A profound, soul-deep sense of exasperation settled over Yao as she sat on the cold, damp stone, water dripping from the ends of her hair. She'd expected a Tier 5 dungeon to be a playground, a tidy little wealth-generator. Instead, it felt like she'd stumbled into a proving ground for aspiring young monsters. Had she been lulled into a false sense of security by the game's early zones, teeming with clueless players? Or was Jingyang Prefecture, the poorest corner of the weakest province, somehow a secret magnet for lethal talent? Maybe she was just spectacularly unlucky, and the local concentration of dangerous oddballs was abnormally high today.
Or maybe it's the season,she mused, wringing murky creek water from her sleeves. The academic term was approaching. Ambitious youths wouldn't be holed up with textbooks; they'd be out here, in the wild, grinding for every scrap of combat experience and loot to bolster their applications. Theory could be crammed. Real, visceral field experience was a rarer commodity.
Her contemplative gaze shifted to her sodden companion. The groundhog—Gronk, he'd called himself—was a bedraggled mound of golden fur, shaking himself like a dog, droplets flying. He finished his vigorous shake and immediately put a cautious distance between them, his beady eyes narrowed. "What's that look for, huh? Want another go, long-shanks? I'll have you know—"
"You looked plump before," Yao interrupted, her voice, stripped of the 'Oaks' persona's nasal whine, was measured, almost scholarly. "I assumed it was the fur. But even wet, you're… substantially built."
Gronk froze mid-threat, his whiskers quivering. "What?"
Soaked, his illusion of fluffy grandeur was gone. The fur lay flat, revealing a truly rotund, barrel-shaped body. His head was round, not tapered like most rodents, with full, pinkish cheeks that hinted at hidden food stashes. A tiny, button-like pink nose twitched above his mouth. Three defiant tufts of damp fur stuck straight up from his crown like misplaced antennae. The overall effect was less 'ferocious wilderness survivor' and more 'stuffed toy that had seen better days'.
An unexpected, sharp pang of nostalgia lanced through Yao. Her best friend back home had a Samoyed, a fluffy white cloud of a dog named 'Baobao'. Her friend had insisted, with the fervor of a true believer, that Baobao was not fat, merely 'fluffy'. Yao had once caught them at the groomer's, the dog submerged in a bath, transformed instantly from a polar bear into a very startled, very corpulent… sheep. There is no such thing as innocent chonk,she'd teased. The memory, now tinged with the ache of a world lost, was bittersweet. Seeing the groundhog's utterly gobsmacked expression—mouth slightly agape, beady eyes wide with outrage—nearly broke her composure.
"Who's fat? WHO? I demand satisfaction! A duel! Pistols at dawn!" he spluttered, fumbling for the rifle slung across his back.
Yao remained impassive. "They have a flyer. Advanced acoustics and energy trace sensors. If we start a real fight now, the noise and mana spikes will draw them like flies to honey."
Gronk knew she was right. He'd been blustering. With a defeated harrumph, he plopped down heavily, grabbing his own bedraggled tail and wringing it out with irritable vigor. He shot her a sidelong glance. "That crew… average level's gotta be past ten. More of them. Better gear. We're outclassed."
Yao nodded grimly. Her dream of easily clinching the dungeon's MVP (Most Valuable Player) title was evaporating. If this was the caliber of competition that had arrived in the first hour, the rest of the 250-participant pool was terrifying to contemplate. In the distance, the dark, seething clouds of the locust swarms were still visible against the twilight. "Ten thousand swarmlings won't even be a warm-up for them. Once they clear the easy mobs, the real hunt begins. Player-killing. The profit margin is better." Within a Calamity Field, Imperial law held no sway. It was a sanctioned free-for-all. It was why parties existed—not just for efficiency, but for survival.
Gronk, clearly no stranger to the darker side of dungeon diving, assessed her with a critical eye. "You're what, sixteen? Seventeen? Only Level 7. Pathetic. Your technique's not bad, for a human. But solo, poor, and friendless… kinda sad, really." He puffed out his chest, the gesture somewhat undercut by his damp state. "Tell you what. I, Gronk the Magnificent, might be persuaded to take you on as a junior party member. There'd be a membership fee, of course. Let's say… three skill tomes, and—"
He stopped. Yao had simply turned and started walking away, her wet boots squelching on the moss.
