A faint ripple from the soft mushroom bed stirred Norris, half-asleep, to open his eyes.
“Sorry, woke you up,” Qióng said, tiptoeing as he eased the door open, his voice tinged with apology.
“No… it’s fine. I was about to get up anyway,” Norris mumbled, rubbing sleepy eyes. He reached for his nail-sharpening tool by the bed, only to grasp air.
Then he remembered—it was still in his mushroom hut, now “claimed” by Little Black. He was crashing at Qióng’s place for now.
Outside, the beverage jug sat empty.
Half had gone to Little Black, calming her enough to spare Norris a scale-plucking ordeal.
The other half he’d shared with demonkin friends, making for a lively time.
Norris stretched, easing his cramped muscles, just as Louisa’s tall figure sauntered out from the dungeon passage.
Fresh blood stained her lips—her “breakfast” just finished.
Catching Norris’s gaze, Louisa calmly wiped the blood with the back of her hand, flashing a grin that revealed bloody teeth…
Norris wasn’t fazed, giving a casual wave.
He’d been drained by her a few times. It was old news.
If he had to choose between Louisa’s bite or Little Black ripping his scales, he’d pick the vampire every time.
Her fangs carried a slight numbing effect. The strange sensation of blood being drawn, when you leaned into it, had an odd, almost pleasant tingle.
Nearby, Qióng was directing a Jida to load a wooden cart with herbs.
[Mental Command], a prerequisite for controlling Jida, had been granted to most demonkin by the boss.
But the skill worked differently for everyone.
Norris, able to finely control multiple Puffshrooms for complex tasks like driving Jida, was rare.
Most only gained a higher cap on controllable Puffshrooms, ranging from a few to dozens.
Starfire’s talent stood out—she could command over 150 Puffshrooms at once!
Some demonkin saw no change from the skill. Whenever that happened, the boss muttered something cryptic about “useless spirit roots, unfit for cultivation.”
With the herbs loaded, Qióng tied sturdy mycelium ropes to yoke several Ox-Horse Puffshrooms to the cart.
He turned to Norris. “I’m heading to the tribe. Crash at my hut for now.”
The boss had approved Norris’s request for a new mushroom hut, but without accelerated growth, it’d take a week to form. Until then, Norris was borrowing Qióng’s.
Still, Norris craved livelier surroundings.
“I’ll come along. I can help out!” His Jida rolled up beside him, ready.
The last battle had wrecked half the tribe’s settlement. The boss blamed Galen for not staying put to get blown up.
No one died, thanks to preparations.
Since most demonkin already lived in Mushroom Garden No. 3, Shòu suggested moving the whole tribe into the dungeon, abandoning the site.
The boss shot that down.
His plan: move the Cradle and its Magic Cores to the safe Mushroom Garden but keep the tribe’s site as a frontline fortress.
His exact words: “This adds strategic depth!”
Norris didn’t get “strategic depth,” but the boss was usually right.
Qióng was delivering war supplies this time.
At the destination, Norris barely recognized the place. The crude tribal camp was gone, replaced by a budding fortress!
The old ice-and-wood walls were dismantled. In their place stood thick stone barriers, formed by countless Heavy-Armor Puffshrooms.
The walls, rough and lumpy with the Puffshrooms’ signature “blob” texture, weren’t pretty but were rock-solid.
Inside, warehouses for supplies and mushroom huts for rest were ready.
A tunnel linking the fortress to the dungeon, for quick demonkin passage, was being dug around the clock.
Galen, a level 60 fighter, wasn’t a nobody in any faction.
Especially not among the sparse demonkin population.
Retaliation was coming—only a matter of time.
The demonkin, fully committed to the Mushroom Garden, had no choice but to fight. They poured everything into preparing.
The boss was all in too—planting hidden Self-Destruct Puffshrooms, digging trap tunnels, clearly taking it seriously.
Yet Norris felt, unlike the demonkin’s grim worry, the boss seemed… excited?
Maybe it was his imagination.
As Norris moved to help shift dug-up rocks and ice, a commotion broke out nearby.
Two demonkin warriors shoved a struggling figure, bound tightly with mycelium ropes, toward them.
The figure wore thick beast pelts, but its exposed limbs showed yellowish scales, a lizard-like head, and a tail—a lizardman!
“Caught this one sneaking around!” a warrior barked, shoving the lizardman to the ground in a cleared circle, kicking up dust.
The lizardman grunted, writhing to rise but pinned by the tough ropes, left to squirm helplessly. His slit-pupil eyes darted nervously across the hostile demonkin faces.
Shòu pushed through the crowd, his black spear resting casually on the ground, not raised, yet radiating menace.
“Name. Tribe. Purpose,” Shòu said, voice low and direct.
The lizardman’s eyes flicked, forcing a stiff grin that bared fine teeth. “Hey, brother, misunderstanding! I’m… Tok, from the Earthscale Tribe. Sent to say hi, been a while. No bad intentions!”
“Saying hi?” Shòu’s eyes narrowed, voice colder. “Hiding behind a snow mound 300 meters away, using your lizardman’s pathetic ‘heat vision’ to spy for half a morning? That’s the Crag Tribe’s ‘hello’?”
The Mycelial Network hid no secrets.
Tok’s flimsy lie collapsed.
“I… I…” he stammered, grasping for excuses.
Thud!
Shòu’s spear pierced Tok’s thigh, slicing through scales and muscle, pinning him to the frozen ground!
“Ah—!!!”
Tok thrashed, pain twisting his scales. Blood gushed along the spear, staining the snow red.
Shòu’s grip on the spear was steady, unshaken. He leaned closer. “Last chance. Purpose. Or the next one goes through your lung.”
Tok gasped, tears and snot streaming, voice cracking with pain and fear. “Don’t! Don’t kill me! I’ll talk! It’s the Empire! They sent us!”
The crowd stirred.
“The Empire promised us!” Tok croaked, voice hoarse. “Their lords said… if we bring back your demonkin ‘Magic Cores,’ we won’t be cannon fodder! The Crag Tribe—our whole tribe—gets fertile southern riverlands! No more starving in the frozen wastes!”
Spotting Norris’s silver scales in the crowd, Tok’s eyes lit with desperate hope. “Lizardman?! No… half-lizardman? For the sake of… some shared blood, please, beg them for me! I didn’t want trouble! It’s the Empire’s fault! Spare me! Please!”
Norris eyed the yellowish lizardman. A flicker of pity turned cold. If he were in charge, he’d end him now…
Shòu’s face darkened like the Far North’s leaden clouds. He’d braced for this, but the Empire’s pawn standing before him still tightened his brow.
He raised a hand to have the lizardman dragged to a cell when Puffshrooms popped up from the mycelium beside Tok.
Digestive slime splashed. After a brief scream, Tok fell silent.
The mycelium surged over the body, deliberately sped up. In minutes, only bones and scales remained.
A Voice Puffshroom climbed atop the husk, its eerie voice ringing clear to all:
“Just one lizardman tribe? Heh heh heh, my friends, I love war!” Nearby Puffshrooms quivered in sync.
(End of Chapter)
