What a stubborn fool, unafraid of death!
With sky-high mental defenses, cracking Pelagel for info would take time.
Lin Jun was starting to stress.
Then he remembered an old booklet he’d found in a secret room’s chest. Back then, his Elven Language LV6 wasn’t enough to read it fully—half the words were guesswork—so he’d shelved it.
Could it be tied to Pelagel’s crew?
Reading it himself wasn’t realistic; LV6 meant guessing half the text.
Luckily, his team had a “language master” on hand.
A Puffshroom placed the worn booklet next to the Yellow Codex.
[?]
“Translate,” Lin Jun ordered, keeping it short.
[Got it!]
The Yellow Codex got to work, its pages flipping to reveal translations matching the booklet’s text. The thin booklet was done quickly.
But the results disappointed Lin Jun.
It wasn’t some secret-laden tome. It mostly described the “Mist,” calling it the “world’s tumor,” claiming it devoured everything, turning all it touched into chaos.
In its final passage, it bashed the Elven Court for hiding away, ignoring the world’s upheavals, warning that when disaster struck, it’d be too late to act.
No wonder it was locked in a dusty chest.
The “Mist” stuff echoed that elf’s street speech from before, but it seemed unrelated to Pelagel’s Madness-spreading crew.
Ugh… the elves’ peaceful facade hid a mess of problems!
Still, Lin Jun agreed with the booklet’s take: the Mist was a world’s tumor.
From historical records, the Western Isles once boasted thousands of islands, a key player courted by all factions.
Now? Barely three hundred remained, their influence faded.
Everyone knew the Mist would eventually swallow the Isles whole.
But then what?
Would it creep onto the mainland?
No precedent existed, but Lin Jun didn’t rule it out.
Long-term, the Mist was a threat to take seriously. Ideally, all races would set aside grudges, unite, and hunt for its source and solution.
But in today’s mess—races scheming, wars raging—who had time for far-off Mist? Besides the half-dead island natives struggling to survive, that is.
Humans and demons were bashing each other’s brains out on the mainland.
Dwarves and elves, whatever their thoughts, were too far to act. Distance was a hard wall.
That was the booklet’s flaw: even if the Elven Court cared about the Mist, so what? Send a team, and humans would think you’re spying.
For Lin Jun, the real question wasn’t the Mist—it was how long he could live.
He was a mushroom, after all!
Withering tomorrow, dead by dusk, wasn’t impossible.
If he had only years or decades, the Mist’s future meant nothing.
After he was gone, who cared if the Mist ended the world?
But if he could live centuries, or like a vampire, near-eternally… then it was a big deal!
Either way, the Mist wasn’t his problem now.
Humans and demons didn’t care, so why should a mushroom like him?
Getting little from the booklet, Lin Jun handed the Yellow Codex back to Norris.
On the Madness issue, the elf lead couldn’t be dropped. Pelagel’s will was iron, but mental strength would wear down with time.
Keep at it, and he’d crack, spilling key info.
But banking everything on interrogating him was risky. A scouting team to Godwood Dungeon’s depths for on-site intel was likely needed.
Lin Jun suspected spreading Madness wasn’t the endgame.
If every dungeon beast turned into a crazed, killing machine until they died out, who’d gain?
Oh, wait—he could decompose like crazy…
Following that thought:
If elves noticed Madness spreading, collapsing the dungeon’s ecosystem, his mycelium and Puffshrooms could swoop in, “taking over” each floor naturally…
He’d be the biggest winner!
Lin Jun almost wondered if he was the mastermind.
Of course, the Oath of the Ark likely had other goals he didn’t know. The scouting team would hunt for clues.
Two plans emerged.
One: nudge the elves to notice the issue, letting them take the lead.
It was their turf, after all. Lin Jun, an “outsider,” shouldn’t shoulder every problem!
Downside? Puffshrooms couldn’t blend into elf teams to gather real-time intel.
Two: send his own team to explore.
Outside mycelium range, his minions would lead, with Lin Jun remotely guiding one or two Scout Puffshrooms via [Minion Control].
The dungeon’s deep dangers, plus Madness’s unknowns and vague goals, made it a high-risk mission.
Using demons was too costly—losing magic cores hurt more than losing a few fighters.
That left the captives.
But their combat skills, seen in the elf clash, were shaky at best.
Forget that instantly-killed lizardman mage—others’ Puffshroom control was awful.
They’d swarm mindlessly, no tactics, even tripping over each other’s Puffshrooms, clogging attack paths.
In short: undertrained, underpowered.
They were captives, sure, but also future assets. Losing too many would sting.
If he had to send them, only the stronger ones made sense—like that half-demon leader?
In the Far North, Bastardos, the half-demon leader sprinkling mushrooms on a fat worm, looked up.
A Marshal Puffshroom approached.
He sighed heavily.
His easy days were over…
(End of Chapter)
