What’s it like being a captive in the Far North?
If you asked Bastardos, the half-demon leader, he’d sum it up in two words: not bad.
Daily life ran like a precise magic circle—assemble, line up, drill, labor, repeat. Dull enough to numb the soul.
But at least there was no deliberate cruelty or oppression.
Food? Just magic-rich mushrooms, seasoned with nothing but salt.
Months in, eating was just about staying alive, no trace of enjoyment.
Except for those who gave up, burning contribution points on Tasty Mushrooms, turning their “three-year sentence” into a life term.
In this monotonous, freezing land, captives were slowly molded into obedient “mushrooms” of the Mushroom Garden.
And that feeling…
Bastardos found it oddly satisfying.
After that brief but brutal defeat, he lost most of his tribe. It woke him up.
As a half-demon, chasing status and power only led to traps, costing more than it gained.
Clearing his mind, going with the flow—that brought peace.
This dull captive life felt like a soul-cleansing ordeal, elevating his entire existence.
But clearly, the Puffshroom boss didn’t care about his inner journey.
“Kid, feel honored! A glorious mission’s yours! Pull it off, and the rewards’ll be huge!”
Looking at the Marshal Puffshroom, perched on a Fatshroom Puffshroom with mycelium tendrils on his shoulder, 162-year-old Bastardos started wondering about the boss’s age.
“Hey, Ba…” The Marshal Puffshroom paused, like checking a note. “…Bastardos, can you use a bow?”
Getting a yes, the elf longbow Lin Jun picked up in Godwood Dungeon was soon in the half-demon’s hands.
Feeling the power flowing through the bow, Bastardos knew it was quality. But he hesitated, then admitted, “Boss, I can use a bow, but melee… that’s my real strength.”
Before the words settled, his left arm slashed, claws leaving afterimages, slicing a nearby rock into chunks like tofu!
At the same time, his succubus-like heart-shaped tail whipped out, piercing four falling stone fragments in one go!
Bastardos’s narrow eyes glinted, purple pupils gleaming.
This Puffshroom boss, who’d crushed his tribal alliance, stood so close, defenseless.
Close enough that… if he wanted, he could slice and skewer the round Marshal Puffshroom like those rocks…
Pfft—
The Marshal Puffshroom hopped onto his head, scarlet cape covering his face.
“No melee,” the boss’s gross voice came from above. “The enemy’s got a ‘disease.’ Get close, you’ll catch it! Try your new bow!”
Feeling the heavy, squishy weight atop him, Bastardos sighed, pushed the cape aside, and studied the weapon.
Testing was simple. The bow’s trick was clear.
It let you set a target point. Once set, the arrow would arc perfectly, hitting the mark from any angle for a surprise strike.
That’s it.
Not a tracking magic arrow, nor obstacle-dodging.
In a master archer’s hands, it could work wonders. In a rookie’s, it was useless.
Bastardos? No master, but skilled enough.
Seeing the half-demon get the hang of it, Lin Jun handed over a backpack Puffshroom stuffed with arrows.
Meanwhile, the Voice Puffshroom hiding in the Marshal’s hat crawled out, wrapping around Bastardos’s arm as he looked on in near despair.
“So,” Bastardos sighed, resigned, “what’s the job?”
“Be a man, go to floor fifteen!”
“?”
Passing the tenth floor’s stairs, Bastardos brushed by a werewolf.
The werewolf’s eyes were dazed, trailing a purple Puffshroom guide.
With succubus blood, Bastardos saw it instantly: the guy was charmed!
He recalled an earlier tailless lizardman waiting by the stairs. Clearly, a slick process was in place.
Glancing a bit longer, the half-demon looked away.
Nothing weird, just routine kidnapping. His tribe used to do it all the time.
Then he crossed the seventh floor’s rift, stepping into Godwood Dungeon.
After a brief awe at the sights, with the Voice Puffshroom on his arm yelling some nonsense like “Off you go, Dylan Two!” he began his dungeon quest.
Meanwhile, a Scout Puffshroom with a green cloth tied to its foot, clutching an item, flapped hurriedly from Godwood Dungeon toward the city.
An elf ranger spotted it, ready to grab it, but his partner stopped him.
“Don’t bother,” the partner nodded at the round figure. “Lady Salian’s little sister’s pet, always zipping around.”
“Just let it roam? Not afraid it’ll be a monster’s snack?”
The elf shrugged. Who knew what that mage lord and his odd sister were thinking?
At the tree city’s edge, in a house built against a giant tree, Salian and his teacher, the Elven King’s chief magic advisor Iros, finalized the monitoring array’s details.
The “monitoring array” was Salian’s combo spell turned into a magic formation.
Placed at city nodes, it’d watch everything, countering the recent radical groups.
“I’m heading back, teacher!”
“Salian,” Iros called, “you read those booklets. What’s your take on this ‘Ark’ group?”
Salian thought, then said, “The Mist’s dangerous, sure, but the human-demon war’s the real issue. These radicals’ ideas would drag peaceful elves into war’s chaos. That’s awful. We need to catch them.”
Iros nodded, understanding. “You’ve got a little sister you raised. Protecting family from war… good brother!”
“Teacher, you’re giving me too much credit…”
Iros waved him off to rest.
Stepping out, Salian exhaled. He’d been swamped, no time to check on his shy sister.
He climbed down the wooden ladder to the familiar cabin at the forest floor.
Pushing the door open, he saw Airaven, a Puffshroom on her head, holding a dark red glowing wood shard. Hearing him, she spun, running over. “Big bro, look! Little Puff found something awesome!”
(End of Chapter)
