The next afternoon, I logged in and found Éliette as the only person online on my friends list. I sent her a message asking how preparations were going, and her reply arrived almost immediately.

Three hours. Maybe a little less if the boar cooperates.

I had no idea what an uncooperative dead boar looked like, but three hours gave me plenty of time to handle a few errands.

My first stop was the lower district. I returned to the bow shop I had seen last time, where a painted sign above the entrance showed an arrow piercing an apple.

Inside, bows and crossbows covered both walls. Simple hunting bows hung near the entrance, followed by longbows, recurves, and several polished models carrying prices far beyond what I wanted to spend. The opposite wall held wooden crossbows, heavier steel-reinforced versions, and compact hand models, while barrels beside the counter contained ordinary arrows, broadheads, blunt practice tips, and bundles of short crossbow arrows.

Several players were already browsing. One tested the draw of a recurve while another compared two large crossbows with the shopkeeper.

I checked the cheaper options first. A regular bow required both hands and more practice than I wanted to invest. Full-sized crossbows offered more power, but they were heavy and slow to reload. I did not need to become an archer. I only needed something capable of reaching an enemy outside stabbing distance.

That was when I found a basic wrist crossbow mounted on a reinforced leather bracer.

Two short metal limbs extended along either side of the forearm, with a narrow firing rail on top and three straps securing the weapon below the elbow. A built-in loading lever rested flat along the side. To reload, I only had to lift it upright, then push it back down to draw the string into its locked position.

The trigger was connected by a thin wire to a loop around the middle finger. Closing my palm pulled the wire and fired the weapon without requiring a separate trigger.

It could only hold one short arrow at a time, and its range and damage were far below those of a full-sized crossbow. Still, the rapid-loading mechanism made it useful as a backup without replacing my shield or dagger.

I took it to the counter along with two bundles of short arrows. The shopkeeper adjusted the straps, demonstrated the loading mechanism, and showed me how to fold the limbs against the bracer when the weapon was not in use. I paid, equipped it on my right forearm, and left with my first ranged weapon.

Before trusting it in an actual fight, I headed to the tutorial grounds.

The first slime I targeted sat around ten meters away. I raised my arm, aligned the short rail with its body, and closed my hand. The string snapped forward, and the arrow struck near the center of the slime.

At five meters, the wrist crossbow was accurate enough to hit whatever I aimed at. Around ten meters, the arrows began dropping noticeably and drifting away from the center. At fifteen meters, I would have had better odds throwing my dagger.

Some of that was probably my lack of experience. More practice might extend its effective range, but for now, it was strictly a close-range weapon. Still, it was better than having no ranged option at all.

I had just finished collecting the arrows I could recover when a message appeared from Ambrosia. She had replied to my message from last night with an emote showing a tiny chibi version of herself with star-shaped eyes. Project Babel automatically created animated emotes based on each player’s avatar, which meant Ambrosia apparently had access to a miniature version of herself that could bounce excitedly inside my messages.

I asked what she was doing.

Gardening stuff, she replied.

I told her I wanted to discuss the mushroom we had found. A moment later, she sent me a location outside the northern gate.

Greenhouse A-4.

I had passed through the northern gate several times before, but I had never paid much attention to the farmland beyond it.

A short walk from the city walls, rows of glass greenhouses stretched across a broad field divided by narrow gravel paths. Each stood on a low wooden foundation, with dark metal frames supporting clear walls and sloped roofs. Small plaques beside the entrances marked them with letters and numbers.

The city rented the greenhouses to players who wanted to grow their own crops. Some were packed with vegetables and fruits, while others had been turned into flower gardens. A few looked almost empty apart from neat rows of freshly planted soil, probably belonging to players who had only recently started.

The area was quieter than the city without being silent. Bees moved lazily between patches of flowers growing outside the structures. Water dripped from irrigation pipes, and the occasional click of a roof panel opening carried across the field. Somewhere nearby, a player pushed a wooden cart along the gravel, its wheels rattling between the rows.

Warm soil, damp leaves, and cut grass filled the air. Sweeter scents drifted through the open vents whenever the breeze changed. I followed the signs until I reached the fourth greenhouse in row A.

