"We cannot burn," the troll continued. "Your fire-fruit… bad."
Phong didn't deny it.
The troll's gaze shifted to the Bonktatoes.
"And ground fists."
It exhaled, long and heavy.
"War… waste."
The word sat in the cold air.
Phong waited.
The troll set a bundle on the ground.
A freshly killed mountain deer-like creature.
Not human.
Clean kill.
"We bring meat," the troll said. "Not man-flesh."
It paused, then added, slower, like it chose each word.
"You give cooked ground-walker."
Moletatoes.
The troll's nostrils flared at the memory of roasted sweetness.
"Hundred," it rumbled. "Each moon cycle. Until mountain moves."
Dungeon wind stirred between them.
Green chilies stayed ready.
Bonktatoes coiled quiet.
Rico stood slightly behind Phong, fur bristling. "…I distrust diplomacy with goats," he muttered.
The red troll didn't react.
It watched Phong.
Measured him.
Pragmatic.
Trolls had tried force.
Force failed.
Now they tried trade.
Phong considered it.
Neighbors or enemies.
Constant skirmishes near the Gate, bodies in slush above.
Or a stable line at the mountain.
He stepped to the edge of the chili boundary.
Pods quivered but didn't fire.
"One hundred Moletatoes per moon cycle," Phong said. "Meat delivered here."
The troll nodded once. "Tribe not cross fire-fruit line."
"And you don't touch my friends."
The troll's eyes narrowed slightly.
Then it nodded again.
"Agree."
It extended a massive clawed hand.
Phong looked at it.
Then he pressed his palm into the soil instead.
The Moletato network pulsed.
The lime tree rustled once.
Bonktatoes tightened subtly.
The troll seemed to feel it.
A boundary.
A pact witnessed by the land.
It lowered its hand.
"Truce," it rumbled.
Then it turned and climbed back up the mountain.
Slow.
Measured.
It didn't look back.
Silence settled.
Rico exhaled loud. "…We now have goat neighbors."
"Yes."
"Do we trust them?"
"No."
"But we trade?"
"Yes."
Rico considered this with painful seriousness. "…Acceptable."
Phong walked to the carcass and examined it.
Fresh.
Clean.
High-quality protein.
He looked up at the ridge.
A smear of red moss vanished into the rocks.
Neighbors were better than enemies.
Even here.
He glanced back at Stymphalian Camp.
Skull mounted under the lime tree.
Namepost carved by hand.
Insulation lining the ruin walls.
Garden anchored to Floor One.
He was still Level 1.
Still had no functioning EXP bar.
Still invisible to low-level mobs.
But now he negotiated with kings.
And the dungeon listened.
He hefted the meat and carried it back toward camp.
Lunch would run heavy today.
Somewhere beneath the soil, Moletatoes hummed approval.
Phong discovered that victory over the kitten did not require combos.
It required patience.
He sat beneath the lime tree with his back against its steady trunk and let the kitten climb into his lap.
No controller.
No Tekken.
Slow, deliberate petting.
Under the chin.
Behind the ears.
Gentle strokes down the spine.
The kitten purred.
Loud.
Victorious.
Phong smirked faintly. "…Different skill set."
The puppy bounded over, tail wagging hard enough to throw it off balance.
Phong scratched its belly.
Leaves rustled faintly overhead.
Peace.
Except Rico sprinted past at alarming speed.
"THE SKY IS MOVING TOO SLOW."
Phong sighed.
Dominic's 48-pack hadn't stayed secured.
Rico found the stash.
And the soda had caffeine.
Now he hit full hyper-raccoon.
He scaled a Bonktato vine.
Leapt to a ruin wall.
Threw three unnecessary somersaults.
"THIS IS OPTIMAL."
Phong pinched the bridge of his nose. "I blame Dominic."
The kitten flicked its tail in agreement.
He called Alexandra that evening.
The connection crackled through dungeon interference.
"You alive?" he asked.
"Barely," Dominic's voice answered in the background.
Alexandra came on next. "We reached the ruin."
"What kind?"
"Pre-collapse civilization," she replied. "Stone architecture. No metal. Mana saturation high."
Dominic cut in. "Bugs. The size of cars."
Phong blinked. "…You're joking."
"I am not," Dominic said grimly. "One tried to bite my shield."
"And sentient mushroom men," Alexandra added. "Telepathic. Hostile."
Selena's voice filtered in faintly. "They move in coordinated clusters."
Phong exhaled slow. "Please don't die."
"Working on it," Dominic replied.
Phong hesitated. "By the way, Rico found the Pepsi."
Silence.
Then Dominic's horrified whisper. "…You left it out?"
"Yes."
"That raccoon is going to achieve orbital velocity."
"Already did."
