Alama and Lorenzo sat in wooden chairs, while Number Four jumped onto the central wooden table and began its second speech about the great mushroom race.
However, repeating the same content a second time, its momentum clearly weakened. The previous passion was gone, and the mental transmission became flat and straightforward, as if mechanically reciting.
After hastily finishing, Number Four also seemed to find it somewhat boring. Its mycelial tentacles drooped, and it simply plopped down on the rough tabletop.
Lorenzo stroked his chin and, after pondering for a moment, asked: “So, you mushroom race are the embodiment of the so-called ‘Puchi Will’?”
Number Four proudly nodded its mushroom cap.
Actually it wanted to say “Mycelial Lord,” but in this exchange, every mention would be changed to “Puchi Will,” so it could only continue going along with it.
After all, the Mycelial Lord’s will was the will of all Puchis, so saying it this way wasn’t wrong.
Not just “Mycelial Lord”—Lin Jun had set quite a few restrictions; most information about the mushroom garden couldn’t be spoken.
After all, these were souls he had split off himself—it was too simple to impose restrictions.
Lorenzo and Alama exchanged glances, tacitly understanding each other.
To them, Number Four’s description leaned more toward a phenomenon of collective evolution—when the number of Puchis reached a certain critical point, the collective consciousness would give birth to this higher existence called the “mushroom race.”
The so-called “Puchi Will” was more like worship of one’s own race, a collective consciousness designation.
After all, surely they couldn’t actually understand this “Puchi Will” as an individual, right?
That kind of thing had no possibility of existing.
As the exchange deepened, they obtained quite a bit of information from Number Four.
Such as the so-called “Thirteen Mushroom Race” and “Pink Puchi.”
Number Four included Inanna in the mushroom race. When mentioning this, it even extended its mycelial tentacle and patted Inanna’s hand consolingly, hoping she wouldn’t mind that only she didn’t have a numbered name.
Hearing a Puchi classify his daughter as one of its kind, Alama’s mouth couldn’t help but twitch, and he once again raised his hand to his forehead.
What Lorenzo found somewhat strange was that although Number Four called them “non-mushrooms” and itself the “noble and glorious mushroom race,” seemingly taking a high posture…
Throughout the entire exchange, he hadn’t used any honorifics, and Number Four showed no reaction to this, seeming completely unaware of etiquette issues.
Apart from the terms of address, the exchange didn’t feel particularly arrogant either—it had even less aristocratic flavor than the minor human lords.
When the topic turned to “mushroom servants,” that is, Puchi masters, Number Four directly applied its understanding of mushroom citizens to describe the future treatment of Puchi masters.
Puchis would provide delicious mushrooms, Puchi companions, mushroom house residences, mycelial healing and other services, while Puchi masters would need to occasionally fertilize the fungal mat and maintain it from damage.
And when Lorenzo asked what would happen if Puchi masters weren’t willing to do those things?
Number Four waved a tentacle and viciously stated they just wouldn’t give them those things anymore!
Honestly speaking, Lorenzo didn’t hear anything about “enslavement” in this at all.
Rather than enslavement, it seemed more like Puchi masters exchanging a very small cost for tremendous benefits.
This Puchi’s understanding of the word “enslavement” was clearly somewhat different from theirs.
Lorenzo also tried to communicate with Number Ten beside them, but quickly discovered the latter was far more cautious than Number Four. It wouldn’t answer three sentences to one question and proactively elaborate like Number Four did.
It seemed not every Puchi was as… straightforward as Number Four.
Lorenzo had no choice but to return his attention to Number Four, who was easier to get talking, only asking Number Ten when Number Four couldn’t explain clearly.
This exchange didn’t end because the two human leaders and the Puchis had finished talking, but because the mage maintaining the telepathy finally couldn’t hold on.
After the exchange ended, watching the two Puchis follow Inanna step by step as she left, Lorenzo beckoned the pale-faced, nearly exhausted army mage and asked in a low voice: “Did you sense anything unusual?”
The mage gasped for breath and wiped cold sweat from his forehead: “That one called Number Four… its mind was almost completely open, emotional fluctuations clearly visible. It didn’t seem to be lying.”
Lorenzo nodded slightly. This coincided with the judgment he’d reached through experience during the exchange.
“What do you think?” Lorenzo turned to ask Alama.
