Dominic crashed like he'd taken a tranquilizer dart.
Within five minutes of stretching out inside the insulated ruin chamber, his body went slack.
Within ten, he snored.
Not gentle breathing.
Machine-gun fire.
Rapid staccato bursts ricocheting off stone like somebody tried to start a war with their sinuses.
The puppy yelped once, alarmed.
The kitten stared at Dominic like it had discovered a design flaw in nature.
Rico crawled to Phong's cot and whispered, "Is he under attack?"
"No," Phong muttered into his pillow. "That's normal."
Janet, Selena, and Alexandra claimed the inner section with the animals. They rolled bedding out with the kind of efficient spacing that suggested they planned for emergencies even in their sleep.
Rico refused to join them.
"I require personal space."
He curled near the single lime tree instead, tail wrapped tight like a blanket.
Phong drifted into shallow sleep.
Half-awake.
Half-ready.
Then the sound hit.
THUD.
Not Dominic.
Outside.
Heavy.
Violent.
Phong snapped upright before he realized he'd moved.
Another impact followed.
Then a cracking snap of root against bone.
Alexandra stood already.
Dominic barreled through the doorway with his shield half-raised, eyes still fogged with sleep.
They rushed outside.
Bonktatoes had lifted.
Vines arched up like spears.
One root cluster still held at full extension.
At its base lay something enormous.
A bird.
Wingspan easily ten feet.
Feathers dark with a metallic sheen that caught the dungeon's dim light and threw it back cold.
One wing bent at an angle no living joint chose.
Its beak looked like a cleaver, broad and brutal, built to split skulls.
It twitched once.
Then stilled.
The Bonktato vine retracted with calm efficiency, like it had swatted a fly.
Selena stepped closer, eyes wide. "That isn't Floor One fauna."
Dominic crouched and tapped a feather with his gauntlet.
It rang.
Clean.
Metallic.
"Steel," he muttered.
Phong knelt beside the corpse.
Thick skull.
Serrated beak edge.
Predator.
Aerial.
A scout, maybe, probing for weakness after the trolls stopped wasting themselves on the perimeter.
A childhood story surfaced through the fog.
Heroes.
Birds with iron feathers.
He stood slowly.
Alexandra watched him. "What?"
Phong looked at the lime tree, the mountain behind it, the anchored soil beneath their feet.
"Stymphalian," he said.
Selena blinked. "What?"
"The Stymphalian birds," Phong said. "The ones Herakles killed."
Selena lifted a finger at once. "Herakles. Hercules is Roman."
Phong nodded. "Stymphalian."
Dominic stared at the iron-feathered corpse. "You naming the camp after a Greek labor?"
Janet's mouth twitched. "I've heard worse."
Rico trotted over, inspected the corpse, then nodded with grave authority.
"…Large sky goat."
"It's a bird," Selena said.
"It was," Rico amended.
By noon, they carved a wooden namepost and hung it from the lime tree's trunk.
STYMPHALIAN CAMP
Simple. Direct.
Below it, they mounted the skull of the iron-feathered bird.
Beak polished clean.
A bundle of feathers set aside for later study.
The mountain loomed behind, silent and watchful.
Under the lime blossoms, they started lunch.
Phong tied his apron on by reflex.
"I'm making giả cầy," he announced.
Dominic perked up instantly. "That's the fake dog one, right?"
"Yes."
Janet raised an eyebrow. "Explain before I panic."
"Pork trotter," Phong said. "Fermented rice. Shrimp paste. Galangal. Lemongrass. Chili. Caramel."
Selena leaned forward. "That sounds complex."
"It is."
Phong worked with methodical patience.
He torched the pork trotter skin until it blistered and charred.
He rinsed it, chopped it into thick chunks.
The smell of toasted skin rose into the cold air and made the ruin chamber feel like a kitchen again.
He crushed galangal with the flat of his knife. Sharp piney aroma cut through the chill.
Shrimp paste hit the pan and announced itself.
Pungent.
Fermented.
Unapologetic.
Rico gagged theatrically. "Why does it smell like betrayal?"
"Flavor," Phong said, steady.
Fermented rice added gentle sourness.
Caramel darkened the broth.
Chilies bled red into oil.
The stew simmered over controlled heat.
Fat rendered.
Sauce thickened.
The aroma deepened into something layered, sweet and savory and sharp.