Ambrosia was already inside.

One of the side panels had been opened to release the heat, giving me a clear view through the glass. Long wooden shelves ran along both sides of the greenhouse, crowded with clay pots, shallow planting trays, and labeled rows of herbs. Taller plants climbed strings suspended from the roof, while flowers filled the back wall in patches of red, yellow, purple, and white.

Ambrosia stood between the shelves with her sleeves rolled above her elbows. She held a small watering can in one hand while using the other to lift the leaves of a young plant and inspect the soil beneath it.

The afternoon sun hung low behind the greenhouse, and golden light passed through the glass roof, spreading across everything inside. Water droplets clinging to the leaves became tiny points of light. Dust, pollen, and moisture drifted through the warm air around Ambrosia, glowing whenever they crossed the sunbeams.

She moved from one pot to the next, loosening the soil around one stem, watering another, then leaning closer to inspect a row of green sprouts. With the flowers surrounding her and the sunlight passing through the glass, the greenhouse looked less like something rented from the city and more like a small world she had built for herself.

I stood outside for another moment before opening the door. The hinges gave a soft creak, and Ambrosia looked up from her plants.

“You found it.”

“I almost didn’t want to interrupt.”

“You’re not interrupting. I’m just checking on my babies.”

“The same babies you plan to sell for millions?”

She laughed. “Busted.”

Ambrosia placed the watering can on the nearest shelf and brushed a little soil from her fingers. “By the way, did you find anything else about the hidden portal?”

“Through a children’s book in the library.”

“A children’s book?”

“It described a real Mushroom Kingdom inside Viridian Basin. Apparently, we need to communicate with the little mushroom people before we can enter.”

“Did the book explain how?”

“Nope. It was a long story that somehow never explained how to communicate with mushrooms.”

Ambrosia leaned back against the shelf. “So we still don’t know how to acquire Myconese.”

“I did ask Éliette about preparing Sulfurblast. She thinks it might be possible if we neutralize the acid first. Maybe we start there.”

“That sounds possible.” Ambrosia glanced toward a row of labeled plants. “I’ll need to search the library and do more research before we experiment with it.”

“So you’re going to garden all day?”

“Pretty much. I need to make some of my money back.” She gestured toward the new outfit she had bought from Zamira.

“And read more books?” I asked.

“And read more books,” Ambrosia said with a smile.

“I still need to recruit more players for the raid.”

“Any leads?”

“Not enough. Do you know anyone interested?”

“Sorry, Cloud. Most of my friends aren’t interested in combat.”

“Do they also stare at plants all day?”

“That’s right,” she said proudly.

“You’re free tomorrow, though, right? We still need to reach the area Zamira marked and find fire-resistant materials.”

“I should be. Having today off gives me time to catch up on everything here.”

“Awesome. I need to stop by Kevin’s shop next.” I reached for the greenhouse door. “Don’t forget the party later. We’re celebrating our first expedition.”

“But I have to garden.”

“Garden faster.”

“What? How?”

I left before she could demand an actual explanation.

Kevin’s workshop was much louder than the greenhouse.

When I entered, one of the Forest Hermit shells occupied most of the central worktable. Kevin had cleared away his normal tools and surrounded the stone shell with hammers, chisels, metal brackets, and strips of leather. Several smaller fragments sat beside it, each marked with chalk.

“Yooo, what’s going on?” I called.

Kevin looked up from the shell. “What up, Cloud? Let me guess, you need new gear.”

“I’m here to invite you to a party.” I paused. “Personally. Also, yes, the gear thing.”

“Forget the gear. What kind of party? Girls?”

“Technically, yes, but you’ve already met all of them.”

“What’s the party for?”

“Did you forget already? We’re celebrating our first successful expedition.”

“Ohhh.” Kevin set down the tool in his hand.

“How are the new materials looking?” I asked. “Anything useful?”

“Remember how long it took us to kill those crabs?”

“Yeah. They were hard as literal rocks.”

“Exactly. Now imagine using those shells for armor or shields.”

“Ohhh. That would be awesome.”

“They’re heavy, though. Anyone wearing too much of this is going to lose mobility.”