Alama took a deep breath, temporarily setting aside his worries about his daughter, and said: “One-sided testimony—we can believe it, but not completely. As for how to deal with it, same as before: we cannot give up power that can help us fight the demons. However, I have some concerns…”
Before he finished speaking, Lorenzo already understood: “You’re worried the demons will also get other mushroom race?”
Alama nodded: “We’ve all witnessed Puchi power. No matter what, keeping these mushroom race in our own hands is always safer. But where should we start?”
“Puchis ultimately cannot leave the fungal mat.” Lorenzo stood up, gazing at the spreading fungal mat outside. “We should pay more attention to areas with fungal mats afterward. That Puchi Dungeon is also worth exploring again—after all, it’s the origin of everything, perhaps we can discover something. Of course, all this is built on the premise that the kingdom still has an ‘afterward.'”
Both men sighed in unison.
Although the severely wounded Sigmund had retreated to defend the High Fort fortress, the crisis at Threehill City hadn’t truly been resolved.
It was still in absolute disadvantage, and no one knew how much longer the city defense magic array could hold.
They were trapped in this valley, and though they didn’t worry about food and drink thanks to mushrooms, once Threehill City fell, they equally couldn’t escape destruction.
They were now doing their utmost to clear the collapsed canyon, trying to open a barely passable road, hoping to do something more. However, progress was slow, and the shattered rock walls could collapse again at any time—every step was like treading on thin ice.
Just then, Inanna returned, holding the constantly squirming Number Four in her arms.
Number Four obviously didn’t want to be held like this, yet didn’t dare struggle forcefully, afraid of hurting Pink Puchi and violating the Mycelial Lord’s command. So it could only restlessly twist about like this, trying to twist free.
However, Inanna was an old hand at holding Puchis—no matter how much it fussed, it was futile.
She held up the Puchi in her arms high and said: “Old man, Little Four says it can help us dig the passage!”
“It? How?”
…
When a massive burrowing Puchi was pushed by everyone’s joint effort to the rock wall, and as a low “buzzing” sound began excavating, the hard rock layer was easily broken through like cheese.
Both Alama’s and Lorenzo’s faces showed expressions of “what is this thing now?”
Outside Threehill City, the demon army camp.
Visarius’s cold gaze pierced through the twilight, locking onto that city shrouded in the radiance of a giant magic array.
Humanity’s last and most critical resistance force was all cowering behind that seemingly indestructible light screen.
“Still no news from Hess?” Without turning back, he directly asked the subordinates awaiting orders behind him.
A blood kin quickly stepped forward, kneeling on one knee: “My lord, there has been no word from Lord Hess. We only received reports from coastal outposts mentioning abnormal expansion of the sea mist… This subordinate speculates that Lord Hess may have inadvertently entered the mist zone…”
“Abnormally expanding mist…” Visarius’s tone grew even heavier. “Even if he entered, with Hess’s strength, he shouldn’t be trapped unable to get out—after all, it’s not the mist’s depths!”
Unfortunately, his subordinates obviously couldn’t answer his doubt.
Things had been going poorly recently. Even with Visarius’s deep composure, he inevitably felt vexed.
First was that fool Xenophon, who actually let someone summon a Storm Elemental Lord in full view of everyone.
Not only did he lose his own troops, but he also caused significant losses to the main formation, forcing Visarius to temporarily slow the offensive and wait for Sigmund to come join up.
Especially that troll force—it was a weapon for storming cities, rare quality cannon fodder that could charge against defensive magic arrays.
Who would have thought that the usually steady Sigmund would drop the ball at this critical moment, causing such a huge mess—the entire troll force was annihilated, not one remaining!
That was one thing. Visarius had never been the kind of mediocrity without contingency plans.
The abyss beast previously used to ambush the Sword Saint, though its core was destroyed, had its body mostly intact.
As long as a new core arrived, this war behemoth could be awakened again.
At that time, unless that Sword Saint risked his life dragging his injured body out to fight again, the abyss beast would be sufficient to tear through that eyesore of a magic barrier.
But he never expected that even Hess, a powerhouse ranked among the top of the temple tier, would lose contact during a simple escort mission?!
Among all the demons, wasn’t there a single reliable one?
Setting aside settling accounts with these deadweights later, from the current situation, continuing to drag things out was useless.
Visarius decided to wait a few more days. If there was still no news from Hess, he would have no choice but to launch a forceful assault regardless of losses!
(End of Chapter)
