Back on Floor 1, Phong only realized something was wrong when he looked over and saw Rico with his phone.
The raccoon had clearly gotten hold of it while Phong was busy with diplomacy and had left it on a flat stone by the lakeshore, while he worked out terms with the lizardmen and the other mercenaries.
Phong stared.
Rico stared back.
For one second, neither said anything.
Then Phong looked past him and saw the elves.
The children had noticed Rico too.
And worse, they looked delighted.
Phong gave them a slow, approving nod.
The effect was immediate.
"Uncle Rico!"
The little elves rushed him like a flood.
Rico gasped as three of them grabbed onto his shoulders, two more clung to his tail, and another tried to climb onto his head like he was playground equipment.
"This is betrayal," Rico wheezed.
Phong shrugged.
The elves were strangely light compared to human children. Strong for their size, yes, but light. That made it easier for them to swarm the raccoon without flattening him outright, though the look on Rico's face suggested he would have preferred flattening.
One of the little elves perched on his back and declared, "Fast uncle."
"No," Rico protested, staggering sideways as another child climbed up, "uncle not horse."
"Fluffy uncle."
"That is worse."
Phong sat down, opened the group chat, and answered Team Nemean at last.
He started with the immediate problem on Floor 1.
[Found more mercenaries.]
The reply from Dominic came almost instantly.
[Who.]
Phong typed with the blunt speed of a man whose mind had already shifted into logistics mode.
[Kamohai.]
The sharkfolk that fought the lizardmen over Lake Baratok. Team Nemean had fought against them once before.
[Also 3 Wolven and 5 Tortura.]
There was a pause on the other end, then Dominic.
[You hired sharkfolk?]
[Yes.]
Jake was next.
[What the hell is a Wolven?]
Phong leaned back a little and explained.
[Centaur-like. Upper body humanoid. Lower body of a wolf.]
[Adults can reach level 55.But they stay juvenile until they pass a maturity ritual. War participation counts. Boss hunts count. Rare weapon acquisition also counts.]
[These three chose war.]
Joanne's response appeared.
[Of course they did.]
Phong continued.
[Tortura are humanoid tortoises. Excellent archers on Floor 3.]
[Their levels decline when they reached certain age. Once they "fall from grace" and drop below level 50, their tribe banishes them to Floor 2.]
[I got 5. Levels 45 to 48.]
Emma answered next.
[That is an absurdly good mercenary package.]
Phong did not disagree.
He was about to ask for their exact situation again when more messages came in about the Mushroomires, the camp in the bog, the escort problem, and the White Tiger's quest.
Phong read it all in silence while an elf child tried to use Rico as a throne.
Then he went still.
He turned slightly and called for Thassir.
The lizardman envoy came after a short delay, posture as composed as ever. He was the same one who had negotiated the peace treaty with Phong and formalized Camp Stymphalian's honorary vassal status. He was also the same person who warned them of the parasitic snail. If anyone near Lake Baratok understood local fungal threats, it would be him.
Phong got straight to the point.
"What do your people know about Mushroompires?"
Thassir's slit-pupiled eyes narrowed faintly.
"They are troublesome."
"I noticed."
The envoy ignored that.
"They do not enjoy cold," Thassir said. "Strong enough freezing magic can knock them out, as with most fungal things."
Phong stared at him for half a second.
Then smiled.
It was not a warm smile.
It was the sort of smile people had learned to fear from him, because it usually meant he had found a loophole.
Back in the group chat, the typing bubble appeared.
Alex saw it and immediately sat up straighter despite her weakness.
Phong sent the message in a block.
[I found a loophole.]
That got everyone's attention at once.
[Escort the Mushroomires to Lake Baratok.]
[Lizardman mages will be ready there.]
[They can knock the Mushroompires out with cold.]
Dominic replied first.
[Then what?]
[The Mushroomires get relocated to camp.]
[Then later moved to the scorched patch after I finish planting more defensive lines there.]
A beat.
Then Emma asked:
[And the Mushroompires?]
Phong's answer came fast.
[Shipped directly to the battlefield.]
Silence followed in the chat for almost five full seconds.
Then Jake.
[That is evil.]
[That is efficient,] Emma typed right after.
Phong kept going.
[I think the Mushroomoids have a herding stress response like grasshoppers. When enough pressure accumulates, they shift into aggressive form known as Mushroompires. The same basic principle as grasshoppers turning into locusts, just with different conditions.]
Selena was not there, but if she had been, she would have loved that theory.
Phong laid it out anyway.
