This Dungeon Grew Mushrooms – Chapter 140

“Young Master, are you still reading reports about the dungeon?”

Inside the carriage, the maid Lillian picked up a piece of fruit from the plate and tasted it, then picked up another piece and fed it to Farr, whose gaze remained fixed on the documents.

Without lifting his head, Farr replied:

“Not about the dungeon. After the magic tide, the intelligence submitted by Mute Wind Town has been both sparse and perfunctory. I’ve already finished reading everything—there wasn’t much useful information. I’ll still need to investigate personally after taking office. What I’m reading now are reports about recent demon spy activities.”

“Demon spy activities?” Lillian tilted her head in confusion. “Does a guild branch president have to handle this too?”

“Generally speaking, it’s handled by the nobility and the church, but under current circumstances, who can say for certain? If war really breaks out someday, it’s not impossible that we’d issue quests recruiting adventurers for the battlefield.”

Another fruit was stuffed into Farr’s mouth as Lillian continued asking: “So what have these demon spies been doing recently?”

“They haven’t done anything yet,” Farr casually tossed aside the report he’d finished reading. “These are all reports of spies discovered in the wilderness, or spies caught during inspections when leaving the city. The demons seem to be transferring spies from inside cities to outside recently—not sure what they’re planning.”

Although he didn’t know what the demons intended, this clearly wasn’t a meaningless movement.

This kind of large-scale transfer would inevitably result in catching one or two spies, as was happening now. Subsequently, the nobility would strengthen city entry and exit inspections, and the church would increase patrol forces outside the cities.

The inevitable result would be a large number of spies getting caught.

So with such great sacrifices, what were they hoping to gain?

The demons were clearly preparing for some major move—no wonder his guild president father had wanted to assign him a diamond-rank guard before departure.

Though he had declined that offer.

Lying on the soft cushions in the carriage, Farr quietly pondered the intelligence at hand when he suddenly heard some commotion from the convoy behind.

“What’s happening?” Farr called out to those outside the carriage.

A guard’s voice came from outside: “Branch President, a water bucket on the rear cart got damaged from the jostling—all the water leaked out.”

This guard was clearly quite perceptive, calling him “Branch President” even though Farr hadn’t officially taken office yet. Unfortunately, Farr wasn’t swayed by such flattery.

Regarding the damaged water bucket, while it was certainly due to poor quality, it was actually a normal occurrence.

Outside the cities, you couldn’t expect road conditions to be particularly good. The large cart behind didn’t have the shock-absorbing magic arrays like Farr’s private carriage, which allowed him to read documents comfortably without any discomfort.

In any case, it was a minor accident, and not a serious one.

They had brought two water barrels when they departed.

Moreover, the chosen route passed through populated areas all along the way, so there was actually no need to worry about supplies. They could continue even as things stood.

But to be safe—

“Where’s the nearest supply point?”

The guard’s voice came from outside: “Just for water replenishment, we’ll pass a village with a well this afternoon.”

“Then we’ll resupply there before continuing.” Farr instructed.

“Yes, sir.”

…

In the afternoon, the convoy reached the small village marked on the map—Antler Village.

However, the scene that met their eyes caused Farr to furrow his brow slightly.

A considerable number of villagers had gathered at the village entrance. They clustered together, arguing about something with agitated expressions. Their voices could be heard from afar, filled with anxiety and anger.

When the villagers saw this well-equipped convoy bearing the Adventurers’ Guild emblem, the discussion not only failed to quiet down but became even more intense.

“Young Master, the atmosphere isn’t right,” Lillian whispered in Farr’s ear. “The way they’re looking at us… isn’t friendly.”

Farr rolled his eyes—did she think he couldn’t tell?

“Stop the carriage.” Farr gave a brief order.

The carriage stopped in the open space at the village entrance.

Farr straightened his robes and walked over with Lillian and two guards.

As they approached, the noisy villagers quieted down considerably, but those wary and suspicious gazes didn’t disappear.

An elderly man who appeared to be the village chief, surrounded by several middle-aged villagers, hesitantly came forward to greet them.

“Honored… sir,” the elder performed a very imperfect bow, “I don’t know what brings you distinguished guests to our Antler Village. If it’s for supplies and drinking water, there’s an old well in the village center—please help yourselves. It’s just… we’re currently facing troubles in our village, so I’m afraid we cannot properly receive you all.”

The elder spoke very carefully, afraid of offending the person before him.

Without needing much worldly knowledge, just looking at the luxurious level of Farr’s carriage was enough to know he must be some important figure who couldn’t be trifled with.

Farr’s attitude was mild: “We’re personnel from the Adventurers’ Guild, passing through and indeed needing to replenish our water supply. We apologize for the intrusion.”

His gaze swept over the worried faces of the surrounding villagers as he changed the subject: “However, I can see that you all seem to be facing considerable troubles? What difficulties are troubling you? Perhaps we could be of some assistance?”

“Assistance?” A burly man couldn’t help but interject, his voice filled with grief and indignation. “You important people from the city—besides collecting taxes, when do you ever care about us? My fields! My lifeline! Just when they were about to be harvested, in one night, everything’s ruined!”

Foolish man—just for those words alone, Farr could have killed him without anyone being able to say anything about it.

But Farr noticed that his words resonated with many villagers, quite a few of whom lowered their heads and began wiping away tears.

“Silence, Hawk!” The village chief scolded, but the wrinkles on his face deepened. “Sir, please forgive this poor man’s rudeness—he’s lost his reason from desperation.”

Farr waved his hand: “No matter. First, tell me what exactly happened.”

The village chief sighed deeply:

“Sir, you may not know, but just today, our village’s western and northern areas—the large stretch of our finest wheat fields near the mountain forest—suffered some unknown disaster.

In a single night, more than half the wheat seedlings withered and died!

It’s not pest damage, nor common blight. The stalks… they turned black and brittle, crumbling to powder at the slightest touch!

And… and people who got close to those fields all reported smelling a strange odor, with some feeling dizzy and nauseous.

We’ve been farming for generations, but we’ve never seen such a disease!”

Farr furrowed his brow—this description seemed somewhat familiar to him.

“Could you take us to have a look?” Farr’s expression grew serious.

The village chief nodded, and the group walked through the village toward the fields outside.

The closer they got to the western part of the village, the more pronounced became that corrupt smell mixed with a certain pungent, sweet, fishy odor.

Lillian wrinkled her delicate nose and quietly cast a weak purification spell on both herself and Farr.

The scene before them was horrifying.

The wheat fields that should have been golden now looked as if they’d been caressed by an invisible hand of death.

Large swaths of wheat displayed an eerie charred black and withered yellow, with leaves curled and brittle, devoid of any vitality.

This formed a stark contrast with the still-healthy fields in the distance.

Farr crouched down and, despite his guards’ attempts to stop him, carefully pinched up a bit of the blackened soil and a fragment of withered leaf with his fingertips.

Feeling the burning sensation transmitted through his fingertips, Farr found the source of that familiar feeling.

“Corruption potion?”