Phong finally understood why Alex had been so… enthusiastic today.
He checked the calendar.
Ah.
Day of love.
Or, judging by his current physical condition, day of exhaustion.
He lay half-reclined in a camp chair, clutching a mug of hot cocoa like a lifeline.
Steam curled upward.
His limbs felt pleasantly emptied out.
Stats were absolute laws now.
Like gravity.
Like light.
Like Shifting.
Like the invisible restrictions the dungeon placed on anyone with a functioning EXP bar.
He was Level 1.
No bar.
No growth.
No stat gains.
Meanwhile, Alex was a Level 29 Mind Blade.
Enhanced endurance.
Enhanced control.
Enhanced… everything.
He had tried to keep up.
He really had.
About as successfully as a child trying to hold back waves at the beach.
Alex slipped her arms around him from behind and rested her chin lightly on his shoulder.
"You alive?"
"…Define alive."
She laughed softly against his ear.
"I was being gentle."
"You are a combat class."
"And you're a farmer."
"Yes."
"Farmers have stamina."
"For plowing fields. Not this."
She nipped his ear lightly.
He nearly dropped the mug.
Then his phone buzzed.
He frowned and fumbled for it with one hand.
Notification.
Selena.
Message preview:
[You're not gonna believe this.]
He straightened a little.
Alex leaned over his shoulder.
"Uh oh."
He opened the chat.
Selena's messages came fast.
[I refused to believe you're the only farmer.]
[You're not.]
[But your situation is unique.]
Phong raised an eyebrow.
He had assumed that much.
Production classes existed.
Farmer.
Blacksmith.
Tailor.
Alchemist.
Most had pivoted to surface logistics.
He kept reading.
[Some farmers tried diving solo thinking they'd unlock secret skills.]
[Many died to goblins.]
[Some stayed above ground, fully production-focused.]
[But there's something new.]
Another message followed.
[A "genius entrepreneur" named Olen.]
Alex snorted.
"That name already sounds expensive."
Selena continued.
[Farmer class.]
[Rich background.]
[He discovered that if a farmer "farms" 100 of the same monster species, they level up and gain one skill from that monster.]
Phong froze.
Hot cocoa halfway to his lips.
"…Of course."
Alex blinked.
"That's real?"
Selena sent screenshots.
Clips from press conferences.
A clean logo.
Branded jackets.
A banner behind Olen that read:
[CULTIVATE YOUR TRUE POTENTIAL]
He scrolled farther.
[He didn't reveal how a Lv1 farmer safely farmed 100 slimes.]
[But we can guess.]
Phong's jaw tightened slightly.
Hired arms.
Mercenaries.
High-level escorts.
You let the escorts weaken the monsters.
You land the final hit.
Repeat a hundred times.
Rinse. Profit.
Selena kept typing.
[He claims he spent a year "testing and perfecting the method."]
[Translation: monetizing elite clients before expanding to the general market.]
Phong exhaled slowly.
Of course.
[Now he offers "Escort Courses."]
[Farmers pay into a pooled fund.]
[High-level divers get hired.]
[Farmers dive in controlled kill cycles to grind specific monster types.]
Another screenshot appeared.
A group photo of young farmers in uniform jackets.
Level 2.
Some Level 3.
Proud smiles.
A guild emblem showed a wheat stalk crossed with a sword.
Under it:
[Plant Your Destiny.]
Alex made a face.
"Big self-help seminar energy."
Selena sent one more.
[Farmers who leveled and gained skills worship him.]
[They're calling him a pioneer.]
[There's an official Farmer Guild now.]
[Public dives.]
[Motivational speeches.]
Phong leaned back slowly, thinking.
On the surface, it was brilliant.
The system had treated production classes like dead ends.
Olen had found a loophole.
You didn't farm soil.
You farmed monsters.
And by farming one hundred of a species, you unlocked not only EXP, but a skill from that species.
Slime regeneration?
Goblin agility?
Wolf scent tracking?
It changed everything.
Production classes were no longer stuck at Level 1.
They could grow.
Gain combat skills.
Participate.
It was a real breakthrough.
And yet—
The timing.
The branding.
The year of quiet "testing."
He could see the structure almost instantly.
Elite farmers with money paid for private escorts.
Early adopters gained levels.
Secured rare skills.
Monetized the advantage.
And once the edge had been fully milked—
Open the gates.
Sell hope to commoners.
Charge admission.
Alex tightened her arms around him.
"You're not surprised."
"No."
"Angry?"