[If the number of Mushroompires drops enough, or if they vent that accumulated stress through conflict, they should revert. The civil war may be a feedback loop where stress creates Mushroompires, and Mushroompires create more stress.]
Jack responded after a pause.
[So we break the loop?]
[Yes.]
[By moving the passive ones somewhere safe.]
[And using the aggressive ones somewhere they'd be useful anyway.]
Another pause.
Then Phong added the last piece.
[Also remember Olen.]
Dominic answered.
[What about him.]
[He slaughtered Mushroomires earlier this year to create optics.]
That landed heavily even over text.
Because it fit too well.
Emma replied first this time.
[So Olen might be the origin of this problem all along?]
[Yes.]
Alex typed next, slower than usual.
[Then this can work. Not perfectly. But it can work.]
Phong looked up from the phone for a moment.
The scorched land lay quiet nearby, greener than before. Tomatoes, basil, dill, signs of recovery clearly showed even more now, after the elves had hatched. Around him, Camp Stymphalian held steady in that strange, layered way only it could. The elf children were still trying to ride Rico while the raccoon complained with whatever left of his tiny raccoon dignity.
Then he looked back down and finished the plan.
[Do not engage in battle with the Mushroompires. You should only focus on herding the Mushroomires toward the pickup location at Lake Baratok, and fight only if it was the only choice to defense yourself. Let the lizardmen drop the aggressive ones. I'll prepare the scorched patch to receive the Mushroomires.]
Then, after a beat, one more message.
[And don't die. I already have enough problems at camp.]
That got the first real break in tension.
Jake replied immediately.
[Does Rico count as one?]
Rico, still pinned under elf children, screamed, "Bad leafy children! No biting uncle ears," as an elf child ignored that completely.
Phong groaned.
[He counts as half of the problems I have.]
Rico helped.
That alone told Phong the raccoon wanted something badly.
The little menace could not plant, not really, but he carried what Phong needed from one point to another without complaint for almost an hour. Seed bundles, young sprouts of defensive variants, water and snacks that strangely remained intact, untouched by raccoon paws and teeth. Rico hauled all of it, sometimes with the help of the small treant bonded to him, sometimes with the focus of a raccoon with hidden agenda.
Phong knew that look.
Rico was only this hardworking when he wanted something he could not steal.
Coffee could be stolen.
Moletatoes could be stolen.
This could not.
So Phong let it play out.
The scorched land changed steadily under their work. Defensive lines were planted properly this time. Garlic mines went in with careful spacing. Chilies had clear firing lanes. Bonktatoes were positioned where they could punch anything that moved too close for comfort. Moletato support spread underneath the whole patch, tying the land together with hidden canal of communication. The new herbs and vegetables he had added earlier, tomatoes, basil, dill, remained in the safer inner lines, part recovery, part nourishment, part signal that the place was no longer a dead patch of land.
Only when the perimeter was done did Phong finally straighten, wipe dirt off his hands, and look at Rico.
"What do you want?"
Rico froze mid-step with a crate in his paws.
"…why assume I want thing?"
"Because you worked."
"That is slander."
Phong gave him a flat look.
Rico sighed dramatically, set the crate down, and crossed his arms.
"Rico wants join war."
Phong answered immediately.
"No."
Rico's ears shot up. "Unfair."
"It's not a debate."
"Yes it is."
Phong shook his head and started checking one of the garlic lines, but Rico followed him anyway.
"The trolls are basically family."
That made Phong pause.
Rico pressed his advantage.
"You know this."
And annoyingly, Phong did.
He remembered all those times Rico had drunk too much caffeine, turned into a furry natural disaster, then vanished only to be found later sleeping in troll caves like he belonged there. The trolls had put up with him. Fed him. Let him be a menace near them without treating him like extra protein. By monster standards, that was practically kinship.
Phong exhaled once through his nose.
He hated that Rico had a point.
The raccoon saw the hesitation and immediately moved in for the kill.
"Raccoon will be useful."
"You'll be trouble."
"Useful trouble."
"That's worse."
"Depends who receiving trouble."
Phong looked at him for a few long seconds.
Then sighed.
"Fine."
Rico straightened so fast he nearly saluted.
Phong held up a hand. "Under conditions."
The raccoon deflated a little. "There are always conditions."
"Yes. Because you're you."
He crouched so they were eye level and made himself very clear.
"First. No trace of you being a raccoon can show."
Rico blinked. "Because of Lyon?"
"Specifically because of Halloween in Lyon," Phong corrected. "You already caused enough problems there. So no whiskers, no visible paws, no tail, nothing."
Rico opened his mouth.
Phong kept going before interruption could start.
