Oathbound City, Council Hall.

Dawn streamed through the high windows of the vast council chamber, bathing the hall in pale light.

Archbishop of Light Ditas wore plain white robes, the golden holy emblem on his chest gleaming faintly. Duke Brennus had come in full military dress, his knuckles tapping unconsciously against the map spread across the table. At the head sat Grand Duke Lorenzo, lord of Oathbound City, his brow deeply furrowed.

“An urgent report just arrived.” Grand Duke Lorenzo’s voice was low and taut. “Angus Port has fallen. Serpentfolk struck first as the vanguard, followed by eight Veiled Empire warships that forced their way into the harbor. The Earl of Angus… saw that the situation was hopeless, sent one final message, and abandoned the city.”

“So those spies were only the prelude. Now their main force has truly arrived.” Duke Brennus gave a cold snort, then frowned. “Serpentfolk? Does the Veiled Empire even have such a race?”

“The Far North does.”

“What do they hope to accomplish by taking Angus Port?” Brennus pressed.

“They likely mean to bypass the natural defenses of the Redridge Mountains and join the Veiled Empire’s main army in a two-pronged assault on Alaric’s Highfort Keep.” Lorenzo traced a dangerous arc across the map with one finger. “Fortunately, the Veiled Empire has clearly gone too long without fighting a real war. They did not even manage to disrupt Mana Crystal communications. The report reached us at once.”

He continued, “Brennus, the task of intercepting them falls to you. If the opportunity presents itself, retake the Port before they can establish a foothold.”

“I’ve no objection to going.” Brennus nodded, then changed tack. “But what about the grain? Alwyn, how are things on your end?”

Every gaze in the hall turned toward a communication crystal floating above the center of the chamber. Light flickered inside it, followed by Sword Saint Alwyn’s sleep-roughened voice.

“Over here? Demonkind really did send someone to intercept the delegation. Unfortunately, I got a little carried away with the killing. I’m not sure whether any of them had noble titles.”

“That’s not what I asked!” Brennus snapped. “I’m asking about the grain! When will the elves deliver it?”

“That part hasn’t gone nearly as well,” the Sword Saint replied helplessly. “They keep hiding behind some excuse about how the ‘First Tree must not be awakened lightly.’ No matter what I say, they’ll only agree to provide one-third of the promised amount.”

“What are those long-eared bastards thinking?” Brennus slammed a fist onto the table. “Do they imagine they’ll be left untouched if we fall?”

“Could it be…” Grand Duke Lorenzo slowly turned his gaze toward Archbishop Ditas, suspicion entering his eyes. “Has word of the Hero Summoning ritual leaked?”

Brennus also looked toward the Archbishop of Light, who had been entrusted with the matter.

“Absolutely impossible!” Archbishop Ditas declared without so much as blinking.

“Then it’s damned strange.”

“Alwyn,” Lorenzo said to the crystal, “tell the elves everything. Angus Port has fallen, and Demonkind has formally begun its invasion. This is no longer a limited conflict. We are at war. Under the terms of the alliance, they are obligated to contribute. Press them for the grain with everything you have, and request troops to support us as well.”

He turned to Brennus. “Leave at once. I’ll give your army priority for whatever provisions we have. I will also send envoys to the Dwarven Kingdom immediately and persuade them to launch an offensive along the Veiled Empire’s eastern border. That should keep those Vampires occupied.”

Brennus nodded. “It’s the best we can do.”

Grand Duke Lorenzo gave Archbishop Ditas one last glance. The fewer people who knew the truth behind the Hero Summoning, the better. Since he had entrusted the entire affair to the Archbishop, he could only believe the man had left no loose ends.

* * *

Silver Sands Bay.

The sun was already high when Guard Captain Quinn finally strolled out of his residence and wandered toward the guard station.

It was his unshakable routine. He would take a few lackeys around town on patrol, collect a few perks along the way, and conclude his “exhausting” day at a tavern.

Not far away, a young mother stood with a child in her arms, watching Quinn’s lazy figure disappear around a corner.

She tightened her hold on the child and lowered her voice to a whisper. “How much longer do we have to watch him? We identified him with a high-grade Reconnaissance Scroll ages ago, copied the results with recording crystals, and sent several copies back. When are they going to send someone to take over? His level might be low, but he’s a genuine Hero. Staying this close to him every day is dangerous!”

The child blinked a pair of innocent, wide eyes and glanced warily around. Only after confirming that no one was nearby did it answer in a sharp, seasoned voice wholly at odds with its tiny appearance.

