmos, and you are pondering plumbing. Focus! Your pronunciation of the incantation for [Mana Bolt] is atrocious. It sounds less like a command over reality and more like you're trying to gargle gravel. Again!"
His daily lessons with the ancient, grumpy book were a trial. But despite the constant insults, he was learning. His first F-Rank spell, a simple bolt of magical energy, was now something he could reliably cast, even if it was only powerful enough to startle a cat.
He had also made his first minor renovation. For a paltry 50 Value Units, he had constructed a [Knight's Training Dummy] in a corner of the main hall. It was a sturdy automaton of wood and enchanted metal that could parry and block with surprising speed.
Lyra, who had been growing restless with no outlet for her knightly discipline, had practically wept with gratitude. She now spent her afternoons in a whirlwind of motion, her silver armor a blur as she danced around the dummy. The hiss and clang of her blade meeting the automaton's shield became the Inn's new heartbeat. The faint golden light of her aura, once a sign of her Order, was now something she was reforging as her own, growing stronger and more confident with each passing day.
Silas, meanwhile, had turned his corner table into a miniature command center. His whispering stones and scrying mirrors were constantly active, feeding him a steady stream of information from his vast network. He had become the Inn's window to the world, a living newspaper who paid his rent in headlines and secrets. He had grown more relaxed, his professional guard lowered just enough to trade wry jokes with Leo or offer unsolicited advice on Lyra's footwork, which she stoically ignored.
One afternoon, Leo was struggling particularly hard with the Grimoire's lesson. He was trying to learn a simple [Illuminate] spell, but couldn't get the light to hold for more than a few seconds.
"Pathetic!" the Grimoire scoffed. "You channel your will like a leaky faucet. There is no focus, no intent. Are you trying to create light or simply annoy the darkness into leaving?"
Silas snickered from his table, not even looking up from a map he was studying. Leo shot him a glare.
"It's not as easy as it looks."
"Your focus is too narrow," a quiet voice said. It was Lyra. She had finished her training for the day and was watching him, her arms crossed. "You are trying to command the magic. That is not how aura works, and it seems it is not how this works either. You do not command it. You must… align with it. Find the flow of power within you and guide it, do not force it."
Leo paused, considering her words. She was right. He was treating it like another negotiation, trying to strong-arm reality into giving him what he wanted. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried again. This time, he didn't try to force the light into existence. He reached for the quiet, humming potential within himself, the same feeling he'd had when he first summoned his aura, and gently guided it to his palm.
A soft, steady sphere of warm, clean light bloomed in his hand. It didn't flicker. It didn't waver. It just… was.
The Grimoire was silent for a full ten seconds, an unprecedented event. "Hmph. Marginally acceptable," it finally grumbled, though it sounded begrudgingly impressed.
Leo looked at Lyra, a genuine smile of gratitude on his face. "Thanks."
She gave him a rare, small smile in return. "We are all tenants here, landlord. It is in our best interest that the property is well-maintained."
In that moment, looking at the stoic knight, the sly thief, and listening to the grumbling of the ancient magical book, a profound realization settled over Leo. He had come here craving peace and isolation, an escape from the demands of other people. But this chaotic, unpredictable collection of misfits… this felt more like a home than his sterile, empty apartment ever had. He wasn't lonely anymore. This strange, new business was unexpectedly, wonderfully, fulfilling.
The comfortable moment was broken by a sharp hiss from Silas's corner.
Leo looked over. The cat-man was no longer lounging. He was bolt upright, his back rigid, his tail stock-still. He was staring intently at a small, obsidian shard on his table that was pulsing with a faint, urgent red light.
"Silas?" Leo asked, his good mood evaporating. "What is it?"
Silas looked up, his emerald eyes wide with alarm. The playful rogue was gone, replaced by the deadly serious information broker.
"My rent, landlord," he said, his voice low and tight. "And it's a big one. A priority alert just came through my entire network. It's confirmed from three separate, reliable sources."
He stood up and walked over to Leo and Lyra, his movements now tense and predatory.
"The Wyvern Hunters' Guild crossed the border into this region an hour ago."
Lyra's face went pale. "The Hunters? Here? That's impossible. Their contracts are in the Dragon Wastes, halfway across the continent."
"Not anymore," Silas said grimly. "They're moving fast, and they're moving with their entire elite company. The Black Arrows."
"Who are they?" Leo asked, the name sending an unfamiliar chill down his spine.
It was Lyra who answered, her voice grim. "They are not simple monster hunters, Leo. They are the most ruthless and efficient mercenary company in the world. They take on S-Rank bounties that entire armies cannot handle. They are relentless, they are masters of tracking, and they never, ever give up until their quarry is slain." She looked from Silas to Leo, her eyes dark with foreboding.
"And they only hunt the biggest, most valuable prizes in existence. For them to be here… it means they are hunting something of immense power. Something legendary."