"Better yet, modify your Kamen Rider armor. Make it look more like a juvenile treant than a raccoon in living armor."
Rico looked offended. "Raccoon form stylish."
"Raccoon form identifiable."
"That is racism."
"That is survival."
Rico muttered darkly but did not argue harder, which meant he knew Phong was right.
"Second," Phong said, "Josh is fair game."
Rico's eyes lit up.
"But no killing humans unless they try to seriously harm you first."
That killed some of the delight.
Rico frowned. "What if they are annoying?"
"Then run. You're good at that."
"That is anti-raccoon policy."
Phong ignored that.
"Third. Your safety comes first."
That made Rico pause for real.
Phong's voice stayed even.
"You do not get to die for a dramatic moment, you do not get to overcommit because you're angry, you do not get to treat this like a coffee-fueled stunt. If troubles too big to deal with come, run back here, let my plants handle those human. Don't be afraid of exposing the camp when in danger. You hear me?"
Rico stared at him for a beat, then nodded once.
That was enough.
"Agreed," the raccoon said.
Phong studied him, trying to judge whether the agreement was sincere or merely theatrical.
It seemed sincere.
Mostly.
That was as much as one could ask from Rico.
So Phong stood and headed for the lake.
The mercenaries he had hired were already waiting.
The Kamohai were the easiest.
Sharkfolk did not waste much time on conversational elegance when terms were already clear. Their leader spoke plainly: food for battle service, extra food for risk, and extra extra food for the family of the fallen. They wanted enough practical gain to justify joining the defense around troll territory. Phong appreciated that. Straightforward people, or sharkfolk, were simpler to work with.
They accepted the contract without fuss.
The Tortura were different.
The five banished tortoise archers stood together with the quiet dignity of old warriors who disciplines had been tattooed into their souls with years of steel and blood. Their shells were worn, their eyes sharp, their levels, still in the forty-five to forty-eight range, made them dangerous enough without needing to show off.
Their spokesman listened to Phong's terms and then gave one of his own.
"We have seen your work on Floor 2," he said.
Phong looked at him. "My work."
"The perimeter," the Tortura said. "Your plants. Your habit of turning ground into defended life."
That was one way to put it.
"When such a place exists on Floor 2," the Tortura continued, "we wish to settle there."
Phong blinked once.
The old archer went on. "Safety suits those whose grace declines."
It made sense, their levels would keep falling with age. A stable, defended zone close to useful terrain would be valuable to exiles like them.
Phong nodded slowly. "If the perimeter holds and there's room, we can discuss settlement."
The Tortura retreated its head into its shells. For their kind, that was showing gratitude.
Then came the Wolven.
The three juveniles had the upper bodies of lean, sharp-featured people and the lower bodies of wolves, powerful and restless, paws shifting against the ground with impatient energy. They looked young, but not naive by any means. Their levels and species alone made them dangerous, and the hunger of their chosen ritual sat openly in their posture.
They did not start with contract terms.
Their leader looked Phong over once and said, "We want a duel."
Phong stared. "What?"
"You are the farmer who negotiates with Titans."
That stopped him harder than expected.
"What are Titans?"
The Wolven frowned, as if the answer should have been obvious. "He Who Walks. Sky Emperor. Monkey Kings. Those."
Phong's mind caught on the names immediately.
He Who Walks.
Horns of the Earth.
Sky Emperor.
Clear enough.
Monkey Kings.
Plural, maybe title, maybe group, maybe one pillar with several manifestations. But the important part came first.
Titans were how the monsters called the Pillars, entities human called floor boss. And the Wolven had revealed a sixth Pillar, or at least a known power in that same tier, that bore the moniker of Monkey Kings.
Phong filed that away instantly.
Then came the more immediate problem.
The Wolven still wanted a duel.
He looked at his own status out of reflex.
Level 1 farmer, single digit stats, it would be more of a one sided slaughter than a duel if he was ever foolish enough to accept the Wolven term.
"No," he said.
The Wolven leader's ears twitched. "You refuse?"
"More like passing the torch on to someone else."
That made all three of them tilt their heads.
Phong glanced back toward camp, where Rico was still probably testing poses in his not-yet-modified armor and enjoying the consequences of being taken seriously for once.
Then Phong smiled faintly.
"Rico will fight you."
The Wolven looked unconvinced.
Phong did not elaborate.
He simply stood at the lakeshore with mercenaries gathered around him, the newly fortified scorched land behind him, war building in the distance, and the next ridiculous move already beginning to take shape.
For once, being a level one farmer had an advantage.
When someone demanded steel and honor and ritual combat, it was perfectly reasonable to send the raccoon instead.