“Less awesome. What about the snail shells?”

Kevin picked up a curved piece of red shell from beside the Forest Hermit fragments. “The snail shell is great for heat resistance. It’s built to keep outside heat from reaching the snail while trapping its body heat inside. The problem is that it’s brittle. Repeated attacks from a boss could crack it, so I’d use the shell as an insulating base and cover it with something tougher to absorb the impact.”

“Preferably something that doesn’t melt when the cockatrice breathes fire.”

“That would help.”

“Why don’t we combine the Forest Hermit shell with the snail shell?”

“I thought about it. In theory, it could work.” Kevin tapped the stone shell on the table. “In practice, you would be carrying a rock as a shield.”

“A shield for Ambrosia, then.”

“Only if she can lift it.”

“I should tell her to hit the gym.”

“She’ll hit you with the stick.”

“Probably. Could you still try making a few?”

“I can make prototypes, but we’ll need more materials if you want four of them.”

“That brings me to the next question. Are you free tomorrow? We still haven’t reached the southern part of the forest.”

“Should be. I’m glad we have today off, though. I need time to catch up on crafting and finish some orders.”

“Same reason Ambrosia gave me. For today, we’re just getting together, eating, and gaining some Gourmand XP.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Anja was still offline when I left Kevin’s workshop. I had time before Éliette finished preparing the food, and farming roaches did not sound particularly appealing after spending most of the previous day fighting.

Then I remembered Ambrosia’s drying compound.

We still needed sand and starch powder. I could deal with the starch later, but I had never actually visited the city’s beach. Since sand was something I could collect without risking death by sewer roach, it was time to visit the shoreline.

I took the stairs leading down toward the beach and stopped halfway to take in the view.

A wide stretch of white sand opened below me, bright enough beneath the afternoon sun that it almost looked unreal. The sand was pale and fine, smoothed by the wind and covered in overlapping footprints. Beyond it, the sea shifted through layers of color, from clear shallows to bright turquoise and then deeper blue farther out.

Waves rolled steadily toward shore, folding over themselves in white foam before washing across the sand with a soft rushing hiss.

The whole place sounded alive. Water broke in a constant rhythm. Laughter drifted across the beach, accompanied by the occasional sharper shout from players trying to surf farther down the coast. Closer to shore, people in swim trunks, one-piece swimsuits, and colorful bikinis were scattered across the sand. Some stretched out on beach chairs beneath white umbrellas. Others walked along the waterline or waded through the shallows. A few treated the beach like a second playground, building things from sand or throwing it at one another.

To one side, a beach club occupied a large section of the shoreline. It blended open seating, shallow pools, and shaded lounge areas beneath swaying palms. Players in swimsuits and loose beach cover-ups sat around low tables eating, drinking, and talking while servers moved between them with trays.

Even from the stairs, I could smell grilled seafood, hot oil, citrus, and something sweet beneath it all, mixed with the salt of the ocean and the warm scent of sun-heated wood. For a moment, it felt as though I had been transported back into the real world and dropped onto a resort beach somewhere in Southeast Asia.

I descended the rest of the stairs and walked beyond the busiest section of shore. Near the edge of the beach, I crouched and collected several bags of clean, dry sand for Ambrosia’s compound.

Once that was finished, I looked back toward the beach club. This would be a much better place for the party than standing around Éliette’s stall, so I approached the greeter near the entrance.

“How much would it cost to reserve a table?”

“One thousand credits,” she answered pleasantly.

“Does that include food?”

“No.”

Of course it didn’t.

“If you only wish to enjoy the beach, an umbrella and lounge chair can be rented for only five hundred credits.”

Only five hundred.

I looked at the empty chairs, then at the open stretch of beach beside them. “I’m good.”

A nearby tourist shop sold large beach blankets for considerably less. I bought one, found an open space close enough to hear the waves without being sprayed by them, and spread it across the sand.

Then I sent the others a message telling them to meet me at the beach, along with a map pin. I also messaged Éliette and asked whether she could bring the food here instead of serving it at her stall.

She agreed. Ours was her last order of the day, so she could close the stall after finishing it.

