R.A.B.B. Entry — “The Profit Loop Paradox”
Kajira leans back on a crate stacked with loot, cigar burning low. The rats scurry around her boots, hauling sacks that clink like applause.
“They chase damage,” she says, smoke curling up like a victory flag. “I chase dividends.”
Each swing of her hammer sends not just mobs, but market values into orbit. While others argue spreadsheets of DPS, Kajira’s ledger already balanced itself— XP drips in as a side effect, not a goal.
The rats know the rhythm: Farm till the backpack groans, sell it all to the smallest one, and walk away heavier in zeny and lighter in care. No sweat, no sermons—just profit breathing in sync with the grind.
“Funny, isn’t it?” she chuckles. “They fight for fame. I farm for freedom.”
And with that, she flicks ash off the cigar, watches it land on a gold coin, and lets the rats drag both into the vault.
And she’s swimming in her vault, like Scrooge McDuck.
Echo Addendum — The Dim Light Doctrine
The lights dim, the vault hums low. Only the ember of Kajira’s cigar cuts through the dark—steady, defiant.
“Mock the empire if you must,” she says, voice smooth as smoke. “But don’t forget—mockery doesn’t pay rent.”
The glow fades. Only the sound of coins remains—soft, endless, and earned.
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