Phong had wanted one quiet day.
That was all.
One day without cosmic errands, ancient parasites, evolved rabbit commanders, sacred beast kidnappings, political fractures, divine relics, or raccoons attempting to redefine artillery as a civil right. The last day before the elimination stage of the diver league should have been used for rest, review, and the sort of tactical boredom that kept people alive.
Emma had already prepared for that.
She arrived at the strategy table beneath the Lime-Oak with three notebooks, two tablets, a stack of printed maps, and the expression of a woman who had not slept enough but had chosen to weaponize that fact. Half the pages were covered in diagrams showing possible league environments, opponent pairings, resource races, boss hunt routes, and political contingencies if the stage turned into a spectacle rather than a fair competition.
Then she looked at Alex.
More accurately, she looked at bīng.
The copy of one of the Nine Secrets was not visible at the moment, but everyone at the table could feel its presence in the assumptions it destroyed. Alex was no longer merely Team Nemean's strongest duelist, Bai Hu's chosen, psychic storm user, and fiancée of the farmer whose vegetable diplomacy had become an international security concern. She could now copy relic concepts she had seen, although only one at a time, and she had just gained a cavalry skill that let her form an entire brigade of wind-made knights armored in Arbiter Mindblade constructs.
Emma placed one hand over half her notes.
"These are useless now."
Joanne leaned back. "Only half? I'm impressed."
"I said useless, not wrong. Wrong can still be instructive. Useless means Alex has broken the premises."
Alex, sitting beside Phong with a cup of tea, did not look apologetic. "I was attacked by a parasite pretending to be a primordial weapon secret. I feel like some premise-breaking is fair."
"It is very fair," Emma said. "It is also inconvenient."
Phong was supposed to act as fresh eyes. That was his job as coach. He did not have Emma's elite training, Dominic's combat instinct, Alex's new conceptual weapon logic, or Joanne's ability to make battlefield murder sound like a hobby, but he was good at finding the small assumption everyone else stepped over. He had just circled one section of Emma's third strategy and written when a Great Burrow mouse popped out of the ground beside the table.
"Farmer-king," the mouse squeaked.
Phong put down the pen.
He already knew from the mouse's tone that his quiet day had died.
"What happened?"
"Envoys at Baratok Town. Lower floor races. Demanding to see you."
Emma closed her eyes.
Joanne smiled without humor. "There goes rest."
Jake looked up from where he had been pretending to nap across two crates. "Could we send Rico wearing a fake mustache?"
Rico, perched nearby with a cup of broth he insisted was "post-hotpot coffee-adjacent recovery soup," gasped. "Finally, leadership recognizes my statesman potential."
Phong stood. "Absolutely not."
Rico deflated. "Oppression continues."
They went to Baratok Town.
Not all of Team Nemean, because sending the entire team to a diplomatic meeting looked too much like an intimidation tactic and because Emma had insisted that if Phong insisted on answering envoys personally, he should at least bring people who could prevent the meeting from becoming a hostage situation. Dominic came as visible restraint. Alex came because nobody wanted Phong meeting lower-floor envoys without her nearby. Emma came because diplomacy needed knives with polished handles. Joanne came because, in her words, "If someone threatens the vegetable king, I want to hear it live."
Rico came because he had hidden inside a supply basket.
Phong found him halfway through the Lime-Oak transition and was too tired to send him back.
Baratok Town was crowded.
The walled settlement had already been busy before Yuè had become a name passed between species, but now it hummed with a different pressure. Traders from Camp Harpy and the lake routes packed the outer market. Lizardmen watched the walls with tightened formations. Kamohai moved through the canals with spears angled upward. Great Burrow mice kept to rooftops and drain ways, carrying quiet signals. The air smelled of lake water, crop flour, roasted fish, and the anxious sweat of people who knew diplomacy could turn into battle faster than fire crossed dry grass.
News of Yuè had traveled farther than Phong wanted.
The Wolven mercenaries had seen what he was building and, because mercenaries were mercenaries, had sold stories along with routes and contracts. Some versions probably made Phong sound like a benevolent farmer-king. Others likely described him as a vegetable tyrant whose plants ate armies. The truth, unfortunately, was complicated enough that both versions contained pieces sharp enough to cut him.
The first envoys were minotaurs.
Not the maze-dwelling kind from Earth myths, although Phong doubted myths mattered much anymore. These dungeon minotaurs had the lower bodies of bovines like centaurs, four powerful legs ending in heavy hooves, and the upper bodies of humans thick with muscle. Their heads were those of bulls, broad-horned and dark-eyed, with rings of carved bone and metal braided into their manes. Each stood taller than Dominic.
Their levels made the lizardmen on the walls tense immediately.
57, 58, 59...
