This Dungeon Grew Mushrooms

Phylline leaned closer to the faintly glowing crystal board, but the flowing runes and data upon it were like a foreign scripture to her, leaving her completely at a loss.

It was only when the vice-chairman personally took over, organizing the complex diagnostic information and finally imprinting a clear conclusion onto a blank card, that Phylline was able to clearly see the words written there:

Virtue of Sacrifice

Unlike Lin Jun’s panel, which came with explanatory brackets, the information on this card ended there, with no further details.

Among the upper echelons of major powers and academic circles, the concepts of “Seven Sins” and “Virtues” were not secrets.

History did indeed record several renowned—or infamous—bearers whose legends had been passed down.

But for ordinary adventurers like Veyra, Phylline, and Fein, who spent their lives moving between commissions and expeditions, this was the first time they had ever truly come into contact with such a concept.

“Master,” Phylline asked, “so Veyra’s memory loss… is because of this ‘sacrifice’?”

“Just call me Saren,” the gray-robed old man said, stroking his beard. “Based on the current symptoms and the appraisal results, the likelihood is very high.”

“Then why can’t you be certain? Didn’t you say the association has records?”

Vice-chairman Saren shook his head.

“The effects of a virtue are not fixed. Different individuals, even if they bear the same named virtue, may share a similar core, but the manner of manifestation, triggering conditions, and even the price paid often differ slightly.”

“The last clearly recorded bearer of ‘Sacrifice’ lived roughly two hundred and thirty years ago. He was a dwarf warrior. His ‘sacrifice’ manifested as offering up his body in exchange for short bursts of overwhelming power. And this sacrifice was permanent—the lost parts could never regenerate, no potion or healing magic could restore them.”

“Unfortunately, in that chaotic era, he left behind very few records. In the end, during a brutal battle, he chose complete ‘sacrifice’ to cover the retreat of his clan’s women, children, and craftsmen, facing the demon army alone. According to scattered post-war accounts, he vanished from the battlefield, leaving behind nothing but shattered armor and weapons.”

“S-so…” Fein’s voice trembled, her face instantly draining of color, as if she already saw Veyra reduced to nothing but empty armor scattered to the wind. “Veyra will also… leave nothing behind?”

“No, child, don’t jump to the worst conclusion,” Saren quickly raised a hand to calm them. “Judging from Veyra’s current condition, what he sacrificed is likely part of his memory. The worst possible outcome would be that his body survives, but his memories are wiped clean like a blank slate, forgetting everything.”

“Isn’t that just becoming an idiot?!” Fein covered her face and broke down crying.

Phylline, a little more composed, looked at Saren and asked the key question.

“Mr. Saren, you said this is the price that must be paid for sacrifice. Then does that mean… as long as Veyra doesn’t actively use this power, his memories won’t continue to disappear?”

Saren nodded.

“In theory, yes. But the problem is that virtue powers are closely tied to the bearer’s will, emotions, and circumstances. There will always be moments when it becomes unavoidable—especially given the current state of the continent…”

Before he finished speaking, Phylline had already rushed up to Veyra, grabbing his collar and forcing him to bend down to meet her gaze. Her eyes burned with anger and fear as she nearly growled:

“Did you hear that?! Don’t use it! I forbid you from using that sacrifice thing! And I forbid you from forgetting us… from forgetting everything! Do you hear me?!”

Pulled off balance, Veyra hurriedly raised both hands in surrender, forcing a bitter smile.

“Calm down! Phylline, calm down! I swear I don’t want to use it! Honestly, I still don’t even know how this thing appeared, or how it triggered last time… I’m completely confused myself!”

Together, Saren and Veyra carefully reconstructed the events of the past. They ultimately determined that the moment Veyra triggered the power of “Sacrifice” was during the life-and-death battle with the cultists—most likely at the instant he counterkilled the staff-wielding cult leader and turned the tide of the fight.

As for when he acquired the virtue, that was much harder to determine.

It could have been during their time lost in the fog, or earlier still. Saren even considered the possibility that when he first saved them outside the dungeon, the young man might already have been a virtue bearer—without either side realizing it.

Listening to Veyra calmly recount the dangers and choices he had faced along the way, with Phylline and Fein occasionally filling in details, Saren’s gaze toward Veyra grew increasingly appreciative.

He had no reason to doubt the truth of Veyra’s experiences. Being granted “Sacrifice” itself was proof that the world had acknowledged Veyra’s character.

Even if it was not the virtue of “Honesty,” the likelihood of deceit was far lower than with most people.

After recording everything, Saren handed the compiled information to his disciple, the middle-aged scholar.

