Phong didn't panic.
Not after seeing what his plants had done to the trolls.
The lake had appeared overnight, like a mirror dropped into the dungeon.
Still.
Black.
Patient.
Phong answered the only way he knew how: he planted.
He shifted the garlic rows closer to the new shoreline, spacing them with care.
Ginger rhizomes went in next.
Onions followed in tight, tidy lines.
And the dungeon logs - now traded from the trolls - he set along a low embankment near the water and inoculated with fresh mushroom spores.
"If the plants mutate differently when they react to outside stimulus," Selena had said in their strategy call, "then exposing them to the lake could open a new mutation path."
They would test it.
Methodically.
The gang stayed in camp that day.
No Floor Two push.
No ruin dive.
Just upkeep.
Dominic hauled lumber and braced the ruin walls with stronger framing.
Janet sorted bedding, stacked proper storage crates, and hung canvas partitions until the place almost had rooms.
Alexandra trained lightly, precision work, not endurance.
The puppy drilled boxing combos on a hanging sandbag Dominic had rigged.
The kitten watched from the windowsill with silent judgment.
Rico bounced between "shoreline inspection" and grilling everyone about Pepsi inventory levels.
Camp Stymphalian started to look less like a fortified farm and more like a weird, stubborn summer camp carved into hostile reality.
Laundry lines.
Cookfire smoke.
Mushrooms drying on racks.
Snow Lime juice chilling in clay jugs.
If you ignored the troll mountain and the silent lake, it almost felt wholesome.
Almost.
Noon came softly.
Too softly.
The lake, unnervingly smooth all morning, rippled once.
Then again.
Not wind.
Something underneath.
Everyone felt it. The Moletato network throbbed hard.
Alert.
Phong rose slowly.
The water parted.
A shape climbed out without a splash.
Tall.
Scaled.
Green-blue hide slick with water.
Long snout.
Yellow eyes.
Armor, not crude bone or hide, but worked metal layered over its shoulders.
A trident rested easy in one clawed hand.
Above its head, faint system text shimmered:
Lizardfolk Warrior – Lv. 35
Same tier as the trolls. Same floor bracket.
But this one stood upright, and its eyes shone with intelligence.
It walked toward shore at an unhurried pace. The water split around its legs like it didn't obey physics.
When it reached dry ground, it shook once, scattering droplets like beads of mana.
Its gaze swept the camp.
Measured.
Calculated.
It didn't charge.
It didn't roar.
It spoke.
Its voice came out smooth, almost cultured.
"Who leads this settlement?"
Dominic stepped forward on instinct.
Alexandra slid a half-step to flank.
Phong caught Dominic's arm.
"I do," Phong said, calm.
The lizardfolk studied him.
"You are… farmer."
Not a question.
Phong didn't argue.
"I am Envoy Ssarath of the Great Lizardman Kingdom of Lake Baratok."
It tipped the trident toward the water.
"The lake you see is only the outer boundary of our domain."
The words landed clean and structured.
Not beast-thought.
Civilization.
"You occupy contested shoreline," Ssarath said. "By decree of the Scaled Throne, all adjacent territories must submit as vassals."
Dominic muttered, "Here we go."
Ssarath didn't react.
"Yield your camp to our protection.
Provide tribute.
Submit to oversight.
In return, Lake Baratok shall shield you from lesser threats."
Protection. Control. Dominion.
Alexandra's eyes narrowed.
Janet's jaw set.
The puppy stopped boxing.
The kitten's tail flicked once.
Rico whispered like he was narrating a tragedy, "We have fish overlords now."
Phong walked to the edge of the chili perimeter.
"You want vassalage."
"Yes."
"And you assume we need protection."
"You border our waters."
Ssarath's slit pupils tightened.
"You cannot withstand what stirs beneath."
The lake rippled again, subtle as a threat whispered into your ear.
The Moletato network pulsed, not with fear, but with awareness.
Phong held its stare.
"We aren't looking for a throne," he said. "We just want to farm."
Ssarath's lip curled, flashing sharp teeth.
"Then farm in service to the Scaled Crown."
Dominic cracked his knuckles.
Alexandra's psychic rapier flickered at the edge of existence.
Phong shook his head.
"No."
Clean.
Steady.
Final.
Ssarath blinked once, slow.
"You deny the Great Kingdom?"
"Yes."
Silence stretched. Water lapped at the shore.
The chili pods quivered.
Bonktatoes tightened under the soil.
Garlic and ginger leaves near the lake shifted, responding to proximity.
Ssarath straightened.
"You align with mountain beasts."
"Trolls are neighbors," Phong said evenly. "They respect boundaries."
Ssarath flared its nostrils.
"Then you have chosen your side."
