This Dungeon Grew Mushrooms

In the valley, anguished screams echoed again and again from a crude dungeon.

“Ah—! You animals! I’ll—ah—!”

A man bound to a stone pillar was trembling violently. His right arm was twisted at an unnatural angle, clearly having just been snapped by brute force.

His entire body was covered in countless small wounds, blood flowing without stop.

Aurora stood in front of him, idly playing with a blade as thin as a willow leaf between her fingers.

Her face bore an expression close to intoxication, as though she were admiring a work of art still in progress.

“Louder,” she said softly, the edge of the blade gently touching the man’s cheek as it slowly slid downward. “Weren’t you pretty impressive back then? Not only did you resist the poison, you even turned around and ambushed me. That one really hurt, you know.”

Aurora brushed her fingers across the fresh wound on her neck. Her movements as she sliced away bits of flesh became even more meticulous, careful not to kill the man by accident.

In the neighboring chamber, several other sacrifices were also bound. Listening to the screams coming from next door, they trembled in terror.

This, too, was part of Aurora’s enjoyment.

“Aurora.”

An unhappy voice came from behind her, and the pleasure on Aurora’s face instantly collapsed.

“The Lord says to grant souls serenity, not fear. What do you think you’re doing?”

Charon, a priest of the Hand of Passage, stepped in front of the tortured man, placing himself between him and Aurora.

He took a healing potion from his robes and poured it over the man’s numerous wounds.

Behind him, Aurora clicked her tongue. “Wasting a potion on someone who’s about to die anyway? We’re really living large, aren’t we.”

In truth, they were not wealthy at all. If anything, they were strapped for resources.

The only reason this group of barely a dozen people was still alive was because they had run out of materials for their sacrificial array and were trying to scrape together enough for one final ritual.

After using up the potion, Charon turned to face Aurora directly and warned her, “You’d better rein in those disgusting hobbies of yours. This is the Hand of Passage, not one of the bandit gangs you used to run with!”

Aurora said nothing. The flippant smile on her face made it obvious she hadn’t taken his words to heart at all.

After leaving the dungeon, Charon found Seral in the temporary camp, assigning gathering tasks and collecting various materials.

Seral was tall. His armor was a patchwork of old metal and dull leather. Beneath his helmet was nothing but darkness, his true face impossible to see.

“Lord Seral,” Charon said evenly, though a trace of anger could be heard beneath his calm. “That bandit—Aurora—she isn’t practicing the goddess’s teachings at all! She takes pleasure in torment and revels in pain! This runs completely counter to the doctrine of ‘granting peace to the dying and a path home to the lost’! What the goddess’s sanctum requires is pure sacrifice and tranquil return, not this kind of blasphemous slaughter!”

Seral first waved his hand, signaling the followers to carry out the tasks he had assigned.

Only then did he turn back to Charon. “Charon, devoted ferryman of the goddess, you see clearly. Her actions do indeed conflict with the goddess’s ideals. The goddess cherishes the essence of the soul, not the meaningless screams before its departure.”

“Then why allow her to remain? Why let her defile sacred rituals?” Charon stepped forward, his voice growing more heated.

“Because the scales require weights, Charon. The goddess’s latest oracle calls for more sacrifices, and this current chaos is the perfect opportunity. But after so many years in hiding, we lack manpower. Rituals must be constructed, sacrifices acquired, and defenses maintained.” Seral’s voice was cold, pragmatic. “Aurora, and others like her who are drawn by power or desire, make our actions smoother and help us complete our objective more quickly.”

“But that’s exploitation! Using blasphemous acts to achieve a sacred goal!” Charon retorted. He could not accept such compromise.

“Temporary tools,” Seral corrected. “The goddess sees all. She knows the purity of the lamb and the greed of the wolf. On the long road to ultimate purification, sometimes one must use a wolf’s fangs to clear the thorns. That does not mean we endorse the wolf’s nature.”

