Outside the valley, several demon soldiers were half-squatting on a stretch of fungal carpet, all wearing the same frustrated look.
Their latest assignment had arrived:
Clear out the mycelial carpet.
A demon mage raised his staff. Flames burst out from the tip, the heat wave so intense that the others reflexively stepped back.
The blaze lasted for a few seconds. As soon as the spell ended, everyone hurried forward to inspect the results.
There was an effect—
But it was painfully inefficient.
Only the area hit by the very center of the flames had charred. Everywhere else, even the edges licked by heat, merely turned faintly yellow—the fungal growth still looked alive and vigorous.
What was worse: the carpet showed no signs of catching fire. Once the magic stopped, not even a spark remained.
Before this, they had already tried strong poison to contaminate the soil.
That didn’t work either.
“This doesn’t work, that doesn’t work… how the hell are we supposed to clear this damn thing? Dig it up with shovels?!”
“Unbelievable. Those toxins and flames could kill me ten times over, but this fungus is tougher than I am?” one soldier muttered, poking the blackened edge with his scabbard. Even burnt, the threads were still tough.
“Quit complaining and think. It has to have a weakness,” the squad leader snapped.
“What about the other teams? Any progress?”
They looked toward the distant clearing. The other squad was also huddled together, clearly stuck on the same problem.
Just when the demons were at a loss, a half-demon messenger rode toward them on a pack beast.
“I brought the solution the other squad figured out—use fire!”
“We did try fire magic! It didn’t work!” the squad leader barked.
“Not magic fire!” the messenger stressed, tossing them a bundle of torches.
“Use regular torches. These burn hot.”
Skeptical but desperate, the demons lit the torches and brought them near the fungal mat.
And sure enough—
The flames still didn’t ignite the carpet, but the moment the heat drew close, the fungal threads shrivelled and died at a speed visible to the naked eye. The effect was far more direct—and far more effective—than any magic spell.
Staring at the vast carpet they needed to clear, the demons still looked exhausted, but at least they finally felt relieved.
They had found a breakthrough.
Lin Jun also let out a breath.
He had remembered his own weakness just in time.
His resistances were too high.
Even weakened by the nature of the fungal body, they were still far beyond anything ordinary grass or roots could handle.
Killing a small patch wasn’t difficult.
Clearing everything was the problem.
If Lin Jun didn’t actively drain mana on his end, West Sigismund’s troops really might have never cut through the outer layer.
As for the underground mycelial network…
Lin Jun pretended it didn’t exist.
If he made things any harder for West, the man might just give up—and that would be troublesome.
The demons’ actions didn’t escape the notice of Alama and Lorenzo inside the valley.
To understand what the demons were doing, they called for two people far more familiar with Puchi systems:
Deputy Warren… and Inanna.
No matter what Alama personally felt, his daughter—who could command thousands of Puchi through her Knight Puchi, and who could perform “rituals” on the fungal carpet to mass-produce Puchi—was now undeniably the valley’s top authority on Puchi warfare.
Inanna walked over holding her Knight Puchi. Soldiers saluted or greeted her warmly along the way—her reputation in the army was already quite high.
Only Alama still instinctively treated her as a daughter who needed protecting.
When everyone arrived, Alama asked Warren first:
“Warren, based on your understanding of Puchi-handlers… what do you think the demons are trying to do?”
Warren wasn’t a Puchi-handler himself, but being selected by Butler Eric to assist Inanna meant his knowledge far exceeded the norm.
After observing for a moment, he replied:
“My lord, it seems the demons intend to clear the fungal carpet to cut off our supply of Puchi. Lady Inanna’s ritual is powerful, but she can’t create Puchi from nothing. It costs mana. I believe the demons are trying to sever the carpet’s access to ambient mana.”
“How does a fungal carpet usually gather mana?” Alama continued.
“Mostly sunlight, corpses rich with residual energy, or special high-mana environments like some dungeon floors,” Warren listed—the basics discovered during the early mushroom-field cultivation.
“Sunlight…” Alama glanced up at the towering cliffs sealing off the valley. Clearly, they couldn’t rely on that.
Lorenzo asked, “What about the demon corpses left after the fight? How many Puchi could that produce?”
Such a precise number was impossible to estimate. Warren shook his head helplessly.
Inanna suddenly answered:
“With just those corpses and the previous intensity… the defenses could last at most half an hour.”
Alama almost asked how she knew, but remembering she handled most of the Puchi defenses herself, he swallowed the question and began thinking.
“So many corpses… only half an hour?”
He confirmed again, then immediately left to reorganize the defensive lines.
In truth, even half an hour was generous.
Given the valley’s incomplete fungal coverage, near-zero sunlight, and ambient mana disrupted by unknown interference, those goblin corpses could barely produce a few hundred fodder Puchi.
In a battle that intense, they wouldn’t even last ten minutes.
Furthermore, many Puchi had been accelerated by Lin Jun using his own mana, which drained him tremendously.
The “half hour” Inanna gave already included the hidden mana subsidies Lin Jun injected through the underground network.
As the last ray of daylight vanished, the three-colored moons rose again.
Pressed for time, West Sigismund returned once more.
The valley mouth was soon engulfed by another tidal wave of Puchi.
But this time, the demons were prepared.
Their mage corps changed tactics. No more single lightning bolts or fireballs. Instead, they cast area-control spells—Firewalls, Stone Walls, terrain-altering magic.
Even weakened by the valley’s chaotic mana, these spells were far more effective than before.
Meanwhile, the ground troops focused entirely on eliminating the Puchi crawling out of cracks and burrows. Their formations were tight, their cooperation smooth.
The advance wasn’t easy, but it was steady.
And it came without heavy casualties.
When the expected half hour passed and no new Puchi fell from the cliffs—when the Puchi tide visibly thinned—West Sigismund finally smiled.
His roommate hadn’t lied.
Cut the fungal carpet, and the valley loses its ability to produce Puchi.
“Full assault!”
His order thundered across the battlefield.
The demons, long suppressed, roared and surged toward the humans’ final defensive line.
Steel clashed. Spells exploded. Screams echoed.
The life-and-death battle had begun.
But even now, West Sigismund didn’t relax. He left elite troops guarding the retreat path and watching the cliff walls.
If Puchi began spawning again, they would immediately sound the alarm and destroy the mats—just in case the humans were trying to lure them.
His gaze swept over the battlefield and locked onto a familiar figure on the opposite side.
“…It’s dragged on long enough,” he murmured.
“It’s time to end this. Completely.”
(End of Chapter)
