This Dungeon Grew Mushrooms

“Th-this… is it really okay?” Gar peered through the crack in the door, anxiety written all over his face. “It looks like he’s about to be eaten.”

Nova and Night Owl, standing beside him, were just as unable to give an answer.

Ivan’s room had been completely transformed.

Dense, milky-white mycelium filled every corner, even sealing off the windows entirely.

At the center of the room stood a gigantic cocoon built from layer upon layer of intertwined fungal threads. Ivan’s body was wrapped inside it, with only his face exposed, still bearing that absolute calm of someone sunk deep in unconsciousness.

He no longer needed anyone to care for him. The fungal mat itself sustained his physical vitality.

No. 10 was also inside the cocoon, maintaining a long-term, deep connection with Ivan.

Okas stood guard outside the door, using his mere presence to soothe the unease of the other three members of the Silver Thorn squad.

And inside the Supermagic Library, No. 10 was exerting all his will just to suppress the excitement and joy that were nearly overflowing from his mind.

No wonder even the Mushroom Lord had called this a “precious” opportunity!

After reading only a few volumes, No. 10 had already realized how invaluable this knowledge was.

Just the gains from these few books alone had completely refreshed his understanding of magic power. It was as if he had discovered an entirely new broad and open path. If he could consume this boundless sea of books in its entirety…

No. 10 extended his perception upward. The circular walls of bookshelves seemed endless. For ordinary lifeforms, this was a despairing volume that could never be finished in an entire lifetime.

Fortunately, he wasn’t human.

More than that, he had the Mushroom Lord’s support.

Unlike Lin Jun splitting off more puji projections, No. 10’s consciousness projection began to expand, transforming into a gigantic puji that nearly reached the spatial limits of what the library could contain.

Four, ten, hundreds of flexible yet resilient mycelial tentacles extended from his enormous mushroom body, reaching out toward bookshelves on every level and in every direction.

Each tentacle coiled around a faintly glowing book, and in the next instant, its knowledge was absorbed.

Of course, he didn’t forget about Ivan.

That mage’s consciousness, still mechanically retrieving and reading books high above, was caught by one of No. 10’s tentacles, dragged back, and stuffed directly into No. 10’s now-massive puji body, completely sealed within it.

The root of Ivan’s soul deterioration lay in the fact that his limited mental strength had been forcibly connected to information far beyond his capacity to process. In essence, it wasn’t much different from the fate of sacrifices whose minds were blown apart by the Abyss.

The Abyss overwhelmed them with too much information at once, while here the total volume simply exceeded what an ordinary soul could bear.

Now, with No. 10 wrapping Ivan inside his enormous soul and cutting off his contact with the Supermagic Library, Ivan’s condition would naturally stabilize over time.

As for how to truly wake him up?

No. 10 didn’t know, and Lin Jun didn’t particularly care at the moment.

Saving Ivan was just a slogan. Acquiring this knowledge was the real objective.

Once he had learned enough, Lin Jun would try to save him. If it worked, great. If it failed, so be it—at worst, they would lose a single D-rank operative.

…

For the time being, No. 10 couldn’t return to the delegation.

But he had always been taciturn, accustomed to staying in inconspicuous corners. On ordinary days, only Pink Puji and a few other members of the mushroomfolk ever exchanged simple words with him.

These were all “our own mushrooms.” A simple greeting would cover things up—outsiders would never notice that No. 10 had quietly left the delegation.

Meanwhile, the negotiations between the delegation and the elves were nearing their conclusion.

In the final agreement, the Kingdom would no longer obstruct contact between the elves and the Hero, and would even assist, where possible, in helping the elves establish communication.

In exchange, the elves were required to strictly limit the number and strength level of those making contact. Moreover, if the Hero himself explicitly expressed refusal, the elves were forbidden from exerting any form of coercion.

This core agreement regarding the Hero was known only to the upper echelons of both sides. The publicly announced results instead focused on the elves dispatching mages skilled in magic formations to assist humanity in constructing the new defensive line, along with other standard clauses involving resource exchange and balance of power.

The elven team would need some time to prepare. They would depart together with Inanna’s delegation after the latter finished its visit to the Dwarven Mountains and returned to the Kingdom.

With the negotiations concluded, it also meant that the delegation was about to leave the Elven Forest.

…

Cradling the Sword Saint puji in her arms, Galadriel absentmindedly kneaded his tiny mycelial feet, a trace of reluctance welling up in her heart. However, the mushroomfolk were currently allies cooperating with the Kingdom, not Inanna’s personal possessions.

If she wanted to keep this special puji, the only way was to persuade him to agree of his own will.

Unfortunately, even when Galadriel produced a privately treasured S-rank magic crystal as thick as a finger as a gift, No. 14 remained completely unmoved.

Watching No. 14 turn around decisively and march back to the delegation with his short little legs, Galadriel couldn’t help but click her tongue softly.

That damnably crisp and clean retreating figure really did look just like that dead man!

As for Elvien, he only felt that he had finally endured it to the end.

Being held and kneaded didn’t feel bad, sure, but a little now and then was fine. If he were to completely degenerate into a doll to be handled at will, even No. 4 wouldn’t be happy—let alone him, a Sword Saint!

Elvien naturally still had feelings for Galadriel.

However, whether in the past or now, Galadriel could never leave the Elven Forest to become a wandering ranger drifting alongside him.

And he—whether it was the duties he once bore, such as purging heretical cults, resisting the demon race, and refining his swordsmanship, or the brand-new path he now walked as a puji—had far too many important matters beyond romantic love waiting to be completed. He could not remain forever in the forest for the sake of a private sentiment.

What’s more, a puji body had no worldly desires. Those fluttering feelings of romantic love were nothing more than hazy remnants left over from his time as a human.

Now, what he felt toward Galadriel was perhaps no more than a faint appreciation for an old acquaintance and bygone days.

In the end, watching the delegation gradually disappear into the distance, Galadriel could only let out a soft sigh and murmur in a near whisper, “If only No. 14 and No. 1 could switch places…”

Clearly, her understanding of puji’s keen senses was still insufficient.

No. 1 puji, who was seeing the delegation off and solemnly discussing future cooperation while coiling No. 4’s tentacle, suddenly froze stiff.

“???”

…

Lin Jun had also been paying attention to the delegation’s movements. He had even been preparing to take control of the Sword Saint puji’s body and jump back into Galadriel’s arms for a lingering farewell.

Of course, this was purely to further deepen the goodwill and emotional ties of the elven upper ranks toward the mushroomfolk. Everything was considered from the long-term interests of the mushroomfolk.

However, an unexpected incident suddenly occurred in a key area he was closely monitoring, forcing him to temporarily let the Sword Saint off the hook.

And that incident just so happened to occur in the Elven Forest as well.

…

The Divine Wood Dungeon, at the deepest point of the spiral.

At the center of the vast circular lawn, that sacred tree sapling—seemingly unchanged since time immemorial—still stood alone, planted there.

In the next moment, the air at the edge of the lawn rippled like water, and a figure appeared.

It was an elf.

He possessed emerald-green eyes like newly sprouted leaves, and a face so beautiful that even among the elf race—renowned for their looks—it could be called exquisite.

And yet, he was male.

He simply moved his limbs and fingers a bit, as if re-familiarizing himself with this body, then strode away without hesitation.

The Pale Pilgrims guarding the outside proactively stepped aside, opening a path for him.

He walked quickly, even urgently, as if trying to leave this place before some existence could notice him.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t gone far before the sound he least wanted to hear rang out beside him.

“Puji—”