He considered it.
"No."
She blinked.
"No?"
"It's efficient. I… would've done the same. That boy selling energy drinks."
Selena typed again.
[Thoughts?]
Phong replied slowly.
[It's real progress.]
[It's also commodified hope.]
The typing bubble appeared immediately.
[That's exactly how it feels.]
He stared at Olen's face on the screen.
Freckles.
Light blond hair styled to look effortless, which meant it absolutely wasn't effortless.
A high-collar sweater in an understated shade that screamed money without ever saying it.
The kind of man who looked like he was selling salvation with excellent branding.
Some of the farmers in interviews were crying.
[I thought I was useless.]
[Now I'm Level 2.]
Another smiled at the camera.
[I gained Slime Skin.]
Olen stood at a podium and spoke in a calm, practiced voice.
[We are no longer trapped by arbitrary class ceilings.]
He gestured toward the banner behind him.
[Together, we cultivate our destiny.]
The applause thundered.
Alex rested her chin on his shoulder again.
"You could do that."
Phong shook his head.
"No."
"Why?"
"Because I don't need to level."
She studied him.
"Are you sure?"
He glanced toward the Moletato rows.
Toward the lime-oak guardian.
Toward the layered defense grid he had built.
"I found a path I prefer."
Selena sent one last note.
[They're organizing a public demo dive next month.]
[Sponsored stream.]
[Olen's branding it as "Breaking the Chains of Production Classes."]
Phong snorted softly.
"Of course he is."
Alex traced lazy circles across his chest.
"If you farmed one hundred trolls, what skill would you get?"
He pictured it for a second.
Moss regeneration?
Brute strength?
Then he shook his head.
"Not worth it."
"Why?"
"Because the dungeon restricts leveling for a reason."
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"Beyond the planting restrictions?"
"Yeah."
He looked back at the phone.
A guild of Level 2 farmers diving under high-level escort, funded through pooled contributions.
Inspirational slogans stitched into banners.
[Plant Your Destiny.]
[Grow Beyond Limits.]
[Harvest Greatness.]
He felt neither envy nor contempt.
Only curiosity.
Olen had chosen to fix the EXP bar.
Phong had chosen to ignore it.
Two farmers.
Two paths.
One commodified leveling.
One built a sovereign camp between mountain, lake, and forest without gaining a single stat point.
Alex kissed the side of his neck lightly.
"Still tired?"
"Yes."
"Good."
He laughed softly.
Little Fireball chirped from its perch on the coop roof.
The lime-oak rustled.
Somewhere beyond the lake, treants shifted position.
Above unseen layers, the Sky Emperor remained.
And in his hand, the hot cocoa cooled slowly while a Level 1 farmer watched the world discover it could grow in ways it never expected.
He didn't feel threatened.
He didn't feel obsolete.
He just wondered what would happen when those Level 2 farmers realized leveling did not free them from the dungeon's rules.
It only subjected them to different ones.
---
The thought didn't hit loudly.
It slid into place.
Quiet.
Unavoidable.
One year ago.
That was when he received the quest.
Grow and harvest 10 potatoes in the dungeon.
The first and only quest the menu had ever given him.
The same year Olen, the rich "genius entrepreneur," had discovered and quietly started monetizing the 100-monster farming method for production classes.
Same window.
Same timing.
Phong lowered the mug slowly.
"…No way."
Alex, still draped around him, felt the shift immediately.
"What."
"One year ago," he said carefully. "The quest."
She blinked.
"The potatoes?"
"Yes."
"That was the first week after the Shifting incident."
"And around the time Olen claims he began 'testing.'"
Silence stretched.
Phong stared at the screen, at Olen's perfectly composed public face.
Coincidence?
He didn't believe in coincidence inside the dungeon anymore.
The menu had nudged him.
Not an order.
Not some absurd command like "plant 10 potatoes or die" from one of those lazy system novels.
Just—
Plant potatoes.
Inside the dungeon.
It didn't force him.
It didn't spell out future rewards.
It simply opened a door.
Olen had walked through a different one.
"Menu didn't give you more quests," Alex said slowly.
"No."
"Maybe because it didn't need to."
Phong nodded faintly.
The system had offered encouragement.
Then stepped back.
The difference was what came after.
Olen had money.
Connections.
Security.
He could hire high-level escorts.
He could grind slimes in controlled conditions.
He could hide the process.
Perfect it.
Monetize it.
And when he was ready, unveil it as innovation.
Phong?
He had been targeted.
