The command, spoken with the calm authority of a man ordering a simple meal, hung in the air of the silent lobby. "Build me a Training Hall."
For a moment, nothing happened. The tenants looked at Leo, then at the vast, empty stone wall he was staring at, a flicker of uncertainty in their eyes. But Leo's focus was absolute. In his mind, he navigated the [Renovations] menu, selected the [Training Hall: Grade F] for 500 Value Units, and confirmed the purchase with a decisive mental click.
His Value count dropped, and the Inn responded.
A low, resonant hum started, not from the wall itself, but from the very foundations of the building. It was the sound of immense, dormant power awakening. The plain stone wall shimmered, the solid rock losing its cohesion and dissolving into a swirling vortex of grey and silver energy. It was not a violent deconstruction, but a graceful, silent unfolding, as if the wall were a curtain being drawn back to reveal the backstage of reality.
The vortex churned for a few seconds before expanding outward, pushing into a conceptual space that hadn't existed a moment before. New walls of smooth, dark stone flowed into existence from the energy, and a floor of interlocking tiles materialized from the swirling mists. The process was silent, swift, and breathtakingly elegant. Within thirty seconds, the vortex had vanished, the hum had faded, and where a blank wall had once stood, there was now a grand, open archway leading into a new, massive chamber.
No one spoke. Borin's jaw was slack, his blacksmith's mind utterly unable to comprehend a construction process that required no mortar, no forge, and no sweat. Anya was scribbling frantic notes in a small journal she had produced from her satchel, trying to document the impossible physics she had just witnessed.
Leo, feeling a surge of pride that was deep and satisfying, was the first to step through the archway. The room was vast, easily the size of a small cathedral, and minimalist in its design. The walls were smooth and featureless, the ceiling a high, dark dome. The floor was made of grey tiles that felt strangely neutral underfoot.
"Guide," Leo prompted softly. "Show me the features."
As he spoke, the system menu appeared in his vision, and the room responded. A section of the floor tiles retracted, replaced by soft, white sand. Another section morphed into uneven, rocky terrain. One of the walls flickered, the dark stone replaced by a perfect, shimmering image of a dense, sun-dappled forest.
The Grade F Training Hall, the Guide's voice explained in his mind, comes equipped with an adjustable floor and a basic environmental projection system. Perfect for tactical simulations and weapons practice.
Lyra stepped into the center of the hall, her eyes wide with a warrior's reverence. She drew her sword, its elegant blade seeming to drink in the room's potential. She took a practice stance on the sandy floor, her movements fluid and powerful. This was not just a room; it was a canvas upon which she could perfect her art. "Leo…" she breathed, her voice filled with awe. "This is… a gift."
Elara walked to the center of the room, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. A faint smile touched her lips. "The ambient energy is perfectly stable. Controlled. I can practice here," she said quietly. It was a simple statement, but it held the weight of a lifetime of hope.
Leo felt a warmth spread through his chest that had nothing to do with his aura. He had done this. He had taken the proceeds of a victory and turned it into a place of hope and growth for his people. He was finally building something real.
It was in this moment of quiet satisfaction that a new, unfamiliar sound echoed from the distant lobby.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
It was a soft, hesitant sound, completely unlike the desperate banging of Elara's arrival. The group in the training hall froze. Every knock on their door was a potential crisis. With a shared, tense look, they followed Leo back into the main lobby. He took his now-customary position at the door, flanked by a wary Lyra and a curious Silas. He commanded the door to open.
Standing on the threshold was a goblin. He was short and green, with the long nose and sharp teeth common to his kind, but he was dressed in the ruined remnants of what had once been incredibly opulent silk robes. His face was streaked with tears, and he was clutching a single, grimy gold coin in one hand as if it were the last thing he owned in the world.
"Is this it?" the goblin squeaked, his voice trembling. "Are you… are you the Phantom Landlord? Is this the Trickster's Fortress?"
Leo blinked. "I'm the manager," he said, his standard reply now feeling somewhat inadequate. "Can I help you?"
"Help me?" the goblin wailed, falling to his knees. "My shipping empire… my rivals… they staged a hostile takeover! I've lost everything! My mines, my ships, my summer home on the Sapphire Coast! They left me with nothing but this one lucky coin!" He held up the coin with a trembling hand. "I heard the legends! A place of absolute sanctuary, a fortress that cannot be breached! I beg you, sir! Grant me asylum! I'll pay any price!"
Before Leo could even begin to process how to handle a bankrupt goblin merchant prince, another sound came from behind the first.
Knock. Knock.
The goblin scrambled out of the way. Standing behind him was a dryad, her skin the color of birch bark and her hair a cascade of green leaves. Her form was smudged with soot, and the scent of ash and sorrow clung to her. "My grove," she whispered, her voice like the rustle of leaves. "It burned. I am all that is left. I was drawn to a feeling of life… a warmth in the mists…"
Knock.
Behind the dryad, a human scholar, his arms piled high with precariously balanced books, peeked around her nervously. "Pardon me," he stammered. "I heard a rumor… a place where knowledge is safe from the fires of the Ignorance Crusade?"
Leo stared. Beyond the scholar, more figures were emerging from the swirling mists. A hulking beast-man with a broken horn, a pair of gnome inventors carrying a strange, sparking device, a musician clutching a lute with a snapped string. It wasn't a trickle. It wasn't a stream. It was a flood. A long, bizarre, and ever-growing queue of the multiverse's lost and desperate was forming on his doorstep.
His plan to attract new clients had worked. It had worked far, far too well.
He stood there, frozen in the open doorway, the sounds of his quiet, orderly Inn behind him and a chaotic line of hopeful refugees in front of him. The weight of his new reality crashed down on him. His sanctuary was no longer a secret. It was an open house.