This Dungeon Grew Mushrooms

Lin Jun sent eight thousand of his own pujis, operating under the banner of the pink pujis, to join Inanna’s support battalion.

This was possible only because the northern territory’s development had finally stabilized. Even with the strange disaster of the sudden cold wave, things still ran smoothly under his subordinates’ management. There was little need for Lin Jun to personally command that portion of his puji forces.

That left him with enough reserves to spare eight thousand pujis for Inanna’s use.

And these weren’t just cannon fodder. Among them—beyond the clearly distinct heavy-armored pujis and the plump, sluggish ones—many of the “ordinary-looking” pujis were actually elites or scouts. There were even two additional knight pujis, bringing Inanna’s total up to three.

Moreover, whenever this puji army suffered losses, Lin Jun quietly replenished them behind the scenes.

Eric, after cycling through shock, suspicion, concern, and contemplation, ultimately decided to support Inanna.

After all, if the kingdom truly fell, the empire’s dominance would be inevitable—there would be no safe place left to hide.

And Eric had some plans of his own.

If Inanna went to the front lines and reunited with the duke, perhaps the duke would value his own life a little more.

If the worst came to pass and everything was lost, then at least the duke might escape with Inanna—an outcome grim, but acceptable compared to the alternatives.

As for those increasingly suspicious pujis, Eric had no choice but to turn a blind eye for now. Still, he resolved to prepare every possible safeguard for the young lady, just in case.

Of course, sending her to the front didn’t mean letting her charge off recklessly. Even eight thousand pujis sounded impressive, but on the battlefield it was far from enough.

Fortunately, the newly recruited puji masters were also being sent to the front. Inanna would serve as their nominal commander.

Given her limited leadership skills, Eric arranged for an experienced adjutant to accompany her—someone who could handle strategy and logistics.

He emptied out the vault’s armory, loading her with equipment until it seemed he wished she had ten fingers on each hand just to wear all the enchanted rings.

He also sought out several skilled individuals to protect her—fighters or mages whose abilities might not be overwhelming, but who were exceptional at defense and bodyguarding.

He even thought of Aiden, the seasoned illusionist he’d met before. After several encounters, Eric had come to trust his capabilities.

However, after contacting Fahl, he learned that Aiden had already left for the front alone and hadn’t returned. With no other choice, Eric found replacements.

These preparations took several days. Fortunately, the demons made no sudden moves in that time.

The battle for Highkeep Fortress had been costly even for them. The three demon dukes suffered severe losses—Duchess Elinor in particular was left half-dead. The lingering weakness from the Sunstone had sunk deep into her body, and even with precious alchemical tonics, recovery would take time.

At the same time, to prevent humans from quickly reclaiming the fortress, repairs and fortifications were underway.

And since Highkeep had already fallen, the demon prince’s western forces were in no rush to attack Three-Mount City. They planned to unite their armies first, then crush the remaining humans with overwhelming force while minimizing casualties.

Thus, the front lines—against all expectation—entered a brief, uneasy calm before the final battle.

Meanwhile, in the empire’s far north, beyond the reach of anyone’s attention, events of another kind were quietly unfolding.

…

In the northern reaches of the empire, near the border, stood a certain city.

Its tall stone walls towered proudly, originally built centuries ago to defend against invasions from the northern tribes.

But now, few demon soldiers patrolled the ramparts. The magical defense arrays that once shimmered along the walls were mostly dim and broken from age.

After all, in the three hundred years since the empire’s founding, not once—since those first chaotic decades—had any northern tribe dared to attack.

“Hah…”

Exhaling a puff of white breath, the fox-man Kiro rubbed his half-frozen hands together.

He walked openly through the streets, drawing curious stares from the surrounding demons—understandable, since everyone knew that foxfolk were citizens of the United Kingdoms.

Yet none of the onlookers, whether street-goers, patrolling guards, or the shadowy figures watching from alleys, made a move to bother him.

The reason was simple: on Kiro’s right hand gleamed a green signet ring. It marked him as an acquaintance—or at least a protected guest—of someone of high noble rank, a count or above.

So long as he wore that mark, harming him without solid evidence of wrongdoing would be considered an insult to that noble’s honor—a dangerous act.

Kiro ignored the stares, rubbing his hands again against the cold, then ducked into a nearby tavern.

Though the sun had yet to set, the place was already crowded with demons.

The sudden cold snap had driven those with means to spend their days indoors, choosing warmth and drink over freezing wind.

Kiro’s arrival drew brief attention, but when the patrons noticed his ring, they all quickly looked away, pretending disinterest.

“One hot fruit juice, please,” he said in flawless demonic speech, ignoring the restrained sneers of several demons nearby as he calmly took one of the few remaining seats.

Warmth spread through him as he drank, the heat of the juice thawing his chilled stomach.

He’d never had much resistance to the cold. Truth be told, he hated working in the north—but there was no helping it. The person he needed to find was here.

“Hello, Tanaka,” he greeted the plain-looking half-demon sitting across from him.

The half-demon froze for the briefest instant before continuing to sip his drink, feigning calm.

Kiro went on as if talking to himself. “Two-colored Stairway, Seventh Arm, Emberstone Road, Number Thirteen, Third Basement Level.”

Tanaka stiffened. Those words described the exact location of his true body.

Leaning forward, he glared at the fox-man and hissed, “Who are you?”

“You can see it for yourself, can’t you?” Kiro smiled faintly. “Hero.”

Tanaka’s pupils shrank sharply. He glanced around in alarm, but no one else seemed to notice them.

Only then did he realize there was some kind of barrier around their table—one that sealed their voices within.

He quickly checked Kiro’s visible status.

[Name: Kiro]

[Race: Foxfolk]

[Level: 55]

[Skills: Wind Magic Lv.8, Fire Magic Lv.7, Mental Magic Lv.7, Mana Storage Lv.6, Cold Resistance Lv.4, Physical Resistance Lv.3…]

The stats were unremarkable—if anything, weak for that level. But then came the final line:

[Achievement: Virtue of Temperance (Simulated Foresight)]

Tanaka reached for a spell, but before he could move, Kiro gently caught his hand. “I mean no harm.”

Tanaka grimaced. “Temperance… something that absurd? Is this world’s balance system broken? Fine—what do you want from me?”

“To save the world.”

Tanaka rolled his eyes. “Of course… let me guess, you want to overthrow the empire? Do I look like—”

“Not the empire,” Kiro interrupted, his eyes steady and grave. “To save the world. If the entire world is destined to be destroyed in a few years, wouldn’t that trouble even you?”

“A few years… world destroyed? Impossible. Even the Mist couldn’t—” Tanaka trailed off as his gaze flicked back to Kiro’s achievement, the [Temperance] that allowed foresight.

He raked a hand through his hair and growled, “Listen, I’m not even gold-ranked. I’m a complete weakling! What do you expect me to do?”

“This is something only you would choose to do,” Kiro said quietly, leaning closer, “and something only you can do—

to break the seal of the Demon King.”

Tanaka blinked. Then his voice jumped an octave. “Say that again—what are we supposed to do!?”