"No," Phong said. "We don't pick sides. Not them, not you."
Ssarath's eyes went hard.
"Your camp will be marked hostile.
Lake Baratok declares war."
War.
Not a raid.
Not a skirmish.
War.
Ssarath turned and walked back into the lake. The water swallowed it without a ripple.
Silence returned.
Dominic let out a long breath.
"…We just picked a fight with an underwater kingdom."
Janet already had her notebook open.
"Strategic assessment. Aquatic mobility. Ranged capability likely. Amphibious units possible."
Alexandra stared at the water, jaw tight.
"They speak. They organize. That's feudal-level coordination. Medieval warfare."
Phong looked at the garlic near the shore. Leaves trembled.
He pressed his palm into the soil.
The Moletato network surged. The new plantings answered differently.
Faster.
Sharper.
Potential waking up.
The dungeon escalated again.
Behind them, the troll mountain loomed.
Ahead, Lake Baratok stirred.
Camp Stymphalian stood between two Level 35 powers.
Dominic grinned despite himself.
"Guess vacation's over."
Phong didn't smile. He looked at the lake, then the lime tree, then the people beside him.
"Then let them try," he said softly.
The chili pods swayed.
The Bonktatoes coiled.
Garlic leaves stiffened.
War had been declared.
And Camp Stymphalian would answer in its own way.
The first strike from Lake Baratok didn't wait for nightfall.
It came in broad daylight.
The lake, calm only hours earlier, fractured into concentric ripples.
Shapes streaked beneath the surface.
Fast.
Organized.
Alexandra was already moving.
"Formation!" Janet snapped.
Dominic grabbed his shield.
Janet herded the animals into the inner ruin chamber.
Rico complained loudly, then did it anyway.
Phong stepped to the shoreline perimeter and planted his palm into the soil.
The Moletato network pulsed.
Ready.
The water erupted outward.
Lizardfolk surged out in coordinated waves, eight of them, armored in layered scale and bronze plates, tridents gleaming.
They moved with discipline. No roaring. No frenzy.
They advanced in staggered formation, shields up.
"Test breach," one hissed.
They expected stone or timber.
They met agriculture.
The first rank stepped into chili range.
The green pods trembled, then fired.
Missiles snapped forward in rapid succession.
Impact.
Explosion.
Capsaicin burst into concentrated vapor.
The reaction was instant. The lizardfolk recoiled hard.
Scales didn't help against aerosolized heat.
Armor didn't matter.
Capsaicin went straight for nerve endings, eyes, mouth, gills.
One dropped its trident and clawed at its face.
Another staggered, hissing like it wanted to tear its own skin off.
"Maintain push!" their captain barked.
They tried. They really did.
But Bonktatoes were already primed.
Vines snapped up with piston speed. Thick root clusters hammered shield edges, cracked plates, and threw bodies off-balance.
One lizardfolk lifted clean off the ground from a root strike and slammed into another.
Dominic barked a laugh from behind the secondary line.
"Farm defense online!"
The attackers adjusted fast.
Two broke toward the shallows, trying to skirt the thickest chili concentration.
That's when the lime tree moved.
For the first time since Phong planted it as the heart of Camp Stymphalian, it struck back.
The trunk shuddered.
Branches bent at angles wood shouldn't bend.
Fruit swelled along the limbs at impossible speed.
Not green.
Blue.
Deep crystalline blue like frozen mana.
Snow Limes... evolved.
They grew in seconds, tore free, and launched toward the shore.
The lime tree swung like an automated trebuchet. Each lime arced high and burst on impact into fine glacial mist.
The mist rolled across the lake's edge and froze it solid.
Ice spread across the shallows.
Lizardfolk feet lost traction.
One slipped.
Then another.
A trident skittered away.
Chili missiles rained again.
Explosions layered over slick ice.
Bonktato vines punched with methodical precision.
Phong focused.
"Non-lethal," he murmured into the soil.
The Moletato network answered. The vines adjusted.
Strikes hit joints, shoulders, legs, disable, not crush.
Chili bursts angled outward, not into throats.
Lime mist froze ground, not lungs.
A lizardfolk captain tried to rally.
"Forward..."
A Bonktato root slammed his shield so hard it spun him into a frozen patch. He went down flat and ate three chili detonations in rapid succession.
He stopped moving.
Unconscious.
In three minutes, the shoreline turned into chaos.
Lizardfolk slipping.
Coughing.
Half-blinded.
Armor useless against nerve-fire and ice.
Not a single plant line broke.
Not a single fence splintered.
Not a single human had to draw blood.
Alexandra stood ready and never needed to advance.
Dominic lowered his shield slowly.
"…This is absurd."
The remaining lizardfolk dragged their incapacitated comrades back.