"Hey! Where are you—I wasn't finished! The terms are negotiable!"
She didn't look back. The groundhog had an appraisal skill—Eagle's Sight, or something like it. He'd seen her level (he was wrong; she was Level 6, but close enough). Could he see her attributes? Unlikely. But his arrogance was grating, and time was wasting.
Scrambling to his feet, Gronk hurried after her, his short legs a blur. "Wait! Hold on!"
Yao, her own clothes clinging unpleasantly, pushed her waterlogged mask back into place and rewound her dripping hair with a leather tie. Without a word, she focused and sent a standard dungeon party invitation through her interface, a glowing prompt appearing in the air before the marmot.
He skidded to a halt, staring at the ethereal text. [Yao invites you to form a party. Accept/Decline?]
No discussion. No bartering. Just a cold, pragmatic offer.
He looked from the prompt to her retreating back. She was slender, still caught in that awkward stage between girl and woman, her frame hinting at past malnutrition. The mask hid her face, but the eyes that had met his during their fight hadn't been those of a victim. They'd been calculating, resilient, and utterly devoid of the fear or awe he was used to inspiring.
In this world, flowery words and compelling 'aura' were for bards and con artists. On the bloody floor of a dungeon, your worth was measured in spells cast, enemies felled, and traps survived. They'd fought. He knew her weight.
"Fine!" he grumbled, trotting to keep up. "I'll… consideryour proposal. But I'm team leader. Obviously."
Yao didn't break stride. She simply reached out and mentally cancelled the invitation. The prompt vanished. Simultaneously, she glanced at her wrist-comp and tapped a command. From a stand of trees downstream, her battered 'Flying Fish' skimmer whined to life and began auto-piloting towards their location.
"Alright, alright! You lead! You can be the stupid leader! Just invite me back, you stubborn leaf-muncher! Hurry up!" Gronk squeaked, his pride thoroughly routed by the prospect of being left behind.
Yao, who operated on a principle of ruthless efficiency, had no time for posturing. She sent the invite again. He accepted it almost before the prompt fully materialized. The dungeon system registered the alliance. Now, they could not directly harm each other without severe penalties. The bond, however fragile, was sealed.
Gronk practically vaulted into the co-pilot's seat of the arriving skimmer, buckling the safety harness with a decisive click. He looked almost cheerful. "Right! Now, where to? An ambush point? I say we find a nice choke point and teach those overfunded brats a lesson in humility!"
Yao slid into the pilot's seat, her hands moving over the controls. "That would be a lesson in how to get turned into a fine red paste. We're going somewhere we can actually farm." She adjusted a dial. "Hold on."
"I'm holding on! See? Holding! Just get us—WHOA!"
The skimmer shot forward like a startled hare, its flight path best described as 'enthusiastic' rather than 'competent'. Five minutes later, in a narrow, sheltered valley behind the farm's bluffs, the hatch opened. A very green-looking Gronk tumbled out, collapsing onto the wiry grass with a miserable groan.
"Uurgh… you know… if you kill a party member… via vehicular incompetence… you lose reputation points…" he managed between heaves.
Yao climbed out, looking slightly abashed. "I'm aware. But our party reputation is currently zero. Nothing to lose." It was impeccable, if deeply annoying, logic.
Gronk stared at her, the truth dawning. "You… you just learned to fly this thing, didn't you?"
"Recently, yes."
He groaned again, this time in despair. Pushing himself upright, he surveyed the valley. It was dry, rocky, sparsely vegetated. "You sure about this place? Doesn't look like bug heaven."
In the skimmer, Yao had explained her theory. Insectoid monsters had terrifyingly efficient metabolisms. Gorging was often followed closely by the urge to reproduce. "Yesterday's acidic rain triggered the swarm, but the damp, chemically-altered environment isn't ideal for egg-laying. They'll seek someplace warmer, drier, and sheltered." She gestured towards the far end of the valley, where the wind had sculpted the cliff face into a series of dark, yawning holes. "Wind caves. Consistent temperature, low humidity, protected."