Alexandra's faint laughter echoed.
"Your fault," Phong said.
"Worth it," Dominic replied, stubborn.
Phong shook his head, smiling slightly.
"I made a deal with the trolls."
The line went quiet.
Then Alexandra's voice sharpened. "Explain."
He did.
The red king.
The meat trade.
One hundred Moletatoes per moon cycle.
Dominic let out a low whistle. "You negotiated with a Level 35 alpha?"
"Yes."
"You're insane."
"No. Practical."
Selena's voice returned. "Strategically sound. Reduced Gate pressure."
Alexandra exhaled. "Keep distance. Monitor compliance."
"I will."
They talked a little longer.
Then Phong said quietly, "Come back safe."
A pause.
Then Alexandra replied, "We will."
The line cut.
Later, Phong tried to teach the puppy to fetch.
He tossed a small stick. "Fetch."
The puppy stared at him.
Unblinking.
Judgmental.
Then it trotted past the stick, stood upright awkwardly, and began shadow-boxing.
Left paw jab.
Right paw jab.
Small growl.
Phong blinked. "…Where did you learn that?"
The puppy threw a clumsy uppercut.
Phong remembered Dominic training in the clearing weeks ago.
Apparently observation had occurred.
Rico streaked past in a blur. "THE SMALL ONE HAS POTENTIAL."
The kitten watched from a rock, unimpressed.
Phong leaned back against the lime tree.
The fruit above him glowed faintly. Snow Lime production stayed steady.
Bonktatoes flexed lazily.
Green chilies hung heavy with ammunition.
The first shiitake caps began pushing through the inoculated logs.
Brown domes.
Firm.
Perfect.
Phong crouched, inspected them, and ran a finger gently over the surface.
Healthy.
Mana-infused.
He smiled.
New growth.
New flavor layers.
New variables.
He stood.
Rico dashed by again, yelling something about conquering gravity.
Phong shook his head.
He was still Level 1.
Still had no functioning EXP bar.
Still technically "weak."
But his days stayed full.
Planting.
Negotiations.
Training puppies who preferred boxing to fetching.
Mushrooms sprouting from logs.
Friends fighting car-sized bugs on Floor Two.
He pressed his palm into the soil.
Warmth answered.
Anchored.
Alive.
Under the lime tree, with a kitten purring in his lap and a hyper raccoon orbiting the camp, Phong felt steady.
A moon cycle later, the mountain trembled.
Not with threat.
With familiar footsteps.
Phong looked up from the mushroom logs where shiitake had formed thick, glossy caps.
Lime leaves rustled faintly.
Bonktatoes flexed.
Chilies shifted in lazy arcs as they sensed known mana signatures.
Then Dominic's voice boomed down the slope.
"OPEN THE GATE, FARMER."
Phong allowed himself a rare, unguarded grin.
They emerged from the mountain path one by one.
Dominic first. Armor scratched, shield dented, but walking steady.
Alexandra followed. Leaner, sharper, movements economical with real combat refinement.
Behind them, the rest of the squad carried packs heavier than usual.
Bug carcasses.
Chitin plates the size of car doors.
Segments of armored legs bundled together like trophies Phong refused to admire too closely.
Wrapped cuts of meat from creatures he chose not to identify.
Stone tools, primitive but intricately carved. Relics from the ruin they cleared.
But the important part stayed simple.
They were alive.
Phong stepped forward.
Dominic dropped his pack and crushed him into a bear hug.
"Still Level 1?" Dominic asked into his shoulder.
"Yes."
"Good. Stay mysterious."
Alexandra didn't hug him immediately.
She just looked him over.
Quick assessment.
All limbs attached.
No new scars.
Then she nodded once. "You look settled."
"I am."
That was enough.
Selena hadn't come down this time.
She stayed on the surface, coordinating research, writing papers, analyzing samples from the ruin.
Before leaving, she'd told Phong on the phone, "I'm better above ground. You know that."
He did.
Everyone had their terrain.
Janet took control of camp like a general returning to inspect fortifications.
"Unload everything. Bug meat on the outer rack. We test small portions first. No one experiments alone."
Dominic grinned. "Yes, ma'am."
She rolled her sleeves up and started cooking.
The bug meat, surprisingly, worked.
Once they stripped the outer chitin away, the inner muscle fibers looked pale and surprisingly tender.
She marinated strips in ginger and garlic. Phong's recent harvest came in robust and fragrant.
Fresh garlic crushed against stone filled the clearing.
Galangal sliced thin.
Onions caramelized slow in rendered bug fat.
The questionable monster meat, dark and almost purple, went into a separate pot.
Janet tasted everything first.
Deliberate.
Measured.
Then she nodded. "Edible."
They gathered under the lime tree.