“What are you complaining about, Monia? This is an enormous achievement, the sort countless others would kill for! Naturally, dealing with a Hero requires someone of ducal rank to come in person. How could people like us possibly know the movements of someone that important? Besides, before the Duke sets out, they have to confirm the truth of the situation. What if this is another human trap, like last time?”

The humans had once used a false Summoning Ritual to lure away a Demonkind Duke. It had been Demonkind’s most humiliating failure in nearly a century.

No one dared hold anyone accountable for it, of course.

Elsewhere, Quinn, now LV24, emerged from a restaurant while picking at his teeth. He had just eaten a meal under the pretext of conducting a food safety inspection, and the results had been satisfactory.

“Where to next?”

Quinn was perfectly content with his current life, and he knew exactly what he was doing. He had abandoned his responsibilities as a Hero to become a Guard Captain under a Slave Lord.

His conscience did not trouble him in the least.

In his old world, he had been burdened with too many responsibilities he could not bring himself to abandon. They had piled upon him until he could barely breathe.

Now that he had come to this strange world with no ties and no obligations, what did he care whether anyone else lived or died?

As for the grand undertaking of defeating Demonkind and saving humanity… wasn’t there another Hero, a pretty young one, already carrying that burden?

The young could have the chance to be heroes. All Quinn wanted was a quiet, comfortable life.

Unfortunately, even that modest wish seemed difficult to achieve.

It was past midnight when Quinn returned to his residence. He opened the bedroom door, and cold moonlight poured through the open window.

An extraordinarily beautiful woman with a deathly pale face leaned beside the doorway, the faintest trace of a smile playing on her lips.

“Welcome home, Hero.”

[Name: Eleanor de Knox]

[Species: Vampire]

[Level: LV72]

Quinn’s pupils contracted. After a fleeting instant of surprise, instinct took over, and he raised one finger with lightning speed.

Eleanor’s cold hand closed around it before he could act. The faint light gathering at his fingertip died in her grasp.

Crack.

The sound of his finger breaking echoed through the room. The vast difference in level left Quinn powerless to resist, yet his expression barely changed. Eleanor raised an eyebrow.

“What were you planning to do to my memory?” she asked, her red lips parting as lazy amusement entered her voice. “That isn’t very polite.”

“If you aren’t going to kill me outright, what are you planning?”

“Come back with me, and you’ll find out.” Eleanor’s smile deepened, leaving no room for refusal.

Realizing that she had no intention of answering, Quinn stopped asking. Instead, he muttered, “Calling yourself ‘big sister’ when you’re talking to a middle-aged man is a little strange, don’t you think? And I might like pale women, but you’re taking it a bit far…”

The next instant, Quinn’s body began to turn translucent without warning.

“What?!” Eleanor’s smile froze, replaced by alarm and disbelief. She lunged for him, but her fingers met empty air, passing straight through his rapidly dissolving figure.

There was no sound and no burst of light. Quinn’s entire existence spread and faded like a drop of ink in clear water, silently dissolving into the still air until not a trace remained.

Deathly silence enveloped the room.

Eleanor’s outstretched hand remained frozen in midair. The mocking smile had vanished from her pale face, replaced by stunned disbelief that swiftly drowned beneath a surge of fury.

“He… disappeared?” A nearly imperceptible tremor ran through her whisper before her voice rose into a shriek. “How is that possible?!”

She was no inexperienced novice, yet she could not identify the method he had used to vanish. Even a duplication spell could not disappear so completely without leaving a trace.

More importantly, he was only LV24. His sole unusual ability was [Memory Erasure]. How could he possibly cast an advanced spell capable of deceiving her?

Yet that was exactly what had happened. A mere LV24 had escaped from beneath her nose with an utterly indifferent look on his face.

It was an intolerable humiliation.

Scarlet energy erupted from her body, reducing the entire house to rubble in a single instant.

“Hero! I know the scent of your blood now!”

The deafening explosion jolted Silver Sands Bay awake. Half-dressed guards hurried to the scene with torches in hand, staring dumbfounded at the Guard Captain’s residence, which had been almost entirely leveled.

They exchanged bewildered looks, with no idea what to do.

The following day, the heavily fortified castle overlooking the bay quietly increased its sentries severalfold.

Meanwhile, far from Silver Sands Bay, a large ship rose and fell upon a vast expanse of open sea.

