Though the magic tide had subsided, its effects were far from over.
The fifth floor, ravaged by the magic tide’s fury, was now a scene of utter devastation.
A third of the forest trees had been ignited by the burning beetles, their charred trunks scattered haphazardly across the cracked earth like blackened stakes.
Another third had been toppled and trampled by giant magical beasts—these thirty-meter giants uprooted and overturned, their trunks bearing deep claw marks and footprints.
The forest area had shrunk by nearly seventy percent. Where once a canopy had blocked out the sky, now vast stretches of glowing dome ceiling lay exposed.
Still, the fallen timber could serve as substrate for mushroom cultivation, so Lin Jun could accept this much.
The Poison Mist Lake had fared much worse.
That venomous three-headed serpent had cut a swath across half the fifth floor, leaving behind a trail of dark green toxic scabs that killed everything in its path—and Poison Mist Lake had been directly in that trajectory.
Perhaps “Venom Lake” would be more accurate now.
In the deep green waters, all native species had perished. Dead fish and shrimp floated to the shores in rotting masses.
The toxic water had even corroded the surrounding soil. No vegetation could grow nearby—Lin Jun’s mushrooms included.
He did have poison resistance, but only at LV4.
The spores he’d tried scattering were instantly destroyed, completely unable to withstand such potent toxins.
However, it wasn’t entirely a dead zone.
A species of small draconic beasts resembling scaled salamanders had moved in.
[Species: Dragon Beast – Miraji]
[Racial Talent: Membrane (entire body protected by internal and external membranes)]
Honestly, Lin Jun wasn’t sure how a membrane could completely isolate toxic effects, but they’d clearly managed it.
Combined with their natural poison resistance, they were now thriving in the venom lake.
Too bad racial talents couldn’t be stolen—wrapping Poof in a membrane seemed rather interesting.
Still, Lin Jun felt these Miraji wouldn’t last much longer.
For now they survived on the dead fish and shrimp along the shore, but that food source would eventually run out.
And the lake’s original ecosystem had been completely destroyed by the toxins.
Which meant they’d soon face starvation.
After that, natural extinction seemed inevitable.
Though they did possess the [Scale Armor] skill—perhaps worth considering raising them?
He just wasn’t sure if they ate mushrooms.
The lake and forest had suffered the worst damage.
As for the caverns, Lin Jun had simply collapsed those himself—re-excavating them would be a lengthy project.
Only the swamp area of the fifth floor remained relatively unchanged.
Though Lin Jun’s mycelium carpet in the swamp had been trampled to pieces, the environment itself hadn’t altered much. If anything, the accumulated corpses had actually increased the magical density.
One of the few pieces of good news post-magic tide.
In contrast, the mycelium carpet on the dome ceiling remained completely undamaged.
Even flying magical beasts hadn’t wasted time during the magic tide destroying mushrooms on the ceiling.
Now, the dome mushrooms swayed their caps gently.
Long-accumulated spores scattered out in waves, blanketing the entire fifth floor in pale cyan and gray spore snow.
Though wandering magical beasts hadn’t been completely cleared out, the remaining numbers couldn’t cause significant damage. It was time to restore the mushroom garden’s vitality.
On the mycelium carpet beside the ruins of Dylan’s hut.
A fresh Poof was cultivated, and Lin Jun held special expectations for this one.
The newly matured Poof twisted its body, severed its connection to the mycelium carpet, and stood up with spirited vigor.
A pair of claws lifted it up, then the dragonkin bit down.
“How does this feel?” Lin Jun asked.
With this bite, the dragonkin found she couldn’t sever all the hyphae at once—she had to tear at them to consume it.
The hyphae required repeated chewing before she could finally swallow.
“This one tasty, like it!”
Good, this was the specially optimized spicy strip Poof!
Besides [Magic Storage LV6], this Poof also had added [Toughness LV5].
“Once you finish eating, go help me eliminate some monsters first. When you return, I’ll give you several more like this.”
The dragonkin nodded while chewing. Fight monsters, then get food—not much different from before.
Except before she could only eat those tough-fleshed giant lizards and stinking rats. Now she could eat soft, chewy, large mushrooms!
She was very satisfied.
“By the way, do you have a name?”
This was actually a question Lin Jun had wanted to ask for ages.
Through the status panel, Lin Jun could see everyone’s names, but this dragonkin’s panel had no name field at all.
He wasn’t sure if she simply had no name, or if special circumstances prevented him from seeing it.
Logically, she should have a name.
The dragonkin could speak, though her pronunciation was strange—Lin Jun could only tell she wasn’t speaking human language.
He strongly suspected it was draconic.
With language and communication, she should have a name.
Who knew, while chewing the hyphae, the dragonkin shook her head:
“No name. Big Dragon says, the weak all have no names.”
Ah, this…
Lin Jun figured that meant he probably didn’t deserve a name either.
“Who’s Big Dragon? That terrifyingly huge dragon from that day?”
Mentioning that dragon, the dragonkin instinctively shuddered.
“No, that’s Mama. Big Dragon much smaller than Mama.”
So she really was that dragon’s offspring!
Though thinking of her performance that day—why are you so afraid of your mom?
Was she a menopausal mother dragon?
As for “Big Dragon,” it sounded like another dragon entirely.
Did they live in some kind of community with a bunch of dragons and dragonkin together?
“So what do they call you?”
“Svirrgiss.”
“Then isn’t Svirrgiss your name?”
The dragonkin continued shaking her head: “No. All weak ones are Svirrgiss.”
Good grief, it was a generic term—Lin Jun understood now.
He could already imagine a brutal draconic society where the weak were so discriminated against they didn’t even deserve names, only called something like “lowlifes.”
However, though the dragonkin had no name, he couldn’t keep calling her “you” forever.
Using Svirrgiss felt weird too.
“How about I give you a name?”
Who knew the dragonkin, upon hearing this, shook her head very firmly: “Get stronger, then will have name!”
So she wasn’t interested in him naming her—quite the ambitious dragonkin.
No choice, Lin Jun had to settle for second best.
“But I need something to call you. Svirrgiss doesn’t refer to you specifically, it’s awkward for me to use, and too hard to pronounce.
How about I just call you ‘Blackie’? Not giving you a name, just addressing you this way.”
It wasn’t that Lin Jun lacked taste and could only think of “Blackie” or “Whitey”—mainly because this wasn’t actually naming her.
Since it was just a temporary form of address, spending more effort thinking seemed unnecessary.
The dragonkin tilted her head thoughtfully, apparently finding nothing wrong with it, and nodded in agreement.
After settling on the form of address, the spicy strip Poof was finally consumed—adding [Toughness] had indeed made it much more filling.
Blackie stretched on all fours, then enthusiastically went off to beat up magical beasts as Lin Jun had requested.
Lin Jun then noticed her status panel seemed to have gained an extra line:
[Name: Blackie]
[Species: Dragonkin]
…
Sorry!
I should have thought of something proper!
Didn’t I say it didn’t count as naming? What the hell kind of system mechanism is this?!