Gronk scratched his head, his trio of crown-tufts bouncing. It wasn't his area of expertise, but it sounded plausible. "I'll scout it. Tunnel in, have a peek." He took a step towards the nearest cave mouth.
Yao caught his harness. "Unnecessary." She pointed at the ground near the entrance. Scattered across the dusty stone were dozens of small, dark, pellet-like droppings. "Just… give those a sniff."
Gronk, ever the diligent scout, bent over, picked one up, and brought it to his nose. He inhaled deeply. His cheeks puffed out, his eyes watered, and he made a sound like a stifled sneeze. "Squishy," he reported, his voice nasally. "And rancid."
Yao nodded sagly, turning away to busy herself with her pack. "Confirmed. Fecal matter. The colony is definitely inside." She fought to keep her shoulders from shaking.
Gronk stared at the offending pellet in his paw, then at Yao's studiously neutral back. His head tilted slowly to one side, the three damp tufts of fur on his head drooping in a perfect picture of bewildered betrayal. She… she had me… smell bug poop?
Yao, her face safely turned away, bit the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted blood. The little guy was a terror in a fight, but there was a startling naivete to him. She'd tossed out the line on a whim, and he'd taken the bait—hook, sinker, and rod. The guilt was real, but it was buried under a wave of pure, undiluted amusement. Ha!
By the time Gronk processed the deception and drew in a breath to unleash a torrent of rodent invective, Yao had already moved on. "Look. We're doing this the smart way." She pulled items from her pack: bundled dry tinder, several glass bottles of acrid-smelling liquid from the farm's storage, and a small, empty canister.
Gronk's outrage was momentarily derailed by curiosity. "Pesticide? For ordinary crawlies? You think that'll work on dungeon spawn? I'm the one going in there, you know! Don't get me killed!"
Yao wasn't offended by the distrust; it was prudent. She explained calmly, "The pesticide alone is useless. But the swarm females inside will be gravid—carrying eggs. The acidic rain has made their systems hyper-sensitive. By modifying this with a high-alkaline base, I can create a compound that will cause a violent chemical reaction insidetheir egg sacs. The eggs die, the mothers are severely weakened by the internal trauma, and then we…" she outlined the rest of the plan. "If you're not comfortable, we abort. We can set up an ambush at the mouth, pick them off as they come out. Slower, but safer."
Gronk listened, his initial skepticism giving way to dawning appreciation. He hopped to his feet, planting his paws on his hips. "No. I'll do it. The in-and-out job." He jabbed a claw at her. "Because you, human girl, are way more devious than you look. I like it. And nobody draws aggro like Gronk!" With that, he turned and waddled with surprising purpose towards the dark cave mouth, his rifle held at the ready.
As he disappeared into the shadows, Yao finally allowed herself a small, private smile. Devious? Me?she thought, genuinely perplexed. When I play Oaks, they call me cunning like it's an insult. When I'm myself, they call me devious. Is there no winning?Her plan was elegant, efficient. Minimal risk, maximum yield. It was harmonious capitalism, not skulduggery.
Alone now, she finally turned her attention to the real prize: Chen Lixing's loot. She'd deliberately waited until Gronk was gone. Trust was a commodity earned in blood and time, not granted in damp riverbank introductions. Reaching into her pack, her fingers closed around the single item she'd felt when she'd grabbed his body.
A soft dingechoed in her mind.
[Acquired: Bronze-tier Auxiliary Equipment – Satchel of Holding.]
Yao's breath caught. A spatial storage item. Even a lowly Bronze-tier one was worth a fortune, more than some Green-grade armor. For a hunter who lived by ambush and loot, it made perfect sense. This alone made the risk worth it. Elation bloomed in her chest. Finally, no more lumpy, awkward backpack!
"He must have had one too," she mused, thinking of Gronk's seemingly bottomless ammo pouches. "Standard equipment for professionals."
Opening the satchel's extradimensional space, she peered inside, eager to see what other treasures the hunter had been carrying. The real inventory assessment began now.