When he served it, the pork fell apart under chopsticks. Skin turned gelatinous and rich. Sauce clung to every edge.
They ate with rice.
Dominic closed his eyes after the first bite. "Worth surviving trolls."
Janet nodded. "This has depth."
Selena took another spoonful, analyzing between bites. "The fermentation balance is ridiculous."
Alexandra chewed thoughtfully. "It's bold."
Rico sniffed, then recoiled. "No."
"You didn't try it," Phong said.
"I refuse to ingest weaponized shrimp."
The puppy attempted a bite and wagged furiously.
The kitten sniffed, judged it beneath royalty, and moved on.
They ate under lime blossoms.
Under the skull of a fallen iron bird.
Under the new name of their anchored camp.
Stymphalian.
Dominic wiped his mouth and leaned back.
"You know," he said, nodding at the skull, "if Herakles had hot pot and fake dog stew, that labor would've been easier."
Phong smirked. "Probably."
The mountain stayed quiet.
No trolls descended.
No wings shadowed the sky.
The camp had a name now.
A skull.
A story.
And under the lime tree, they ate warm and anchored and alive.
Morning at Stymphalian Camp felt almost normal.
Dominic and Janet geared up early for another supply run. Insulation wasn't glamorous, but freezing to death ranked lower.
Before they left, Phong handed Dominic a canvas sack.
Dominic peeked inside.
"Bro."
Green chilies.
Far more than necessary.
"These turn trolls into barbecue," Dominic said.
"Take more," Phong replied.
Janet nodded, approving. "Overprepared beats heroic obituary."
They clasped forearms.
Then Dominic leaned in, voice low.
"By the way. When the Shifting hit and we lost contact?"
Phong glanced at him.
"She fought like hell to get here," Dominic said.
He didn't have to name Alexandra.
"She didn't show it when she arrived," Dominic continued, "but she's running on fumes. Exhausted. Pushed herself hard."
Phong absorbed that without comment.
Dominic added, steady and factual, "And Selena's smart. She's not built for troll charges."
No insult.
Only reality.
Then they left.
Camp quieted when the tanks disappeared.
Alexandra stretched under the lime tree. Stiffness tugged at her shoulders in a way she tried to hide.
Selena crouched near a Bonktato vine and sketched root structure.
Rico lectured the puppy about perimeter awareness.
The kitten ignored everyone and watched the mountain with unnerving patience.
Phong walked to what remained of the iron bird.
Curiosity still lived in him.
He carved a thick section of breast meat and brought it to the cooking fire.
Salt.
Ginger.
Long simmer.
Six hours.
The smell never improved.
Gamey.
Metallic.
Even galangal and shrimp paste couldn't cover it.
Phong tasted a small piece.
Chewed.
Chewed again.
Kept chewing.
Texture like boiled leather.
Flavor like rust and wet moss.
He swallowed with effort.
"No."
Rico gagged dramatically from ten feet away.
Phong didn't waste more fuel.
They dismantled the carcass.
Bones crushed.
Feathers stripped.
Everything composted into the soil.
If it wouldn't feed them, it would feed something else.
The Moletato network absorbed nutrients with greedy patience.
Even iron had a use.
By noon, Phong laid tools out in neat lines.
Ginger rhizomes went into loosened soil.
Garlic cloves spaced in tight rows.
Onions planted deeper.
Mushrooms inoculated into damp shaded sections near the ruin wall.
Wood ear onto soaked logs.
Shiitake plugs driven into split timber.
Enoki kept in controlled darker patches.
Before each new row, Phong pressed his palm into the soil.
He communicated intent.
Growth.
Not aggression.
The dungeon pulsed faintly beneath.
Selena approached, brushing dirt from her knees.
"You think they'll mutate?" she asked.
"Yes."
"How?"
Phong shrugged. "Only the dungeon knows."
She studied the new rows. "You don't think they'll turn defensive?"
Phong glanced toward the mountain.
The trolls hadn't tested the perimeter since the iron bird died.
They had learned.
Stymphalian Camp had marked itself.
"Not soon," Phong said. "Defense is established."
Bonktatoes flexed lazily in the breeze, thick root clusters coiled like resting fists.
Green chilies swayed in layered rings.
Moletatoes hummed beneath everything, anchoring and routing.
Selena watched him for a moment. "You're calm."
"I'm busy," Phong said.