He then personally led the three of them to accommodations within the Relic Association.

Veyra never expected that the very next day, he would meet yet another major figure.

Duke Lorenzo, who had been overseeing the construction of a new border defense line, actually set aside his heavy duties and rushed back to Oathbound City upon learning that a bearer of the Virtue of Sacrifice had appeared.

He arrived together with Fifteen, who had Number Nine perched atop his head, as well as the duke’s second son.

Before either side even spoke, Number Nine and Number Five leapt off their mounts, bumping mushroom caps in greeting.

Immediately after, Number Nine wrapped a tendril around Number Five and began animatedly recounting its recent heroic exploits.

How it and Fifteen charged into danger, fought cultists, wiped out bandits…

Of course, in its version of events, it was always the main character slaughtering enemies left and right, while Fifteen merely followed along, “picking up scraps and helping out,” barely qualifying as a decent mount.

Number Five’s tendrils trembled slightly as it listened, growing uneasy just imagining those brutal scenes.

Nearby, Saren’s gaze casually swept over Number Five, a thoughtful glint flashing through his eyes.

Although Veyra and the others had already learned about the Virtue of Sacrifice the day before, they never expected such attention from the kingdom’s highest figures.

Previously, even meeting someone like Vice-chairman Saren was a rare privilege. Now, these figures were appearing one after another.

Not to mention Duke Lorenzo himself—even Fifteen, the Sword Saint’s disciple accompanying the duke, was a major figure in their eyes.

What shocked them even more was that Duke Lorenzo intended to grant Veyra a noble title.

“A viscount? Me?” Veyra stared in disbelief, almost thinking he had misheard. After a brief shock, he shook his head and refused. “Being ennobled just because of a virtue… that isn’t reasonable.”

“What a rare young man!” Duke Lorenzo not only took no offense, but smiled in satisfaction. “Rest assured, this is not an unearned honor. Setting aside your past contributions in the fallen regions, simply stopping the fog from swallowing Gold Valley City and saving the civilians who hadn’t evacuated yet—that achievement alone makes you worthy of this honor.”

At this point, the duke’s second son spoke up quietly.

“Father, the matter of repelling the fog currently relies only on their testimony. It hasn’t undergone formal verification yet…”

It wasn’t jealousy; his words followed normal procedure.

Unexpectedly, Duke Lorenzo slapped the back of his head hard enough to make the young man stumble.

“Idiot! If you could bring me a virtue, I’d believe every word you said!”

The second son rubbed his head and shut up resentfully.

Veyra spoke again, still earnest.

“Your Grace, driving back the fog… may have mainly been the achievement of our missing elven companion. We were just lucky to survive.”

But Duke Lorenzo waved his hand.

“You were the one who led the team into danger to try to stop the fog. That responsibility alone deserves honor.”

His attitude was firm, clearly unwilling to leave without granting the title.

After several rounds of refusal and persuasion, Veyra ultimately failed to outlast the powerful duke and reluctantly accepted the sudden ennoblement.

…

Deep beneath the Relic Association, inside a sealed chamber shielded from all prying eyes.

“Hah! Trying to give away a noble title and nearly failing… what kind of nonsense is that?” Duke Lorenzo complained, unfastening the top button of his collar.

“That child is a virtue bearer, not one of the Seven Sins. Having principles is only natural,” Vice-chairman Saren replied calmly.

“I know, I know, just venting,” Lorenzo waved his hand, then grew serious. “Speaking of business—did you notice the puji by his side?”

Saren nodded. “I noticed it during our first meeting.”

Lorenzo pondered. “Among the elves, the former captain of the guard was also accompanied by a mushroomkin. Now, near many key figures and events, these creatures seem to appear again and again… This likely isn’t a coincidence.”

“They are deliberately integrating themselves into all races on a wide scale,” Saren said gravely. “The question is whether this will prove to be a blessing or a curse.”

“Blessing or curse, we don’t have much choice right now,” Lorenzo sighed. “There’s still no news from the hero’s side. If the worst comes to pass… we may only be able to pray that these puji ultimately stand with humanity.”

“Our options are limited, but not nonexistent,” Saren said, his gaze lowering.

At their feet lay a massive, extremely complex magic array, dim streams of mana flowing slowly through its grooves.

“Let us just hope… we are never forced to make that choice.”

His eyes finally settled on the center of the formation.

There, suspended in midair, was a massive pale-blue crystal, flawless and translucent.

Within it slept an elderly white-haired man with a peaceful expression.

One of humanity’s seven peak combatants, whose life force had declined to its limit due to age, preserved in this manner as a final measure.

The president of the Relic Association.