“Owwww!”

A howl of barely contained agony erupted from one of its cabins.

Quinn lay curled like a boiled shrimp on the cold floor, clutching his right hand. His teeth chattered against each other, and beads of cold sweat soaked his hair.

“If I’d known it would hurt this much, I wouldn’t have bothered with that little act!” Quinn hissed, his vision dimming with pain.

It took a long while before Quinn finally released his hand. Exhausted, he wiped the greasy mixture of sweat and oil from his face, dragged himself back onto the hard bunk, and collapsed there gasping.

[Sin of Sloth (Unique Title): Creates a duplicate identical in every way except for this title; may be dismissed at any time]

He had acquired the title without warning a month earlier. Quinn still had no idea what conditions he had fulfilled to obtain it, but he had thoroughly worked out how to use it.

He had long known that Demonkind operated in Silver Sands Bay. They were business partners whose presence the island’s lord had tacitly accepted. Quinn had no objection. Everyone involved was getting what they needed.

But lately, those two members of Demonkind had been changing disguises every day and appearing around him in various identities. That changed matters entirely.

They seemed unaware that Quinn could view Status Panels. Their disguises could not fool him at all.

Considering his identity as a Hero, he had naturally anticipated the danger. He had sent a duplicate out to draw their attention while his original body boarded a ship where no one knew him and slipped quietly away.

He only wanted to live comfortably as an idle nobody, but that was proving rather difficult in this world.

Quinn gazed through the porthole at the restless, ink-blue waves and rubbed his right wrist, which still throbbed with lingering pain. A trace of uncertainty entered his eyes.

“Where am I supposed to go now…?”

* * *

Beneath the sea, not terribly far from the merchant ship carrying Quinn, another young woman bearing the title of Hero faced an entirely different predicament.

Although the Tidal Sanctuary was an undersea dungeon, its interior was not completely flooded. Enormous magic bubbles and dry halls divided its passages, making the dungeon barely accessible to land-dwelling species.

At least, that was how it was supposed to be.

They had taken shelter inside a sealed chamber whose only exit was a pool at its center.

Several hideous Fishfolk corpses floated on the surface. Dark-red blood spread through the water, filling the air with a heavy, briny stench.

Along the shore, several personal guards held their shields ready and watched the water.

“Can we retreat along the route we used to enter?” Hero Sophia asked hopefully.

Priest Samuel shook his head. “That passage has been completely sealed by reinforced silt conjured by the Fishfolk caster. We could force our way through, but it would take considerable time. While we worked, we’d have no way to defend ourselves against that Fishfolk.”

Sophia frowned.

The passages of the Tidal Sanctuary were not simple straight corridors. They twisted together like a maze, so if one route was blocked, there should theoretically be others.

The problem was that their enemy clearly understood the terrain better than they did.

That Fishfolk was not particularly high-level, yet it wielded the Sanctuary’s mechanisms and traps with astonishing skill. Its Fishfolk subordinates also fought without the slightest regard for their lives.

Then the water level had suddenly risen, forcing the group to retreat into this sealed room and leaving them trapped in a stalemate.

They could not remain here indefinitely. Using equipment purchased in Silver Sands Bay, they could create Mana Bubbles that allowed them to move underwater, but the devices were unsuited to intense combat.

The moment they ventured outside, however, they would have to face the Fishfolk again.

“Lady Sophia, the current situation is no longer suitable for training,” Samuel advised. “I suggest that you use the Transfer Array to return to the ship first.”

“But that magic circle can only transport one person at a time, and using it will drain all your mana!” Sophia protested at once, looking at each of her personal guards. “What about the rest of you?”

“We will fight our way out and rendezvous with you aboard the ship,” the Captain of the Guard replied solemnly.

“Instead of making you risk your lives…” Sophia pulled an unremarkable length of wood from inside her clothes. It looked like a decayed handle that had spent years soaking in seawater. “Why don’t we give this to them? Isn’t this what they’ve been attacking us for?”

[Divine Artifact: Ocean Scepter (Incomplete)]

Without the information displayed by the Status Panel, anyone would have dismissed the length of wood as worthless refuse.

It was supposedly a Divine Artifact, but its current function was unknown.

The Fishfolk’s demand through Telepathy had been equally clear.

“Return the sacred relic!”

Samuel’s lips moved as though he still wished to argue against what amounted to surrender.

Bella, who had been staring intently at the dripping ceiling with her silver-white eyes, suddenly spoke.