Snow Lime juice chilled naturally in clay cups.
Shiitake sliced into the stew, soaking broth and releasing deep umami.
Wood ear added crisp texture.
Dominic contributed surface oxtail from Janet's freezer stash, combined with dungeon spices into a second pot. Rich, fatty, deeply satisfying.
Steam rose in thick curls.
The iron bird skull gleamed faintly above them.
Stymphalian Camp felt fuller than ever.
Rico climbed onto a crate and addressed the returning squad.
"You have returned. Acceptable."
The puppy, bigger now, shadowboxed Dominic's knee.
The kitten observed from the ruin wall, judging their posture silently.
They ate.
They talked.
They described the ruin.
Stone corridors lined with carvings depicting a civilization that worshiped something geometric and vast.
Rooms filled with dormant constructs that activated when approached.
Car-sized beetles with crushing mandibles.
Mushroom men moving in coordinated formations, emitting psychic pulses that felt like whispers against the skull.
Alexandra described cutting through the central chamber's guardian so cleanly the construct hadn't realized it was dead.
Dominic described holding a corridor alone for ninety seconds while the team regrouped.
They laughed.
They survived.
That mattered most.
Late afternoon, the mountain shifted again.
Not hostile.
Ceremonial.
The red-moss Troll King descended slowly.
This time, he didn't come alone.
Three lesser trolls followed, carrying bundles of raw game.
They stopped at the chili boundary.
Green pods trembled, but didn't fire.
Phong stepped forward, calm.
"Moon cycle complete," the Troll King rumbled.
"Agreed."
Moletatoes pulsed beneath the soil.
One by one, clusters surfaced near the boundary.
A hundred perfectly formed Moletatoes.
Clean.
Ready.
The Troll King knelt and gathered them with surprising care.
He sniffed one like it held meaning, then looked at Phong.
"Ground-walker superior."
Dominic leaned toward Phong. "Ground-walker?"
"Moletato," Phong translated.
The lesser trolls drooled.
The Troll King stood tall and gave a low, resonant call toward the mountain.
Far above, other trolls answered.
A signal.
Not war.
Celebration.
"They feast," the king said. "Not man-flesh."
"Good."
The Troll King looked toward the camp.
Toward stew steam.
Toward crates stacked near the ruin wall.
His nostrils flared.
Dominic's eyes lit up in a way Janet immediately disliked.
"Oh no," Janet muttered.
Dominic grabbed a can of Pepsi and walked toward the boundary like he carried a holy relic.
Phong raised an eyebrow. "You're not."
"I am," Dominic said.
He cracked the can open with theatrical confidence.
The hiss echoed.
Foam bubbled.
He held it up. "Cultural exchange."
The Troll King stared at the can.
Dominic stepped to the edge and offered it.
A tense second passed.
The Troll King sniffed.
Took a cautious sip.
Paused.
Then his eyes widened.
He drank deeper.
The can crumpled slightly in his grip as carbonation detonated across his senses.
He roared.
Not anger.
Triumph.
The lesser trolls stared, confused.
The Troll King raised the empty can high.
"FIZZ-FIRE."
Dominic burst out laughing. "See. See."
The Troll King pounded his chest once, then pointed at Dominic.
"FIZZ-FIRE MAN."
Dominic straightened like he'd just received a knighthood.
Janet covered her eyes with a hand.
By the time the trolls climbed back up the mountain, carrying Moletatoes like sacred offerings, Dominic had been declared, unofficially and with great ceremony, an honorary member of the tribe.
Janet jabbed a finger at him. "Do not escalate soda diplomacy."
Dominic shrugged. "No promises."
That night, the camp ran loud.
Full.
Alive.
Bug stew.
Oxtail.
Snow Lime juice.
Pepsi.
Fresh shiitake from the logs.
Lime leaves swayed gently above them.
The mountain stayed quiet.
Troll fires flickered faintly in the distance, tiny orange dots against dark stone.
They feasted too.
On Moletatoes.
Not on humans.
Phong leaned back against the tree and listened.
Dominic retold the corridor hold.
Alexandra corrected his exaggerations with quiet precision.
Janet argued about sodium intake like it mattered more than trolls.
The puppy tried to box a shadow.
The kitten studied the Troll King's retreat path like it memorized geopolitical terrain.
A year ago he had nothing.
Now he had a camp with a name.
A tree that bore winter fruit.
Mushrooms pushing through damp logs.
A trade pact with monsters.
Friends clearing ancient ruins.
A raccoon on caffeine shouting about FIZZ-FIRE diplomacy.
He stayed Level 1.
His EXP bar stayed dead.
The system stayed silent.
But the dungeon moved around him.
And Stymphalian Camp endured.
Anchored.
Fed.
Alive.