One hissed, furious.
"Retreat!"
They hauled themselves across ice and into the water. The lake swallowed them again.
Silence returned.
Ice patches began to melt.
The lime tree eased its branches.
Fruits shifted back to normal.
Chili pods swayed, almost pleased.
Bonktatoes sank back down.
The Moletato network hummed.
Rico burst out of hiding.
"WE ARE UNDEFEATED."
The puppy barked triumph.
The kitten blinked once, as if the outcome had been obvious.
Phong exhaled slowly.
He hadn't wanted blood. He didn't want escalation he couldn't control.
The message had gone through.
Clear.
Overwhelming.
Non-lethal.
He looked at the lake. The surface stayed still.
But underneath, they were recalculating.
Dominic walked up beside him.
"Think they'll try again?"
"Yes," Phong said.
Alexandra joined them.
"They won't underestimate us now."
"No."
Janet studied the freezing-and-melting edge.
"We showed capability without slaughter. That matters."
Phong pressed his palm into the soil again.
The new plantings by the water, garlic, ginger, onion, trembled faintly.
Proximity triggered something.
Change.
The dungeon had introduced its first truly organized, intelligent enemy.
Camp Stymphalian answered.
In its own way.
The lime tree swayed once, quiet with pride.
Behind them, the troll mountain held steady.
War had begun.
And Camp Stymphalian had just taken the opening move.
The war didn't stay polite.
For days, the shoreline turned into mayhem.
At first, lizardfolk squads stopped hitting Camp Stymphalian head-on. Instead, they went around. Up the slope. Toward the mountain. Toward the trolls.
They wanted the trolls dead so they could pinch the camp from both sides and break its morale. To the lizardmen, Camp Stymphalian held out only because the trolls backed them. Remove that hope and the farm would fold.
The first clash rolled through the valley like thunder.
Trident met horn.
Scaled shield met moss-covered fist.
Capsaicin had taught the lizardfolk caution.
Troll fury taught them fear.
The Troll King descended in full wrath.
Not alone.
Dozens followed.
Trolls weren't known for unity. They brawled constantly, fought over territory, over food, over nothing.
But something had shifted.
Their ground-walker farmer had been attacked.
Their supply line threatened.
Moletatoes endangered.
Unacceptable.
For the first time in their race's short dungeon history, the trolls moved like a single organism.
They hit the lizardman brigade with terrifying cohesion.
Moss burned in earlier skirmishes had grown back thicker and denser.
The Red King led from the front.
When they roared this time, it carried shape and purpose.
The lizardfolk line wavered.
Disciplined formations collided with brute force and regeneration that bordered on obscene.
The lake churned.
Ice shattered.
Tridents splintered against horn and bone.
Camp Stymphalian watched from a distance.
Dominic crossed his arms.
"Are they actually coordinating? That's a first, right?"
Alexandra nodded slowly.
"They're angry."
Very angry.
The war between mountain and lake spilled beyond farm boundaries.
And for a few days, Camp Stymphalian was mostly left alone.
Until the second assault.
It came at dawn.
This time, they didn't test the perimeter.
They brought artillery.
Three lizardfolk mages stood knee-deep in water, staves blazing with layered sigils.
Behind them, armored infantry.
Above the lake, mana gathered like storm clouds.
Alexandra swore under her breath.
"They're adapting."
The first volley screamed toward the camp.
Fire arrows, bolts of concentrated flame, formed on bows made entirely of mana and launched in rapid, repeated shots.
Green chili pods detonated midair as spells collided with them.
Bonktato vines blackened at the edges.
The outer fence flared for a moment before Stoic Garlic-infused Dominic slammed into position and smothered the flames.
"Defensive posture!" he barked.
Alexandra moved like lightning. Snow Lime still fresh in her system. Her psychic blade split incoming fire projectiles, shearing spells apart before they could hit.
Janet called positions.
Rico dragged the puppy and kitten into cover.
Phong stood at the center of camp.
The lime tree trembled.
The Moletato network pulsed urgent and sharp.
The mages started chanting.
The lake boiled. Fire and water fused into scalding steam clouds meant to blind and overwhelm.
Dominic grinned through clenched teeth.
"Oh no, scale-faces. You are not getting past old Dominic."
They surged.
For the first time, Dominic and Alexandra pushed beyond the chili line and met them directly.
Dominic's shield caved in scaled armor.
Alexandra's rapier slipped into gaps with surgical precision.
Lizardfolk dropped.
Real kills this time.
No mercy.
No unconscious bodies dragged away.
System text flickered above their heads:
Level up.
Level up.
Level up.
Janet flanked and dropped a mage before a second volley could form.
But the shield infantry came in far heavier numbers than before.