She nodded.
Sometimes that did the job.
Across the clearing, Alexandra leaned against the lime tree with her eyes closed.
Resting.
Not sleeping.
Small green orbs formed where blossoms had been.
Fruit starting.
Life layering over life.
Rico trotted up beside Phong. "Do the new plants punch?"
"Probably not."
"Disappointing."
"They might do something worse."
Rico paused. "…Intriguing."
Phong pressed the last garlic clove into soil, sat back on his heels, and wiped his hands.
The mountain loomed.
He ignored it and kept farming, waiting to see what the dungeon grew next.
Phong hadn't expected to get humbled by a cat.
Specifically by Selena's mana-awakened kitten.
In Tekken.
He sat cross-legged inside the ruin chamber, Steam Deck in hand, staring at the DEFEAT screen.
The kitten perched beside him and blinked once.
It had picked a Mishima.
It had punished frame-perfect.
Twice.
Rico gasped dramatically. "You were outplayed by someone who still requires assistance grooming."
Phong stared at the screen and murmured, "Skill issue."
The kitten flicked its tail.
Dominic's distant voice echoed from outside, mid-laugh about insulation panels.
Phong quietly turned the console off.
He didn't sulk loudly.
He sulked internally.
That afternoon, the lime tree shimmered faintly.
Phong stepped outside, still replaying missed inputs in his head.
The blossoms had fallen days ago.
Now the fruits sat ready.
Small, firm, faintly glowing with a pale frost-like sheen.
He reached up and plucked one.
The moment it detached, the air around it cooled sharply.
Smooth skin.
Tiny crystalline specks across the surface.
His panel flickered.
Item Acquired:
Snow Lime
Rare — Dungeon Produce
Effect: +20% Movement Speed for 1 hour.
Phong blinked.
"…That's huge."
Not permanent like Angry Chillies.
But percentage-based.
And twenty percent was not small.
He sliced it open.
The flesh inside looked almost translucent.
He squeezed a drop onto his tongue.
Ice.
Not just cold.
Arctic.
The chill slid from his mouth down his spine like he'd swallowed winter.
Then his muscles felt lighter.
His breath sharpened.
The world seemed to move a fraction slower around him.
He stepped forward experimentally.
Distance collapsed under his feet. Friction felt reduced. Response tightened.
He exhaled.
"Oh."
The lime tree swayed gently.
Not from wind.
From pride.
It absolutely knew.
Phong snorted softly. "You're showing off."
Leaves rustled like smug applause.
He squeezed more into a cup and diluted it with filtered water.
No sugar needed. A faint sweetness hid beneath the cold.
He handed the first glass to Alexandra.
She took a cautious sip.
Then froze.
Her pupils widened slightly.
She set the cup down and drew her psychic rapier.
The blade formed instantly.
Sharper.
Cleaner.
She flicked her wrist.
The rapier moved faster. Air displaced harder.
She extended telekinesis toward a loose stone.
The stone shot forward, then curved mid-air with crisp precision.
She turned to Phong slowly.
"This," she said, voice almost reverent, "is the difference between life and death."
For a Mind Blade, speed was everything.
Reaction.
Execution.
Telekinetic response.
Twenty percent wasn't incremental.
It was transformative.
Selena approached more cautiously and sipped.
Her eyes widened.
But her attention locked on the lime tree instead.
"It swayed when you praised it," she whispered.
"It does that," Phong said.
"No," Selena said, voice tightening. "I mean it responds."
The tree gave another subtle rustle.
Almost smug.
Selena stepped closer. "You've anthropomorphized it so much it's internalizing feedback."
The leaves shivered.
Defensive.
Phong raised an eyebrow. "You just insulted it."
The leaves shook once, sharp as a slap.
Selena blinked. "That's not normal."
"No," Phong agreed. "It isn't."
Dominic's team returned near dusk.
The first thing visible was a mountain of soda.
Dominic carried a crate.
Then another.
Then another.
He dropped a 48-pack of Pepsi like it was treasure.
"For Stymphalian," he declared.
Janet walked behind him already rubbing her temples.
"You realize hydration includes water."
Dominic cracked one open immediately. "It's balanced."
Alexandra tossed him a Snow Lime slice.
He caught it mid-air.
"…You're not corrupting perfection."
"Try it," she said.
He took a bite.
His eyes widened.
"…Okay."
