One thing I have learned during this journey:
Always listen to Ryn.
And perhaps more importantly—
do not argue with Ryn.
I have accumulated considerable evidence supporting this conclusion.
The most recent example happened today.
Or yesterday.
Or several hours ago.
Time has become somewhat unreliable underground.
The crystals never change.
The tunnels never change.
The air always feels the same.
I am beginning to understand why veteran hunters sometimes look slightly haunted.
At the moment we are resting somewhere on the fourth floor.
That is the most precise answer I can provide.
Earlier, while resting near one of the checkpoints, I spent some time speaking with a veteran hunter named Krong.
Krong is large.
Very large.
The sort of person who appears capable of lifting a wagon for exercise.
He also appears surprisingly willing to answer questions.
Which is fortunate.
Because I had many.
One of them concerned Ryn.
Specifically—
why every veteran hunter we encountered obeyed her immediately.
Without hesitation.
Without debate.
Without the traditional human need to argue about everything first.
During the journey through the fourth floor, I noticed it repeatedly.
Turn left.
Everyone turned left.
Throw a torch ahead.
Someone threw a torch ahead.
Wait.
Everyone waited.
No discussion.
No complaints.
No heroic speeches.
Just immediate cooperation.
This seemed unusual.
Krong informed me that becoming a professional porter is not easy.
Especially not a Silver Rank porter.
Then he showed me his badge.
It hung around his neck on a worn chain.
Gold.
Heavy.
Covered in tiny runes.
According to Krong, if he dies, the badge will send a signal to the nearest Adventurer Guild outpost.
That way someone might recover the body.
Or at least know where it was lost.
Then he laughed.
As though discussing his eventual death was somehow amusing.
Veteran hunters possess a fascinating relationship with mortality.
I suspect repeated exposure eventually damages something important.
The ranking system itself turned out to be more complicated than I expected.
Apparently everyone begins as Unranked.
Then Bronze.
Copper.
Iron.
Silver.
Gold.
And finally—
Platinum.
When Krong described Platinum Rank hunters, I briefly wondered whether he was simply inventing stories.
According to him, a Platinum Rank adventurer could wrestle a Leviathan in the ocean.
Without armor.
Without weapons.
Then kill it with a chokehold.
This sounds absurd.
However.
Several months ago I would have described Dragonkin Elders the same way.
My confidence in determining what is impossible has declined significantly.
Advancement depends upon contribution.
Discovering new routes.
Finding artifacts.
Rescuing people.
Documenting anomalies.
Mapping unexplored territory.
Locating deeper floors.
And many other things.
The higher the rank, the more doors open.
Access.
Resources.
Services.
Expeditions.
Information.
Trust.
Entire careers appear built upon these small metal badges.
Then Krong explained something that surprised me.
Porters are different.
Most people never choose that path willingly.
According to him, porter is often the profession of those who cannot become hunters.
The weak.
The desperate.
The rejected.
The unlucky.
The people who still want to enter Treasure Vaults despite possessing every reason not to.
Many die early.
Most never reach Copper.
Some never leave the first few floors.
And if disaster strikes—
porters are often the first sacrificed.
The statement was delivered casually.
Matter-of-fact.
Like discussing weather.
I did not particularly enjoy hearing it.
Because I immediately imagined Ryn standing among those statistics.
And nothing about that image felt correct.
Krong seemed to agree.
He told me professional porters are extremely rare.
Especially successful ones.
A good porter can save an expedition before combat even begins.
A great porter can prevent combat entirely.
Routes.
Supplies.
Timing.
Navigation.
Risk assessment.
Information.
A hundred invisible decisions made correctly.
Again and again.
Until everyone forgets they were ever in danger.
Which suddenly explained quite a lot.
It explained why veteran hunters listened when Ryn spoke.
It explained why she could walk through dangerous floors while avoiding fights entirely.
It explained why she kept buying things that seemed boring.
And why those boring things kept becoming useful.
Krong also mentioned a famous expedition group somewhere on the continent.
One of the core members was supposedly both a porter and an artifact master.
A legend among aspiring porters.
Proof that there might be another path.
I thought about that for a while.
Hope is a strange thing.
It convinces people to walk into places that regularly kill professionals.
And somehow—
sometimes it works.
Soon we will sleep.
Or perhaps wake up.
I genuinely cannot tell anymore.
After that we continue toward the fifth floor.
The destination Ryn has been planning for since we arrived in Vaultreach.
A proper underground market.
The place she actually wanted to reach.
I suspect she is more excited than she admits.
Though only slightly.
Merchant excitement appears different from normal excitement.
It involves more spreadsheets.
One final observation before I finish.
I believe Ryn may have made a mistake.
A rare event.
Possibly historic.
Over the last several floors she sold nearly everything from the cart.
Bandages.
Rope.
Torches.
Oil.
Arrows.
Needles.
Cloth.
Water.
Almost all of it.
Yet one item remains.
The folding shovel.
A very expensive folding shovel.
The most expensive ordinary tool she purchased.
No one has bought it.
Not a single person.
I suppose nobody is interested.
Which proves that even Ryn cannot predict everything.
She is only human after all.
Probably.
I am certain this observation will age well.
Nothing terrible has ever happened immediately after I confidently reached a conclusion.
Nothing at all.
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