This Dungeon Grew Mushrooms

After confirming that the demon race would not launch another large-scale offensive for the time being, Fifteen once again passed through the Strawman Abyss and arrived at the Elven Royal Palace.

This time, he was led directly into Galadriel’s private garden.

Although she had already received the battle report of the Sword Saint’s death, when Fifteen, his face heavy with grief, truly appeared before her holding the broken Lunarshade sword, Galadriel still felt the world spin around her.

She subconsciously braced herself against the ancient tree beside her, her silver hair stirring gently in the breeze.

Galadriel reached out with trembling hands and accepted the broken blade.

The sword body of Longyue had already grown dull and lusterless. Only a few remaining moon-patterns stubbornly emitted a faint glow.

She gently stroked the fracture, as if she could still feel the Sword Saint’s final warmth lingering there.

Fifteen was still talking about compensation matters, but her consciousness had already drifted far away.

She recalled a certain dawn, when that man who left in a hurry had placed a stalk of moonbell flowers on the terrace.

She recalled the figures of the two of them sparring with swords in the Moonlight Courtyard under the guidance of the previous Elven King.

Her memories finally froze on that blood-soaked night, when the overly young swordsman stood among the corpses of cultists and asked her, “You’re the idiot from the elven delegation who got captured, right?”

She was an elf. She had always known that one day she would watch Elvien die. She just hadn’t expected that what awaited her in the end wouldn’t be his peaceful passing with white hair and old age, but the news of his death on the battlefield.

Suddenly, she remembered the soul research she had read about in ancient texts when she was young.

That scholar who possessed 【Inspiration】 had once written: “Death may be nothing more than the soul shedding its old clothes, waiting for a new vessel.”

Galadriel wished more than anything that this hypothesis were true. That way, she might still have a chance to see Elvien again someday—even if the Elvien of that time would no longer be the person she remembered…

…

puji—

Atop the crown of a towering ancient tree on a small hill beside Mordu, the Sword Saint puji awkwardly twisted his short legs.

These feet always went “puji puji” when he walked, which made him feel extremely uncomfortable.

But there was nothing he could do about it, so he could only try his best not to dwell on such details.

At this moment, he was alternating between puji’s various sensory abilities, observing the thriving city below from different perspectives.

puji’s viewpoint was different from a human’s, which felt quite novel to the Sword Saint.

At the same time, he marveled at how drastically Mordu had changed.

The last time he came here, this place had still been a frontier town barely surviving under the influence of dungeon mutations.

Who could have imagined that in such a short time, it would develop into such a bustling city?

Of course, this was certainly inseparable from the war.

As the original mushroom production area, and located deep in the rear, it naturally attracted many refugees.

What amazed him was that despite the explosive population growth, the entire city remained well-ordered.

The marketplace was lively yet orderly, newly built residential districts were neatly planned, and even the water supply system operated flawlessly.

Elvien recalled that the manager of this place seemed to be a young man named Fahl.

Later on, he could perhaps—

Elvien paused, remembering that he was no longer a human Sword Saint, but Pujis No. 14 of the mushroom race.

He recalled his earlier conversation with that Mushroom Lord—the world-ending crisis.

This world had never lacked people or organizations proclaiming that the end of the world was near. Most of them were cultists, and such claims were merely tools to frighten believers.

The Fog was indeed constantly compressing everyone’s living space, but its rate of spread had never been particularly fast. Even swallowing the archipelagos, crossing the sea, and crawling onto the mainland would take dozens or even hundreds of years.

So when the Mushroom Lord told him that during the Battle of Tri-Mountain City the Fog had already landed and even released an existence like “Wrath,” Elvien’s first reaction was doubt—followed soon by partial belief.

After all, such a matter was easy to verify, and given the abilities the Mushroom Lord had displayed, there was really no need to fabricate such an easily exposed lie to deceive him.

[Moonstep LV4]

The mycelium feet lightly pushed off the treetop, moonlight blooming beneath his short legs as he drifted down gracefully.

Granting skills… such an incredible ability.

Whether it was skills he had mastered in life, or fields he had never touched before, that mysterious puji could implant them into this mushroom body.

Such an ability was practically like a god bestowing blessings upon a believer.

Moreover, the variety of skills that could be granted was astonishing—there were even rare skills like Moonstep.

Although its level was far from his peak state, compared to other skills, this footwork was the one he found most natural to use.

Elvien’s deal with the Mushroom Lord was simple. The other party would provide rebirth, intelligence, and permission for free movement, allowing him to personally verify the truth of the apocalypse.

In return, he had to accept the identity of No. 14, keep secret the Mushroom Garden and the fact that he was the Sword Saint, and regularly carry out tasks assigned by the Mushroom Lord.

For Elvien, who had already died once and now had no control over life or death, these conditions were exceedingly generous.

This outing served two purposes: to see how humanity was doing now, and to make a trip to the Strawman Abyss to retrieve an item for the Mushroom Lord.

After landing, Elvien used mycelium tentacles to check the twin swords crossed on his back.

While other Pujis favored using their innate tentacle blades, the Sword Saint was clearly still more accustomed to swords.

In fact, he discovered with some surprise that mycelium tentacles, unrestrained by joints, were actually more advantageous when using sword techniques. They could perform moves impossible for human limbs—though this was something he was still exploring.

These two swords had been selected by Lin Jun from storage as skill weapons, both carrying simple elemental damage.

One crackled with violent lightning, while the other was wreathed in scorching flames.

They were certainly inferior to the pair that had broken before, but still far surpassed ordinary weapons.

“C-can… we go?” A timid ripple of thought came through the fungal network.

The light beside the tree trunk distorted slightly as the figure of No. 5 gradually appeared. This puji always habitually concealed itself.

Elvien didn’t quite understand why the Mushroom Lord had arranged such a companion to accompany him. If it was meant as surveillance, a more perceptive member of the mushroom race should have been assigned.

No. 5 looked rather… unreliable.

Elvien nodded his mushroom cap. “Let’s go.”

Just as he was about to head down the mountain toward Mordu, No. 5 hurriedly grabbed him with a tentacle.

“G-go, go this way…” No. 5 pointed at an inconspicuous burrow beside the tree roots, overgrown with mycelium. Fear tinged its thoughts. “If we go on the surface, we’ll run into lots of trouble… the Mushroom Lord said so…”

Elvien silently stared at the pitch-black hole. Not far from the entrance, there were even things that looked suspiciously like monster droppings.

He repeatedly chanted in his heart, “I am a puji now,” and finally resigned himself to plunging headfirst into the burrow.