The harbor gate cracked the water five years ago, and the port district adjusted the way it adjusts to everything: paperwork, payday, noodles. Hunters climb from E-rank porter toward the top of a rank-board that never explains itself, the System prints its gentle, patient brackets over the eyes of the chosen — and in the old dry dock, a round hall holds thirteen doors. Twelve sealed. One already open.

Glory here isn't the throne. It's knowing.

13 game starts. 94 hunters, shopkeepers, and sovereign NPCs. A district that refuses to be impressed.