The leader was level 59, carrying an axe large enough that Phong's brain politely refused to calculate the weight. His shoulders were draped in woven hide marked with clan patterns, and his voice, when he spoke, sounded like a drum dragged over stone.
"We come for grain."
Phong took that in.
Then looked at the minotaur's lower body, the posture, the build, the way the horns sat, and the similarity to Wolven centaur-forms in the broad structural logic of a humanoid torso rising from a quadruped lower half.
Common ancestor? He thought.
He did not say it aloud, because diplomacy rarely improved when one opened with speculative taxonomy.
The minotaur leader explained the matter with bluntness Phong appreciated. Dungeon minotaurs had bought crops from Camp Harpy after Wolven mercenaries recommended Greencap-managed farms. The crops worked. Too well, perhaps. Demand rose faster than the bunnies could meet. Camp Harpy's farms were productive, but not enough to satisfy minotaur hunger, especially once merchants discovered they could buy early, hoard supplies, and resell at absurd prices to desperate herds and frontier clans.
Prices skyrocketed as scalpers took over most available supply. Smaller minotaur families were being pushed out of the crop market by richer clans and merchant caravans.
So the minotaur leader had been sent to establish official trade with Yuè.
Phong listened, asked about quantity, storage methods, preferred crops, transport routes, spoilage, and how many merchants had armed guards. Emma wrote quickly. Alex watched the minotaurs' hands and horns. Dominic watched the lizardmen watching the minotaurs. Joanne watched the ceiling and pretended she was not listening closely.
The negotiation was difficult but clean.
The minotaurs wanted food, and Phong understood food.
By the end, they had a framework: controlled trade shipments through Baratok Town, anti-scalping clauses enforced by Yuè market guards and minotaur clan witnesses, and priority allotments for families rather than merchant warehouses. The minotaur leader accepted this with a satisfied snort and slammed one hoof down hard enough to make the table jump.
"Good. Farmer Yuè speaks like granary, not merchant stomach."
Phong decided that was a compliment.
"Thank you."
The leader tilted his bull head. "If your crops remain fair, our axes remember roads to friends."
Also a compliment, probably.
Then came the Windriders.
The mood changed before they entered.
The Windriders were bird people, but not aerial in the way Phong expected. Their bodies were lean, humanoid, and feathered in patterns of grey, brown, white, and dark blue. Their arms ended in clawed hands rather than wings, and their legs bent with springy predatory grace. Their eyes were sharp, forward-facing, and too proud. They wore lacquered armor designed for mounted combat, with long scarves that fluttered even indoors as if refusing still air.
Outside, their mounts waited.
Steel Wings was the name. Monster birds from Floor Four, apparently.
Phong recognized the species instantly. Two years ago, one had flown over his camp. Bonktatoes had killed it. Its presence, and the devastation around it, had helped give Camp Stymphalian its name.
He looked at the Windrider envoy.
Then at their mounts visible through the window.
Then at Alex.
Alex's eyes flicked briefly toward him, showing she had noticed his recognition.
Phong kept his face polite. There was no point giving the Windriders free leverage by admitting one of their sacred murder-birds might have become naming trivia for his camp.
The Windrider envoy introduced himself with too many titles. Sky-claimed, wind-sworn, heir of some cliff lineage, speaker for the scripture-keepers, and rightful claimant to what he called the Black Canyon.
Phong realized halfway through the title list that this meeting would be worse than the minotaurs.
The envoy spread one clawed hand over a parchment made from treated monster hide.
"Two thousand years ago, our holy scripture promised the Black Canyon to the Windriders. The sky paths, the obsidian nests, the canyon thermals, and all structures within belong to us by sacred inheritance."
Emma's pen stopped moving. Joanne's head tilted. Dominic's expression became very calm in the dangerous way.
Phong folded his hands on the table. "You mean Obsidian Canyon."
"You name it as outsiders name it," the envoy said. "Its promised name is the Black Canyon."
"I see."
"You have occupied our holy inheritance. You built fortifications upon what was promised to our people. The fortress called Erymanthian must be transferred to Windrider stewardship."
Phong stared at him for a moment. He did not mean to, but his politeness simply jammed against the sheer audacity of the demand.
Fort Erymanthian had been built through labor, trust, debt, and danger. H'Re had carved elevators and gondolas into the canyon. Giant Crickets had woven bridges. Lizardmen had marked defenses. Plants had been rooted in hostile stone. Phong had fed people, negotiated with frightened allies, and made a place livable in one of the most dangerous territories he had ever seen.
The Windriders had not claimed it when spiders infested the cracks and roaches owned the dark. They had not arrived when Cannoneer Slugs made ravines into artillery nests. They had not risked blood when the canyon was a death trap.