“Lady Sophia, there may be a hidden passage above us… Some of the traces end there.”

Everyone looked up. Samuel waved a hand, and a gentle force lifted the Captain of the Guard from the floor, pressing him against the ceiling like a lizard clinging to a wall.

He quickly felt along the stones and soon discovered something.

“There is a hidden passage, but there may be water on the other side as well!”

“As long as there are no Fishfolk, that won’t be a problem.” Sophia immediately brightened and issued an order. “Everyone, prepare your Mana Bubbles!”

Samuel could only nod.

Once everyone was enveloped in a faintly glowing, transparent bubble, the Captain of the Guard drew a deep breath and unleashed a fierce upward slash at the stone slab above him.

Broken stone and surging seawater poured through the opening like a waterfall. Samuel had already prepared himself. His staff flared with light, lifting the entire group and driving them upward against the raging current.

“It’s the outer court!” Sophia recognized the relatively open area the instant she emerged through the breach.

Once the chamber below had filled with water, however, the Fishfolk swam up through the same opening.

The Captain of the Guard exchanged a glance with one of the personal guards beside him. The man understood at once. He broke away from the group and swam back toward the breach, blocking the pursuing Fishfolk.

. . .

. . .

. . .

Sophia climbed the cold, wet rope and pulled herself onto the deck. At last, she felt the fierce heat of the sun overhead. She dragged in a deep breath.

“We made it out!”

Her brief elation vanished as swiftly as a bursting bubble.

She swept her gaze across the team as they climbed onto the deck one after another. Her eyes passed over each exhausted but familiar face, and she suddenly realized that one was missing.

“Where’s Ron?”

A brief silence followed.

“Ron… remained behind to cover our retreat,” the Captain of the Guard replied, his voice flat and emotionless.

“You made him stay behind?!” Sophia spun around, her voice rising as she stared at the Captain in disbelief.

“Ensuring your safety is our highest priority,” he answered, cold and unwavering. “No sacrifice is too great.”

“No sacrifice is too great?” Sophia repeated. The words seemed to crush the air from her lungs.

She understood the reason for his decision. Yet since coming to this world, this was the first time anyone had died for her.

Her mouth opened, but no sound emerged.

After a long silence, Sophia turned sharply away. Without looking at anyone, she walked toward the cabins.

The heavy door closed behind her, shutting out the sunlight and sea breeze.

Bella watched the Captain of the Guard for a moment, then hurried after Sophia and disappeared belowdecks.

Ahhh!

Sunlight!

A breeze!

At last… he could finally feel them!

Outside the dungeon, atop the cap of an enormous mushroom tree, Knight held Evan’s original body securely aloft while he greedily basked in the sunlight he had missed for so long.

With every human in the area gone and his Offshoot available as insurance, Evan could finally bring out his original body without fear and embrace the sun he had dreamed of day and night.

This was the taste of freedom!

Half a minute later, Knight silently put away Evan’s original body, fluttered his tiny wings, and drifted lightly down from the mushroom tree.

Evan had discovered a cruel truth. He still preferred cold, damp swamps.

If his original body remained beneath the surface sun for too long, it developed the unsettling illusion that it was drying out. He had [Heat Resistance], so sunlight should not have bothered him. Perhaps it was simply his species’ natural disposition.

“Grrr…”

A low growl came from beneath the mushroom tree. A Gale Wolf poked its head out from behind the undergrowth, its tawny eyes fixed warily on the scaled Puffcap before it. Its fangs showed as its forepaws scratched uneasily at the ground, as though it could not decide whether to attack.

Evan kindly spared it the trouble of choosing.

His tendril blade flashed through the air. Before the Gale Wolf could even cry out, it split neatly in half from head to tail and collapsed onto the mycelial mat.

With the humans gone, a few low-level monsters had begun cautiously venturing into the surrounding area.

Most were insignificant creatures like this Gale Wolf, however, far too weak to hold Evan’s attention.

Without human interference, his mycelial mat was also free to expand without restraint. He had not even spared the Adventurers’ Guild.

The mana concentration on the surface was far lower than inside the dungeon, which meant naturally occurring Slimes were extremely rare. Without those natural enemies, Evan no longer needed to dispatch Puffcaps to patrol the mycelial mat.

Photosynthesis also generated mana far more efficiently here than it had in the Far North. Wherever sunlight reached, the mycelial mat produced far more mana than it consumed.