Their V formation, with Dominic and Alexandra spearheading, slammed into a lizardman shield wall and stalled hard.
Phong felt something in him lock into place.
His earlier mercy.
The measured response.
The restraint.
The lizardfolk had read it as weakness.
Something negotiable.
Something to probe.
He shut his eyes for a beat, then pressed both palms into the soil.
"No restraint," he whispered.
The Moletato network surged, carrying one clear order through root and vine and leaf.
Kill.
The first mutation hit from the onion rows nearest the lake.
Weeping Onion.
Leaves stiffened. Bulbs swelled, then ruptured underground.
Not an outward explosion.
A release.
A thick, invisible cloud rolled across the shoreline.
Within seconds, lizardfolk infantry clawed at their faces.
Tears streamed.
Vision vanished.
Breathing turned to agony.
The gas wasn't poisonous.
It was worse.
It choked them while forcing a gag reflex. Their brains screamed for oxygen, but their bodies refused to draw another breath.
"Pull the mages back!" a commander screamed.
Too late.
Bonktatoes erupted through the shield line, striking the heads of blindly flailing bodies with ruthless precision. Skulls cracked. Eyes burst. Something popped. Bodies went limp.
The lizardmen chose no mercy.
So Camp Stymphalian answered with massacre.
And the plants weren't done.
Garlic.
Stoic Garlic.
The bulbs hardened under the soil.
Shifted.
Waited.
As lizardfolk pushed deeper into the perimeter, the first one triggered.
Not fire.
A focused rupture.
From the shattered bulb, small white cloves shot out.
They didn't scatter.
They drilled.
Into exposed joints.
Under scales.
Into muscle.
A heartbeat later, they detonated again.
Internal concussive bursts.
Screams tore across the shoreline.
Dominic froze mid-swing.
"…Oh."
Another garlic mine triggered.
Then another.
The ground itself had turned hostile.
Janet muttered, "This is… excessive."
Alexandra didn't look away. She scraped a piece of lizardman flesh from her face, eyes cold.
"They escalated first."
Ginger rows shook violently. Their mutation hadn't finished.
The mushroom logs vibrated faintly, like something was winding up.
But Weeping Onion and garlic mines already crossed enough lines to shove back an advancing army.
The shoreline collapsed into chaos.
Blinded soldiers stumbled into chili salvos.
Explosions ignited armor seams.
Bonktatoes smashed shield formations mid-regroup.
Dominic drove his team forward right behind the plant hits, zoning the lizardfolk out of key positions. The Pepsi-addicted giant used his tower shield like a door and kept slamming it into lizardman heads.
Janet sprinted through the battlefield, keeping coordination between Dominic's left flank and Alexandra's right-side rampage.
Garlic mines kept popping under retreating feet.
The lizardfolk mages tried one last coordinated spell.
Alexandra reached them first.
Her blade punched through a mouth and out the back of a head.
Three times.
Three kills.
No hesitation.
She didn't bother yanking the rapier free. She dismissed it and summoned a new one for the next target, a trick she'd learned on Floor Two where some monsters had muscles strong enough to trap a blade.
Silence.
The remaining forces broke and fled.
This time they didn't drag comrades.
They just ran.
The lake swallowed them in disorder.
The onion cloud thinned and drifted away.
Garlic bulbs settled back into dormancy.
Onion leaves drooped, satisfied.
Dominic leaned hard on his shield.
"…We just committed agricultural war crimes."
Janet folded her arms.
"Garlic proximity mines that burrow and double-detonate?"
She stared at Phong.
"You're violating the Geneva Convention left and right."
Alexandra lowered her blade.
"Especially the garlic."
Rico climbed onto a crate, triumphant.
"TAKE THAT AND RUN, YOU TWO-LEGGED FISH!"
Phong looked at the shoreline.
Burn marks.
Scale fragments.
No attackers standing.
He let out a slow breath.
"I didn't want to kill them."
Dominic clapped his shoulder.
"It's us or them. You already showed mercy once. That's a luxury down here, farm boy. Their fault for not appreciating it."
The Troll King's roar rolled down from the mountain ridge.
Lake Baratok had escalated.
Camp Stymphalian had answered.
And that day, casualties climbed into the dozens. Even excluding the ones dragged back into the lake, nearly a hundred bodies lay dead on the shore between Lake Baratok and Camp Stymphalian.
Phong looked at the ginger rows.
At the trembling mushroom logs.
They weren't done mutating.
The dungeon was adapting to organized conflict.
And so was his garden.
Behind him, the lime tree swayed in silence, cold fruit glinting in the morning light.
Camp Stymphalian stood bloodied, but unbroken.
And now the lake knew mercy wasn't on the table anymore.