After confirming the demons wouldn’t launch another major offensive for the time being, Fifteen once again crossed Scarecrow Abyss to reach the Elven Palace.
This time, he was directly led to Galadriel’s private courtyard.
Though she had already received the report of the Sword Saint’s fall, when the sorrowful Fifteen personally presented the broken Oborozuki, Galadriel still felt the world spin.
She instinctively steadied herself against an ancient tree nearby, silver hair swaying gently in the breeze.
Galadriel reached out with trembling hands to accept the broken sword.
Oborozuki’s blade had lost its luster; only a few remaining moon patterns stubbornly glimmered faintly.
She gently stroked the break, as if she could still feel the Sword Saint’s final warmth.
Fifteen was still talking about compensation, but her mind had drifted far away.
She remembered a certain dawn, the moonbell flowers the hastily departing man had left on the terrace.
She remembered the Moonlight Courtyard, where the two of them practiced swordsmanship under the previous Elven King’s guidance.
The memories finally settled on that bloody night: an overly young swordsman standing among cultist corpses, asking her, “You’re the idiot from the elven delegation who got kidnapped, right?”
She was an elf; she knew she would one day watch Elven die. She just never expected it wouldn’t be peaceful in old age, but dying on the battlefield.
Suddenly she recalled a soul research text she read in her youth.
A scholar with [Inspiration] had written: “Death may merely be the soul shedding old clothes, awaiting a new vessel.”
How Galadriel now wished that hypothesis were true. Then perhaps she could see Elven again one day, even if he was no longer the man in her memories…
…
*Puchi—*
Atop a small hill beside Mushroom Capital, on the crown of a towering ancient tree, Sword Saint Puchi awkwardly wiggled his short legs.
These legs always went “puchi puchi” when walking; it really felt strange.
But he had no solution, only trying to ignore the detail.
Right now, he alternated between various Puchi sensory abilities, observing the thriving city below from different angles.
The Puchi perspective differed from human; quite novel for the Sword Saint.
He also marveled at Mushroom Capital’s transformation.
Last time he came, it was a border town barely surviving the dungeon mutation.
Who could have predicted it would become such a prosperous city in mere months?
Of course, war was definitely a factor.
As the original mushroom source and deep in the rear, it naturally attracted many refugees.
What amazed him was that despite the population explosion, the city remained orderly.
Markets were busy but not chaotic. New residential districts were neatly planned. Even the water supply worked flawlessly.
Elven recalled the city’s administrator seemed to be a young man named Farr.
Perhaps he could…
Elven paused, remembering he was no longer the human Sword Saint, but Mushroom Tribe’s No. 14.
He recalled his conversation with the Fungus Lord: world-ending crisis.
The world never lacked people or groups proclaiming imminent doom; most were cults using it to scare followers.
The mist did compress living space, but its spread had always been slow. Even swallowing the archipelago and crossing the sea to continent would take decades or centuries.
So when the Fungus Lord told him the mist had landed during Threehill City’s battle and released something called “Wrath,” Elven’s first reaction was doubt, but then he believed a bit more.
After all, it was easy to verify, and with the Fungus Lord’s demonstrated abilities, there was no need to lie with something so easily exposed.
[Moonstep LV4]
Mycelial feet lightly pushed off the branch. Moonlight flashed beneath his short legs as he floated down.
Skill granting… such a miraculous ability.
Whether skills he mastered in life or fields he never touched, that mysterious Puchi could implant them into this mushroom body.
This ability was practically divine blessing.
And the variety of grantable skills even included the rare Moonstep.
Though far below his peak level, this footwork felt most natural.
Elven’s deal with the Fungus Lord was simple: rebirth, intelligence, and freedom of movement in exchange for verifying the doomsday claim personally.
In return, he accepted the identity of No. 14, kept Mushroom Garden and his Sword Saint identity secret, and occasionally performed tasks for the Fungus Lord.
For someone who had died once and no longer controlled his fate, these terms were generous.
This trip, he wanted to check humanity’s current state and also visit Scarecrow Abyss to retrieve something for the Fungus Lord.
After landing, Elven checked the two crossed swords on his back with mycelial tentacles.
Though other Puchis preferred natural tentacle blades, the Sword Saint still favored swords.
Surprisingly, he found mycelial tentacles without joint limits had advantages in swordsmanship; he could perform moves impossible with human limbs. He was still exploring this.
These two were skill weapons Lin Jun picked from storage, both with simple elemental damage.
One crackled with violent lightning, the other burned with flames.
Definitely inferior to his broken pair, but far better than ordinary weapons.
“Re… ready?” A timid thought wave came from the mycelial network.
Light near the trunk distorted. No. 5 Puchi gradually appeared; it always hid habitually.
Elven didn’t understand why the Fungus Lord assigned such a companion. If for surveillance, a sharper Mushroom Tribe member would be better.
No. 5 seemed a bit…
Elven nodded his cap. “Let’s go.”
He was about to head downhill toward Mushroom Capital when No. 5 hurriedly pulled him with a tentacle.
“This… this way…” No. 5 pointed at an unassuming mycelium-covered burrow by the roots, thought wave fearful. “Ground… many troubles… Fungus Lord said…”
Elven silently stared at the dark hole. Nearby were even what looked like monster droppings.
He mentally repeated “I’m a Puchi now” and resignedly dove into the burrow.
(End of Chapter)
