[Idiot! You must use redgold stone with magic-conducting powder to draw a double-layer rune circuit!]
[Where did the redgold stone on the list go?]
Holding the yellow-skinned book, Spark explained, “Redgold stone only amplifies magic-conducting powder. I swapped it for silverite; effect is similar.”
[Similar?! Mana conduction efficiency is 30% lower!]
[If the city defense array fails, I’m the one who takes the blame!]
Spark was in a tough spot too. “But our territory doesn’t produce redgold stone at all. It only exists in the Empire and dwarven mountains. Small purchases are fine, but for the entire fortress city defense array… where am I supposed to get that much?”
[Trade! Smuggle! Do I have to teach you? How are you dumber than Norris? What’s the point of keeping you?!]
…
Lin Jun glanced at the yellow-skinned book getting along well with its colleagues and working seriously. He didn’t disturb it.
He wasn’t worried about demons coming for the book.
Their positioning method was too flawed; only rough direction. Against rifts, it was useless.
Relying on it, they’d only get the codex jumping between north, kingdom, elven forest, even dwarven mountains sometimes.
Besides, Lin Jun had little Sigmund as an inside man.
Unless he wanted, demons had no chance of finding the codex.
Compared to the book, three other matters concerned Lin Jun more.
First: the Frenzied Spirit excavation progress.
The thing that changed the entire north’s climate; because of it, Lin Jun hadn’t dared touch abyssal magic lately, afraid of giving the north ice-and-fire hell.
As digging deepened, rock temperatures dropped to terrifying levels.
Even giant burrowing Puchis needed massive time using high heat to soften frozen soil; efficiency far below expectations.
But after so long, they were getting close.
Yet unexpected issues arose.
Yesterday, the digging team found abnormal hollow structures with artificial buildings.
Several stone pillar arches carved with ancient patterns, surfaces covered in never-before-seen runes.
Clearly just the tip of the iceberg; a larger ruin complex likely lay deeper.
A ruin buried deep under the north?
The Frenzied Spirit diving there might not be coincidence.
Lin Jun kept close watch.
Second matter: the situation on the kingdom’s western coast.
The kingdom was frantically building new defense lines, too busy to reclaim the area but unwilling to let demons truly occupy it, so they posted many bounties on demon heads.
Meanwhile scattered demon squads roamed the scorched earth, trying to capture human adventurers as slaves.
Small-scale fighting never stopped.
But that wasn’t what Lin Jun cared about. He noticed cult traces appearing recently.
No actual cultists seen, but he kept decomposing soulless corpses.
Both human and demon. Clearly the death-god cult stirring trouble amid chaos.
Stretching hands into Lin Jun’s mouth to steal food naturally deserved severe punishment. But the other side hadn’t shown their feet yet; Lin Jun could only wait patiently.
The last matter… was simply absurd to him.
…
At the edge of Mushroom Capital’s square, a cloaked man stood on crates preaching loudly to the gathering crowd.
“The war has paused, but what saved us wasn’t elves, dwarves, or foreign races; wasn’t the dukes barely holding on; wasn’t even the supreme God of Light!” He dramatically threw back his hood, revealing a mycelium-covered face. “It was the Puchis!”
The crowd grew; thirty percent curiosity, seventy percent spectacle. Some cursed him as heretic, but he ignored them all.
“Demons ruined our fields; the fungal mat gave us endless mushrooms! Enemies slaughtered our kin; Puchis rose from scorched earth as new guardians! Why kneel to illusory gods? True miracles are under our feet! He watches us, He loves us! All is the will of the Puchi God!”
Tears of excitement slid down his cheeks. “Yet the ignorant turn blind eyes! But it’s not too late to change. We should devoutly kiss every inch of fungal mat, offer tribute to the Mushroom Tribe messengers, and give the Puchi God our belated faith!”
“Dedicate body and soul to the fungal mat, and you will receive the Puchi God’s eternal blessing!” In fervor, the man jumped down and knelt before a roadside mushroom.
Cast-iron boots splashing through puddles interrupted the somewhat comical sermon.
“You again, mushroom lunatic!” The lead guard yanked off his cloak. “Third time! Need a few hungry days in the dungeon to behave?”
The man obediently extended his hands. Even as rope bit into flesh, he still shouted “Puchi God” until gagged, he finally quieted.
Two young guards escorted him across the square, whispering, “Spreading heresy; they’ll execute him this time, right?”
“Hard to say. He’s a Dragonroar Valley survivor veteran. Heard he got a head injury. Last two times his comrades and superiors begged mercy; probably this time too.”
“Poor guy,” the guards still respected a warrior who fought for the kingdom. Seeing him like this earned sympathy. “But Puchi God… quite the imagination…”
Besides the onlookers, the “Puchi God” himself was watching the farce.
Lin Jun swore he had done nothing.
Probably the guy heard No. 4 preaching about the “great Mushroom Tribe” and “Puchi will,” then brain-supplemented a Puchi God.
Lin Jun had zero intention of starting a religion.
He ruled through personal mushroom charisma and domineering presence; never needed religious brainwashing.
If he did, he’d start in the fortress, not preach openly in Mushroom Capital square.
Though Lin Jun hadn’t participated, after the man preached several times, some actually believed.
Julia was a refugee farmer in Mushroom Capital, now a mushroom farmer. Her husband was a Dragonroar Valley survivor thanks to mycelial symbiosis.
She who should have starved found a job that fed her.
Her husband who should have died survived near-certain death.
She once thought it luck, but after hearing the man’s sermon, she “awakened.”
No luck; all the Puchi God’s grace.
The man was right; people should repay the Puchi God with devotion. She should spread the Puchi God’s glory!
But she had seen the man arrested. The kingdom banned “Puchi God” faith.
Then quietly…
She thought of other mushroom farmers with similar experiences, her husband’s comrades and their families.
Even on the fungal mat, Lin Jun wasn’t omniscient.
He noticed the absurd man loudly preaching “Puchi God” in the square, but not the ordinary farmwife who quietly believed.
Thus, a “Puchi God” faith group quietly sprouted in Mushroom Capital.
(End of Chapter)