By a rich man.
Josh's father.
Investor in dungeon safety.
Infrastructure.
Insurance.
The same man whose influence reached hospitals.
The same man whose son's bullying ended in blood and legal silence.
The same man whose machination made his uncle and aunt "disappear."
If Phong had discovered something extraordinary early, who would have let it surface?
Who would have allowed a Level 1 nobody to redefine production classes?
He let the thought settle.
Cold.
Measured.
If he had taken Olen's route, if he had publicized Moletato terraforming, Snow Lime speed buffs, Relaxing Shiitake weekly resets—
Would the world have applauded?
Or would powerful investors have intervened quietly?
Olen's discovery was profitable.
Controlled.
Escorted.
Monetizable.
Phong's was sovereign.
Independent.
Uncontrollable.
Give it enough time...
If production-class leveling became standardized...
If farmers everywhere started farming monsters for skills...
Eventually, the dungeon might close loopholes.
Or adapt.
Or escalate.
And one day, he might truly become the only farmer left who still farmed soil inside the dungeon.
The thought did not scare him.
It grounded him.
Rico broke the spiral dramatically.
He returned from what he insisted was "strategic reconnaissance."
Translation:
The Vogels had taken Bruno and Nyx for the day.
Unofficial grandparent time.
Rico had been excluded.
He was not a grandchild.
He was a "friend of the family."
He strutted into camp with exaggerated dignity.
Bruno bounded behind him.
Nyx followed with regal control.
"How was daycare?" Alex asked.
Rico sniffed.
"Cultural exchange."
Bruno barked enthusiastically.
"Big Grandma fed us."
Nyx added primly, "The bread was acceptable."
Rico cleared his throat.
"I have optimized survival."
Phong raised a brow.
"Oh?"
Rico had apparently convinced the trolls and lizardmen to provide scent markers.
Small scraps of troll moss from Level 35 beasts.
Scale fragments from Lake Baratok warriors.
Combined and worn loosely in pouches around the animals' necks.
The result?
Low-level Floor One monsters fled on scent alone.
Original biome creatures, wolves, goblins, stray beasts, recognized the smell of apex predators and scattered.
Three animals.
Two of them barely three months old.
And now they moved through Floor One with more confidence than many divers.
Selena would have fainted from scientific joy.
Rico puffed out his chest.
"Intelligence triumphs where class does not."
He turned toward Phong.
"I demand a raise."
"No."
"Caffeine."
"No."
"Undiluted."
"Absolutely not."
Rico narrowed his eyes.
Phong sighed and handed him one-third of a can.
Measured.
Controlled.
Rico stared at the portion like it was a personal insult.
"This is oppression."
"Drink slowly."
He did not.
He shotgunned it.
Silence.
Two seconds.
Three.
Then—
Zoom.
He ricocheted off a Moletato mound.
Leaped over a Bonktato vine.
Ran halfway up the lime-oak trunk before sliding back down.
Then started shouting about transcendence.
Bruno chased after him.
Nyx refused to participate.
Within minutes, Rico crashed.
Spectacularly.
He face-planted into the soft soil near the troll perimeter.
A huge moss-covered hand gently lifted him.
The Troll King examined the unconscious raccoon with great seriousness.
"He overheat."
"Yes," Phong said calmly.
The trolls had unofficially adopted Rico.
He woke later, awkwardly cradled in a troll's lap like a hyperactive child at daycare.
Blinking slowly, he murmured, "I saw beyond time."
"No you didn't," Nyx said dryly.
Back near the pond, Phong stood quietly.
Sunflowers had started sprouting in neat rows.
Carrots pushed faint green through the soil.
Treants and lizardmen kept their wary distance.
The Sky Emperor had not roared again.
The world was moving.
Production classes were leveling.
Farmer guilds were forming.
Olen was becoming a symbol.
Josh was recruiting.
Power was consolidating.
And here—
A Level 1 farmer stood between mountain, lake, and forest.
Not leveling.
Not marketing.
Not preaching destiny.
Just planting.
The menu had nudged him once.
He had chosen soil over slaughter.
Olen had chosen slaughter over soil.
Two farmers.
Two philosophies.
One commodified growth.
One cultivated sovereignty.
Little Fireball fluttered onto his shoulder.
The lime-oak guardian rustled overhead.
He didn't know which path the dungeon favored.
But he knew this:
If the system ever decided to close doors again, he would already be rooted too deep to uproot quietly.
And that thought was worth more than any EXP bar.