This Dungeon Grew Mushrooms

Human kingdoms are urgently conscripting new soldiers, building defensive fortifications, and painstakingly licking the wounds left behind by the war.

Things on the demon race’s side aren’t much better either—chaos everywhere.

On the eastern front, after learning that the battle of Tri-Mountain City had concluded, the dwarven army had already withdrawn in an orderly fashion back into the mountain ranges, continuing their struggle against the elemental spirits inside the dungeons.

What they left behind, however, was utter devastation.

This time, the Dwarf King had truly intended to “besiege Wei to save Zhao” [a classic military stratagem: attacking an enemy’s rear to relieve pressure elsewhere] to give humanity a hand. Not only did he deploy all kinds of siege engines, he even committed his treasured magical war constructs to the battlefield.

Duke Levi’s territory suffered heavy damage and now had no choice but to request material support from the imperial capital to repair the eastern border defenses.

Abnormal cold in the north left the territories of the Stuart family and the demon-blooded clans locked in frigid conditions throughout the entire growing season, making a drastic reduction in crop yields a foregone conclusion.

Food and heating supplies were both in short supply, and on top of that, manpower still had to be organized to venture deep into the present-day northern frontier for investigation—three teams had already gone missing without sending back any news.

Not to mention that two dukes had fallen in this great war, leaving their territories in chaos as various factions began making covert moves.

The pigmen refused to accept the command of other generals, while several blood heirs under the blood clan duke were locked in endless disputes over territorial division.

Add to that the postwar blame allocation and the problem of a certain “slime.”

All in all, Emperor Mortis decided to convene a long-overdue imperial council.

…

Sigmund traveled light, bringing only a handful of Blood Knights with him as he finally arrived at the edge of the surging blood curtain.

As the number one culprit of this war, he had no choice but to personally head to Duskfall Fortress, rather than attend remotely via projection crystals like Erinor and the others.

Had the empire ultimately emerged victorious, his merit in seizing Highfort Fortress would have been enough for him to weather this storm safely.

But the sudden reversal of the battle situation turned everything into a bubble.

Originally, there was still that idiot Xenophon to share the blame, but now that pig-headed bastard had died on the battlefield, all the pressure had concentrated squarely on Sigmund’s shoulders.

Worse still, he had only recently requested the Book of Miracles from the emperor. That forbidden tome was now lying in the secret chamber of his tower, and having taken his reward in advance only made his predicament even more dire.

Standing at the edge of the blood curtain, Sigmund gazed into the distance at the ferocious silhouette of Duskfall Fortress and downed several bottles of potions in succession.

Lin Jun didn’t recognize the composition of these potions, but he could clearly see successive buff states appearing on Little Xi’s status panel:

【Iron Will】, 【Mental Barrier】, 【Psychic Protection】…

When he stepped into the grand hall of Duskfall Fortress, the emperor had yet to appear, but the projection crystals representing the various factions were already lit.

Erinor was chatting merrily with several blood clan dukes, congratulating a prince on his newly acquired daughter.

The moment Sigmund entered the hall under the guidance of attendants, the noise gradually died down. All eyes focused on him, and faint, schadenfreude-tinged chuckles even rose from the surroundings.

Amid this ill-intentioned atmosphere, Sigmund’s gaze locked onto the figure beneath the throne—the succubus Mofrei.

She leaned askew in the shadows, wisps of pink mist curling around her fingertips.

Mofrei was not one of the Twelve Pillars, but an interrogator directly under the emperor, controlling the empire’s most secret intelligence and penal apparatus.

In this great war, she too had suffered heavy losses. Nearly half of her carefully cultivated agents had perished, and even one of her most valued disciples, Faya, had died during the infiltration mission into Tri-Mountain City.

The moment she appeared in the hall, everyone understood that this interrogation was destined not to end lightly.

Mofrei leaned against the steps of the throne, her violet eyes—seductive yet tinged with cruelty—settling on Sigmund. “You arrived so late, I almost thought you’d defected, Lord Sigmund.”

“Defected?” Sigmund replied darkly, not expecting such a heavy accusation right out of the gate. “As a blood clan duke, how could I defect? And where would I even defect to?”

“Why, to your old friend’s side, of course.” Mofrei let out a soft laugh. “You wouldn’t think that your past with Arama could escape my notice, would you?”

“Then you should know even better that I severed ties with that bastard long ago—irreconcilably so!”

“Once, I thought the same…” The succubus unfurled a scroll of parchment. “Until I discovered the strange ambush at Highfort Fortress. You clearly had the chance to kill Arama, yet at the critical moment you withdrew and spared his life.”

“That ambush was planned by me. If I wanted to let him go, why would I design such an ambush in the first place?” Sigmund argued.

Mofrei seemed not to hear him and continued, “At the Battle of Dragonroar Valley, according to testimony from surviving soldiers, you clearly had an opportunity to finish Arama off directly. Instead, you deliberately stalled with conversation, allowing the situation to reverse.”

“That was… I was careless. I didn’t expect those puji to have such abilities.”

She suddenly closed in, a finger pressing against Sigmund’s chest. “Was it really carelessness? Or is it that deep down, you still harbor that old affection—perhaps even placing it above your loyalty to the empire, to His Majesty?”

“Absurd!” Sigmund glared at Mofrei. “My loyalty to the empire has never wavered!”

“Lies come in countless forms…” In the instant the succubus met Sigmund’s gaze, her pupils suddenly bloomed with vortex-like violet light. “And I only believe in the answers I uncover myself!”

“You—!” Sigmund had long been prepared, yet at such close range he was still forced steadily on the defensive.

His mental defenses were like spiderwebs caught in a storm, shattering layer by layer.

He couldn’t allow himself to be charmed like this. If that happened, too many of his secrets would be exposed.

If nothing else, the existence of that roommate in his head absolutely could not be revealed.

Yet he also couldn’t directly attack Mofrei—doing so would be tantamount to admitting he had a problem. Mofrei had clearly calculated this, which was why she chose this moment to strike.

As his consciousness grew increasingly hazy, blood coiled from Sigmund’s sleeve into his palm. Just as he was about to lose control—

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

The pressure on Sigmund’s mind instantly eased.

Coming back to his senses, he saw Mofrei before him rolling her eyes back as if struck by a heavy blow. Her knees buckled and she collapsed to the ground, her forehead smashing hard against the stone steps with a dull thud. She lay there like a slaughtered pig, utterly silent.

The snickering laughter in the hall cut off abruptly. No one had expected Sigmund’s mental power to be so formidable.

After all, though Mofrei, also a lord-level existence, was not skilled in direct combat, she was a specialist in mental domains. And yet she had been backlashed by Sigmund’s mental strength into such a state?!

In the deathly silence, only the succubus’s limp body twitched faintly.

When Mofrei’s collapsed form was dragged out of the hall by two blood guards, a ring of blood-red ripples suddenly spread behind the throne. Emperor Mortis stepped out of the void and took his seat upon the throne.

He didn’t even spare a glance for the interrogator being hauled away, as if the earlier upheaval had never existed at all. Just like that, he began discussing various matters with the assembled demons—everything except Sigmund’s case.

Sigmund, meanwhile, maintained an expressionless facade, but inwardly let out a fierce sigh of relief. He knew he had temporarily passed this trial.

He had never imagined there would come a day when hearing that irritating voice would fill him with gratitude.

So much so that, as his roommate continued grumbling in his head about some purple-stained portion of itself, he didn’t interrupt with his usual impatience.