Now that Yuè had made part of it safe and hospitable, a scripture two thousand years old had conveniently rediscovered ownership.
Phong understood something then with unpleasant clarity.
Dungeon species were not morally purer than humans. He had simply met only the ones with clearer, more direct moral compass than most.
Some were brave, some generous. Some were practical, some cruel. Some were shameless opportunists wearing tradition like armor. They were as varied, messy, noble, petty, and culturally complicated as the people on the surface.
Part of him found that reassuring. Most of him, though, found it exhausting.
He took one slow breath and kept his diplomatic voice.
"Yuè is willing to discuss trade routes through the canyon, sky traffic agreements, shared warning beacons, and joint sky control against hostile aerial monsters."
The Windrider envoy's eyes narrowed. "You misunderstand. We do not request air rights. We demand what is ours."
"I understood you clearly," Phong said. "My answer is that I will trade, negotiate patrol access, and build systems that benefit both sides. I will not give you Fort Erymanthian."
The envoy's feathers lifted.
"You deny holy right?"
"I deny your baseless claim to written on some scriptures, the holiness of which I did not believe in. Yes. I deny your mislead belief that the fort is yours."
The room tightened. Rico's ears perked.
Emma's gaze flicked sideways, calculating how many words stood between this and violence.
Phong continued before the Windrider could interrupt. "Fort Erymanthian was built through collaboration between multiple races, including the H'Re, lizardmen, Giant Crickets, and my people. It is part of Yuè's defensive and transport network. I will not hand it over because you arrived with a claim you did not enforce while the canyon was dangerous."
The envoy's voice sharpened. "Then there will be bloodshed."
Alex's teacup clicked softly against the table. That tiny sound drew every eye in the room.
She had not stood. She had not summoned storm. She had not shown bīng. She simply looked at the envoy, calm as a silk-covered blade.
Phong placed his hand over hers before the air could become lightning.
Then he smiled politely.
"You are welcome to try me."
The Windrider envoy went still.
Phong's smile did not reach his eyes.
"Please understand the consequences before you decide. Yuè controls ground routes, food supply, fortified positions, allied scouts, canyon bridges, and defensive plants adapted specifically for aerial threats. If you want trade, you will find us generous. If you want joint sky control, you will find us practical. If you want to take Fort Erymanthian by force, you will discover that my hospitality has fangs."
The room remained silent after he finished.
The minotaur envoys, still present along the side wall, watched with deep interest.
The Windrider envoy gathered his parchment.
"You will regret insulting scripture."
"We shall see," Phong said. "I will make sure you swallow both your regret and your teeth if you ever come looking for war with Yuè."
The Windriders left with threats folded into every movement of their feathers.
The door closed.
For three seconds, nobody spoke. Then Rico kicked his chair backward and exploded into motion.
"Finally! Raccoon diplomacy phase two!"
Armor formed around him as Fortress Form began to unfold. Wooden plates, plant launchers, carrocket mounts, Enoki machine guns, anti-air dill pods, and Joker venom pea chambers clicked into place with terrifying enthusiasm.
Phong grabbed him by the back of the armor.
"No."
Rico's helmet snapped half-formed around his face. "But they threatened the fort."
"No."
"They threatened the vegetables."
"Still no. You don't kill envoys even in war time."
Rico pointed dramatically toward the door with one armored paw. "That ancient bullshit rule is an oppression of my holy right to turn assholes into soup."
Joanne covered her mouth.
Jake failed first, laughing hard enough to bend over.
Dominic followed, a deep helpless chuckle breaking through the tension. Even Emma's shoulders shook once before she regained control. Alex leaned into Phong's side and laughed quietly, her earlier storm fading from the room.
The minotaur leader snorted.
"Small armored beast speaks good law."
Rico froze.
Then turned slowly toward him.
"Finally. A cultured diplomat who understand firepower strategy."
Phong closed his eyes.
The quiet day was gone, but the disaster had not become bloodshed. For the moment, that was enough.
Outside, Baratok Town continued to buzz with rumor and trade. News of Yuè would keep traveling. More envoys would come. Some would come hungry, some desperate, some curious, and some with old claims sharpened into knives. Phong could already feel the shape of future problems gathering like clouds over the lake.
The day after tomorrow, Team Nemean would enter the elimination stage. The elites had decided that the double elimination stage would not open with team Nemean for reasons Phong did not understand.
But today, he had stopped a diplomatic tragedy by about three sentences and one raccoon tackle.
He sat back down, picked up Emma's discarded strategy notebook, and looked at the half-scrapped plans again.
Alex glanced at him. "Still want that quiet day?"
Phong took the pen.
"I will settle for five quiet minutes."
Rico, still half-armored, raised one paw. "Can they include soup justice?"
"No."
"Oppression."
This time, even Phong laughed.