Now that I was sitting beside the ocean, leaving to farm monsters felt like far too much effort. I took out my arthropod book and read while I waited.

Anja logged in not long afterward, saw the message, and confirmed that she would meet us there.

Kevin arrived first wearing his usual blacksmith clothes. His shirt and leather apron still carried traces of soot and dust from the workshop. He stopped beside the blanket and looked around at the people in swimsuits.

“Dude, don’t you think we’re underdressed?” he asked, gesturing between his work clothes and my equipment.

“You said you liked girls,” I replied. “There are girls in bikinis everywhere. Why are you complaining?”

Kevin looked around again. “Shit, you’re right. Good pick.”

“You’re welcome to buy one of those five-hundred-credit swimsuits from the tourist shop.”

“Sometimes this game is too realistic. It hurts.”

“Oh, thank God. I’m not the only one who didn’t wear a swimsuit.”

Ambrosia approached from the boardwalk wearing her usual clothes, which made her look like a librarian who had accidentally wandered onto a resort beach.

“I swear people were staring at me,” she said.

“Who cares? Anja and Éliette should be here soon, and then we’ll have food.”

“Come sit,” Kevin said, patting the blanket beside him.

Ambrosia sat, and the three of us talked while we waited.

Anja and Éliette arrived at almost the same time. Anja wore a white tanktop with blue denim shorts, making her the only person in our group who looked properly dressed for the beach. Éliette still wore her chef’s outfit, complete with her crooked oversized hat and black apron.

“Hey, guys!” Anja called.

“Sorry I’m a little late,” Éliette said.

She knelt beside the blanket and began summoning dishes from her inventory.

The first was a large wooden platter covered in slices of roasted boar. The meat had been cut thick, with browned edges and a thin layer of crisp skin along the outside. A dark glaze coated several pieces, shining beneath the afternoon light, while sprigs of herbs and roasted citrus had been arranged around the platter.

Éliette followed it with a tray of ribs brushed in the same glaze, a bowl of roasted potatoes and root vegetables, warm bread, a crisp salad mixed with herbs and pickled vegetables, and several small dishes of sauce. A pitcher of iced fruit tea appeared last, surrounded by cups filled with slices of lemon and berries.

She adjusted each plate until the entire meal formed a neat display in the center of the blanket.

Kevin and I reached for the boar at the same time, and Éliette lightly slapped both our hands away.

“Wait until everyone is ready.”

Anja and Ambrosia laughed.

“We are ready,” Kevin said, rubbing the back of his hand.

Éliette sat back and admired the arrangement. “All right. The total comes to fourteen hundred credits.”

She smiled at me.

I opened my portable UI and prepared the payment, but Kevin caught my wrist.

“Let me.”

“We could split it,” Anja suggested.

“Yeah,” Ambrosia agreed. “We’re all eating.”

I tried not to look too relieved. “Awesome.”

The four of us divided the bill evenly and sent Éliette three hundred and fifty credits each. After the final payment went through, Kevin looked at her.

“Why don’t you join us, Eli?”

“Yeah, you should,” Ambrosia said.

“Are you doing anything after this?” I asked.

Éliette shook her head. “I was only going to log off.”

“Then you have no reason to leave,” Anja said.

Éliette glanced between the four of us. “You’re sure?”

“You cooked an entire boar for us,” I said. “You’re part of the party now.”

After a little more encouragement, she finally sat with us in the circle.

We passed the food around and spent the rest of the afternoon getting to know one another. For once, the conversation barely touched on dungeons, monsters, or the raid. Kevin complained about customers ordering equipment and then changing their minds. Ambrosia talked about her greenhouse. Anja described the trouble she had to deal with at work, and Éliette told us about some of her stranger attempts at creating new recipes.

People occasionally glanced at the five of us sitting fully dressed on a beach surrounded by swimsuits, but we laughed it off.

The sunlight gradually lowered over the water while we ate, talked, and listened to the waves breaking beside us.

Tomorrow, we would return to Viridian Basin and finish the expedition we had abandoned for a talking mushroom.

That afternoon, we were content to celebrate making it back alive from our first expedition together.