The mana-rich mushrooms growing everywhere were one of the main reasons so many low-level monsters had been drawn to the area.

Evan did not deliberately hunt them. He merely played the roles of producer and decomposer.

Excavation of the surface Mycelial Tunnels had also begun.

Since the humans would eventually return, Evan was digging the tunnel network deep underground. The thought of building another “dungeon” beside the dungeon was rather exciting.

Everything on the surface was flourishing, while order was gradually returning within the dungeon itself.

Evan had sealed the major spatial rifts that released monsters in large numbers, and the remaining rifts of various sizes were being cleared one by one.

He had not sealed every rift completely. A few openings large enough for Puffcaps to pass through had been left behind so that he could visit the neighbors later.

At the very least, that lush green forest filled with diverse species looked ideal for spreading a mycelial mat and cultivating Puffcaps. It would make an excellent Fourth Mycelial Garden.

At times like this, Evan could not help thinking of poor Dylan.

His earliest companion had known only the days when Evan was trapped in the Fifth Stratum, hiding wherever he could. Now that Evan had finally taken control of the entire dungeon, Dylan was no longer here to enjoy it.

Considering Dylan’s wretched luck, Evan had little confidence that he would ever return safely.

Perhaps he should erect a stone marker in the Fifth Stratum and give Dylan a cenotaph.

Evan had also discovered that his [Soul Sense] skill was advancing extremely quickly, perhaps because he spent every day decomposing corpses on a massive scale and observing souls dissipate at close range. In just a few days, it had risen to LV3.

Thanks to the skill, he could now faintly perceive the condition of a target’s soul as it was decomposed.

That was how Evan discovered that souls fell into two distinct categories.

When creatures such as bullfolk were decomposed and consumed, they left behind a small but solid soul core. The core would then slowly merge into the surrounding world like a drop of water returning to the sea.

Creatures such as Mirages, ordinary Slimes, and Flower Fey were different. After decomposition, their souls released only thin, shapeless fragments that scattered through the air like dust and swiftly vanished without a trace.

After repeated observation and verification, Evan was nearly certain that the dividing line between the two types was intelligence.

Bullfolk might behave like simple-minded brutes with nothing but muscle in their skulls, but they were still genuine intelligent beings.

When the opportunity arose, Evan intended to investigate the differences among the souls of various intelligent species.

He had not forgotten the dungeon’s other population of intelligent creatures either: the Werewolves living in the Tenth Stratum.

The mycelial mat had already spread into their territory.

Like the unfortunate Fifth Stratum, the Tenth Stratum had suffered heavily from invading monsters.

Unlike the devastation left behind in the Fifth Stratum, however, every monster that emerged from the rifts in the Tenth Stratum had been thoroughly eliminated by the Werewolves.

If not for the dark-brown bloodstains on the ground and the chaotic marks left by bodies being dragged away, one might have believed the stratum had never been invaded at all.

Through the mycelial mat, Evan also observed the Werewolf tribe from a distance.

Every Werewolf had eaten until its belly was round, and even their fur seemed glossier than before. They looked nothing like Evan remembered.

They clearly had no intention of leaving the Tenth Stratum to explore whatever lay beyond the rifts. Instead, they had chosen to defend their home and turn every “meal delivered to their door” into stored provisions.

Unfortunately, the vigilant Werewolves had clearly noticed the spreading mycelial mat. Some actively removed the hyphae around their settlement, working quickly and efficiently enough to prevent Evan from monitoring them too closely.

Evan naturally intended to claim a race with the potential to rival Vampires.

There was no need to rush. The entire dungeon was under his control, so the Werewolves were not going anywhere.

He decided to spend more time observing them. Once he understood their habits, social structure, and even their weaknesses, he could decide what sort of “warm and friendly” approach would be best for establishing deeper relations.

The mycelial mat’s expansion through the Tenth Stratum had been relatively smooth, but the Ninth Stratum presented a far greater challenge.

The flesh creatures there truly ate everything. Extending the mycelial mat into their territory amounted to delivering food directly into their mouths. No matter how much Evan spread, they devoured it all. They would even climb the walls to eat whatever grew there.

Evan could only rely on the stairway protected by the dungeon’s rules to observe part of the Ninth Stratum.

Throughout the other strata, the Amethyst Deep had been the passive victim of invasion. In the Ninth Stratum, however, the maddened flesh monsters had become the invaders.

