This Dungeon Grew Mushrooms

After entering the town, everyone in the delegation immediately sensed that something was off and became alert.

Number Ten vanished partway through their advance—no footsteps, no trace at all. Number Four also wriggled out of Inanna’s arms and climbed onto her head, positioning itself there so it could respond to an ambush from any direction.

Only the Sword Saint puji continued to stroll at the very front of the group, going “puji puji” as it walked, looking completely carefree, as if it lacked even the slightest bit of vigilance.

The scattered adventurers in the town, upon glimpsing this highly visible, well-armored delegation, almost instinctively shrank back into the shadows.

Taking in the desolate, eerily quiet surroundings, Inanna asked softly, “Was this place always like this?”

The man beside her was the delegation’s administrator, Ronan.

“Something must have happened. I’ll send people to gather information right away, Lady Inanna.”

However, before anyone could be dispatched, a sudden surge of magic power erupted from the tavern beside them!

Several heavily armored guards on the flank reacted instantly. Almost the moment the fluctuation appeared, they stomped forward in unison. With a thunderous boom, massive shields slammed into the ground, defensive combat techniques activating as a wall of steel rose up on the left side of the delegation.

The expected attack never came.

“I told you not to cheat, you bastard!” Along with a coarse roar of rage, a figure wrapped in violent air currents burst through the tavern’s half-closed wooden door and smashed straight into the newly raised shield wall!

It was a brawny adventurer warrior, his armor splashed with spilled alcohol.

He was seeing stars as he staggered back to his feet, shaking his head and cursing, “Fuck! Which son of a bitch stuck something behind me—nearly cracked my skull—”

Before he could finish, he looked up.

What met his eyes were the icy stares of the heavily armored guards, and the cold gleam of halberd blades extending through the gaps between shields, every ounce of killing intent locked squarely onto him.

The curse died in his throat. His bluster was like a bonfire doused with cold water, snuffed out in an instant.

He froze in place, even his breathing turning shallow.

Immediately after, a middle-aged man in a rumpled mage’s robe rushed out of the tavern, still holding a staff glowing with gathered magic. “Today I’m going to break that cheating hand of yours—”

His words cut off just as abruptly.

Seeing the fully armed delegation outside, especially the weapons now aimed his way, the mage’s face crumpled. He instinctively tried to retreat back through the door.

“Sir, please stay where you are,” Ronan said calmly. Two guards had already sealed off the tavern entrance without a sound.

The mage was “invited” to the center of the street, standing alongside the warrior.

Under the gaze of the delegation’s armed escort, the two looked painfully small and awkward. Even when Number Four scurried over and poked their faces again and again with its tentacles, they didn’t dare show the slightest displeasure.

Ronan rode forward, his eyes sweeping over them. He didn’t pursue the matter of them crashing into the delegation, instead getting straight to the point.

“What happened in this town? Why are there so few people?”

The warrior swallowed hard and spoke first, his voice shaky. “S-sir, I really don’t know! When I got here three days ago, the town was already pretty much like this! People… people were just gone, like the wind blew them away. But back then the shops were still mostly stocked, not like they’d been abandoned for long.”

The mage was a bit more composed and quickly added, “I arrived earlier than most and searched a few houses. Some food had spoiled, but not badly. The disappearances couldn’t have been more than a week ago. And aside from the apothecary, there aren’t signs of fighting elsewhere.”

“The apothecary?”

They found it soon enough. It had clearly been looted by adventurers and was in complete disarray.

Under the mage’s guidance, they did indeed find traces of combat, though not many—either the fight had ended quickly, or the difference in strength between the two sides had been overwhelming.

As the questioning continued, the two men relayed the various rumors that had spread through the town over the past couple of days.

Some said a demon force had crossed the Rotting Lake and launched a surprise attack. Others claimed a curse from the Scarecrow Abyss had spilled over, turning everyone into straw men dragged into the depths. There were also stories of cult sacrifices, elven or dwarven expulsions, mutated monsters, and even claims that puji had stabbed everyone in the back.

Overall, none of it was particularly useful.

In the end, Ronan signaled the guards to let the two go. “Stay where you belong.”

Leaving those words behind, he turned his horse and returned to Inanna’s side as the delegation resumed its slow advance.

They couldn’t just stop in place over an unknown threat.

What no one else knew was that, unlike the delegation’s lack of results, the Sword Saint puji had sensed something amiss.

This kind of scene felt familiar—familiar from his younger days…

More than that, he had noticed someone sneaking about.

Other adventurers hid themselves to avoid trouble, but that one individual not only concealed their presence, they also radiated barely restrained malice.

Someone who couldn’t even bother to rein in their malice was, to the Sword Saint, practically wearing a sign that said “I’m suspicious.”

As an aside, when he stayed in the Mushroom Garden, he often felt this same kind of completely unrestrained malice as well. The difference was that there, it was far more immense—so vast that he couldn’t even trace its source, and could only guess it came from the Fungal Lord.

And yet, that sort of behind-the-scenes mastermind who controlled everything, clearly ambitious and deeply calculating, didn’t seem like the type who would still be hung up on such a trivial matter as that dungeon incident from long ago.

The malice-soaked individual observed the delegation for a while, then quietly slipped away.

The Sword Saint puji had planned to follow, but in his perception, Number Ten—also concealed—had already moved first.

As they’d traveled together, the Sword Saint had grown rather fond of Number Ten.

He’d never expected to meet such a reliable puji—certainly more dependable than his own disciple.

The only drawback was how cold it was. Whenever he tried to chat with Number Ten, he rarely got any response.

Since Number Ten had already given chase, the Sword Saint didn’t move. After all, protecting his grand-niece was still his primary duty.

After the delegation had moved on for a while, Number Ten returned.

Its body was smeared with blood—puji had no blood of their own, so it was obviously someone else’s. Two tentacles on its left side were regenerating, though they were nearly done already.

As soon as it came back, it shared the results of its investigation through the fungal network.

“Behind that mountain over there is a ravine. There’s a group of black-robed people hiding inside, doing some kind of sacrificial ritual. Probably a human cult,” Number Ten said, sounding uncertain—it had never seen a cult up close before. “They’re not weak, but they don’t seem to be planning an ambush on us.”

“A cult?!” Inanna’s eyes widened as she recalled all the terrifying stories she’d heard about cults.

“Should we wipe them out?” Number Four perked up instantly.

“They’re not weak. Their leader has definitely reached the sanctum-rank. He noticed me from far away. We’re a diplomatic delegation, not an army.”

For Number Ten, the key point was that the other side didn’t seem interested in provoking them. In that case, there was no need to bite into such a hard bone.

It only cared about the Fungal Lord’s assigned mission—protecting the pink puji. Everything else, cults or demons alike, didn’t matter as long as they stayed out of the way.

But the Sword Saint clearly didn’t see it the same way.

“A cult? The Hand of Crossing?” Some things didn’t change just because he’d become Number Fourteen puji. The tentacle coiled around his sword itched with anticipation. “Isn’t this perfect timing?”