He paused.
"…Okay."
Then he took a sip of Pepsi immediately after.
"…Still superior."
Janet covered her face with a hand.
That night, Dominic insisted on cooking.
"Step aside," he said grandly.
He produced oxtail, rich marbled segments.
He browned them aggressively in a deep pot.
The smell hit instantly: deep beef, caramelized edges.
He added onions, garlic, ginger. Phong's newly planted reserves took their first casualties.
Tomato paste.
Chili flakes.
Star anise.
Bay leaves.
He poured water in and let the stew simmer for hours.
Fat rose in golden layers.
Meat softened slowly.
Bone marrow melted into broth.
When it finally served, the oxtail fell apart under the slightest pressure.
Sauce turned thick and glossy.
Spice rounded instead of spiking.
Rich without suffocating.
They ate under the lime tree.
Snow Lime juice chilled in cups.
Steam rose from bowls.
Rico sniffed the stew approvingly. "Acceptable protein."
The kitten, still undefeated in Tekken, ate politely.
The puppy tried to climb into a bowl and got gently redirected.
Selena alternated between bites and notes about citrus mana modulation.
Alexandra flexed her fingers every few minutes, clearly addicted to the speed boost.
Dominic leaned back, satisfied. "Not bad," he admitted.
Phong nodded. "Not bad."
He looked around.
At the lime tree.
At the Bonktatoes.
At the skull mounted beneath the STYMPHALIAN CAMP sign.
At the 48-pack of Pepsi stacked like a monument.
He'd gotten beaten by a cat today.
But he'd also grown a fruit that could change fights.
The dungeon shifted.
It adapted.
So did he.
Stymphalian Camp pulsed softly beneath them.
Anchored.
Alive.
And with cold lime in hand, Phong allowed himself a small smile.
Escorting Selena back to the Gate went smooth.
No ambush.
No iron-feathered shadows.
Only careful formation and quiet awareness.
At the surface, Selena adjusted her bag and looked at Phong seriously.
"Don't die while I'm gone," she said.
"I'm a farmer," Phong replied.
She smiled faintly. "Exactly."
Rico stayed.
The kitten and puppy, now officially enrolled in Rico's chaotic curriculum, watched Selena disappear into Manhattan's winter crowd.
Dominic clapped Phong's shoulder. "Vacation's over."
Janet checked gear already. "Floor Two won't clear itself."
Alexandra lingered a second longer.
She didn't need speeches.
"I'll call," she said.
"Be careful," Phong answered.
Then they went.
Up the mountain trail.
Toward the Floor Two entrance.
Phong stood at the edge of Stymphalian Camp after the last silhouettes vanished.
A year ago, he stood alone, angry and hollow, feeding revenge fantasies like they were oxygen.
Now he watched people leave.
People who would come back.
People who trusted him.
People who chose to return.
He turned toward camp.
The lime tree shimmered faintly.
Bonktatoes flexed lazily.
Green chilies swayed in defensive rings.
Moletatoes hummed beneath soil.
Phong pressed his palm down.
Warmth answered.
No quest.
No notification.
No menu update.
He stayed Level 1.
His EXP bar stayed a dead dash.
The system hadn't acknowledged him since the first potatoes.
But he had built all this without it.
No quest pushed him.
No timer guided him.
His agency did.
That thought settled in his chest like weight in the right place.
He started his quiet routine.
Checked mushroom logs.
Rotated garlic rows.
Trimmed sweet potato vines.
Spoke softly to the lime tree when nobody listened.
The dungeon breathed.
Peaceful.
Then the mountain moved.
Not with panic.
Not with a charging herd.
Deliberate.
Heavy.
Slow.
A single figure descended the slope.
Larger than the others.
Red moss covered its massive frame, deep crimson like dried blood.
Horns curved wider.
Its eyes looked aware in a way that tightened the skin on Phong's neck.
It stopped at the edge of the chili perimeter.
It didn't step forward.
Green pods trembled, ready.
Phong straightened slowly.
The troll spoke.
Its voice scraped like stone dragged across gravel.
"Farmer."
Phong didn't reach for anything.
"You talk," he said evenly.
The red-moss troll inclined its head.
"King."
It gestured back toward the mountain.
"Tribe."
It looked at the chilies.
"We learn."
Smart enough.
It had watched.
Studied.
And it hadn't come to die.