“Maintain your purity, Charon. Your steadfastness is the foundation of the church’s survival. As for Aurora and the others… once the number of sacrifices is sufficient, tools that stray from doctrine will naturally be purified.”

Charon was unconvinced. Facing his superior’s explanation, he pointed out the flaw without hesitation. “Seral, exalted recipient of grace. Have you considered that this compromise of yours also deviates from doctrine?”

Seral fell silent for a moment. “The High Priestess has already begun to act. We must do everything we can to fulfill the oracle and not become dead weight.”

Charon was about to speak again when he abruptly turned his head. “Someone’s approaching… no, this fluctuation is…?”

Seral stepped forward. Beneath his helmet, two ghostly blue flames flared to life as he instantly spotted Number Ten puji, who had just climbed into the treetops to observe them.

A sword swung.

An invisible wave crossed most of the valley in an instant and arrived before Number Ten.

Number Ten dodged with all its might, narrowly avoiding being split in two, but still lost two tentacles.

That strike drew the attention of several nearby followers, who immediately gave chase.

“That was… a puji?” From such a distance, Charon wasn’t entirely sure.

“What’s going on?” Seral asked a follower who had just rushed up to him.

This was the very scout Number Ten had been following. Now realizing he had been tailed, he hurriedly explained.

“A regular royal delegation just passed through the Scarecrow Abyss. The one at the head has pink hair and pink eyes—likely Inanna, daughter of Duke Arama, the kingdom’s current war hero.”

Before long, another follower ran up. “Lord Seral… we failed. That puji killed two of us and broke out of the encirclement.”

Seral did not reprimand him. After a brief consideration, he made his decision. “Abandon this camp. Withdraw to the Chaosstone Ridge base.”

Every bit of the church’s strength was precious now. Seral had no intention of wasting it on unnecessary matters.

In fact, even if they were stronger, they would never take the initiative to provoke someone like Inanna Saint-Claire.

To the goddess, Inanna’s soul was no more important than that of a rural peasant.

And provoking Inanna meant provoking the mushroom folk, Duke Arama, the kingdom itself—endless trouble.

Avoiding her edge was the optimal choice.

“What about the remaining sacrifices?” Charon asked.

“The materials are still insufficient. There’s no time for a formal ritual,” Seral replied, turning to him, armor softly scraping as he moved. “Leave them where they are. Let them be rescued or escape on their own.”

“A pity,” Charon said, though he had no better option.

This had been a temporary camp to begin with, with few truly important items.

Under Seral’s concise and efficient orders, over a hundred black-robed believers quickly and orderly packed up what they needed and withdrew into the forest along preplanned hidden paths.

However, one figure moved against the flow, quietly slipping away from the group.

Aurora glanced once in the direction the others had left, then turned and ran back toward the dungeon.

Her enjoyment always demanded a proper beginning and end.

Since that man was no longer needed as a ritual sacrifice, she would send him on his way in her own manner.

It was just a shame that time was short—there would be no leisure to savor his dying cries and struggles as she usually did.

In the dungeon, under the dim light, the man saw Aurora return and seemed to understand his fate.

He did not cry. Instead, he spat a mouthful of bloody saliva straight at her face.

Aurora easily tilted her head to avoid it, her steps never slowing.

The willow-leaf blade reappeared in her fingers, flashing coldly. She stopped in front of the man, the edge resting casually against the pulse at his neck, feeling the faint tremor of life beneath his skin.

“Any last words?” she asked with interest, anticipating curses of despair or laughable pleas.

The man lifted his blood-smeared face, his eyes burning with pure hatred. “You damn bastards! Didn’t you say there’s an afterlife? Fine! In my next life, I’ll hunt you animals down one by one!”

Aurora shrugged indifferently. The man clearly didn’t know she didn’t believe in any god of death.

The blade fell.

But the dull sound of steel slicing flesh never came.

Instead, there was a crisp ding.

She felt her hand grow light and looked down to see that only a bare handle remained in her grip.

Puji—

A strange sound came from behind Aurora…