Evan saw countless flesh monsters forcing their way through rifts leading to unknown regions. They did not even hesitate when the warped spatial forces around the unstable edges severed parts of their bodies. It was as if some irresistible feast awaited them on the other side.

None of them ever returned.

Evan had no idea what unfortunate souls lived beyond those rifts. All he could do was silently wish his unknown neighbors good luck.

While Evan was enthusiastically rebuilding his home, the Demonborn, who had spent ages accumulating Contribution Points, submitted his first exchange request for something other than mushrooms…

Stonekeep Dungeon had changed beyond recognition.

The castle in the Middle Stratum now stood half-abandoned. Apart from the omnipresent hyphae growing through the cracks in its mottled stone walls, the place was deserted.

According to the Demonborn, the castle had once contained animated suits of armor, monsters disguised as treasure chests, and other creatures. Unfortunately, the Kyth had driven them all to extinction after arriving.

The castle was now little more than an expanse of bare stone. Even if Evan covered it with a mycelial mat and cultivated mushrooms there, it would still be far less suitable than the subterranean portions of the dungeon. Naturally, he had neglected the area.

The canyon in the Upper Stratum, meanwhile, had practically become a Puffcap pasture. Every day, the Demonborn led their Puffcaps there at scheduled times and fed prepared mushrooms to the Fimbul Fatbeasts.

Occasionally, they selected animals suffering from heatstroke and brought them to the mycelial mat for treatment.

Evan had handed all this tedious daily work over to the Demonborn. So far, apart from the occasional Puffcap being eaten by a Fimbul Fatbeast, there had been no problems.

Incidentally, getting a Puffcap eaten resulted in a deduction of Contribution Points.

Evan’s Puffcap capacity had decreased even as his territory continued to expand. Naturally, he delegated every menial task he could to his employees.

To make their work more convenient, many Demonborn had applied for mushroom houses in the Third Mycelial Garden. Evan had even thoughtfully provided them with a mana replenishment service. This gave the Demonborn who had undergone hyphal integration even more reason to remain in the Mycelial Garden.

They could restore mana by eating mushrooms, but that method was vastly inferior to receiving mana directly from the mycelial mat, both in efficiency and satisfaction.

The arrival of so many Demonborn had made the Third Mycelial Garden much livelier.

Norris had also successfully infiltrated their ranks by posing as a tailless Lizardkin. To this day, no one had discovered that he was actually human.

Sable was gradually becoming accustomed to the Demonborn’s presence as well. Evan had originally worried that she might tear a Demon Core out of one of them while he was not paying attention.

In reality, Demon Cores were too dark and dull in color to interest her.

She did not care about the Demonborn as long as they stayed away from her mushroom house. If anyone approached, Sable would poke her head out and fix the intruder with an unblinking stare from her golden, slit-pupiled eyes.

Stories of how Sable had once torn powerful monsters apart in an instant had already spread among the Demonborn. Naturally, none of them wished to test her limits with their own lives.

As a result, the thirty-three feet surrounding Sable’s mushroom house had become an unspoken forbidden zone.

At the most prominent location in the Third Mycelial Garden stood its largest mushroom tree, which radiated a gentle glow. Beneath it hung a notice board made from “Minotaur hide.”

Written across it in slightly crooked, unusually rounded Demonkind script was a Contribution Point Exchange Catalogue. The available rewards ranged from inexpensive mushrooms to Mana Crystals, various potions, and even customized mushroom house expansions.

Evan had listed everything he could think of that might entice… encourage the Demonborn to work. Anything he had overlooked could always be added later.

As for why the Demonkind script, which ought to have been sharp-edged and forceful, looked so rounded on the board?

One could hardly expect a Puffcap to produce crisp, elegant strokes on rough “cowhide” with a soft mycelial tendril.

The Demonborn seemed able to read it, anyway…

. . .

Hunt returned to the Third Mycelial Garden after handing over cavern guard duty.

Sharp weapons were strapped to the ends of his severed arms. He might have been disabled, but his level remained unchanged, and killing the monsters roaming through the caverns was still easy enough.

With Sky’s help, he removed the weapons from his arms.

He then gathered the tribe members currently staying in the Mycelial Garden. After a brief discussion, Hunt submitted an unusual exchange request to Evan through the Mycelial Network.

He wanted a Demon Core.

The Demon Cores had belonged to the more than thirty Demonborn who had fallen into the Kyth’s trap and lost their lives.

After taking control of the Kyth’s territory, Evan had discovered the indigestible Demon Cores deep inside a Kyth Hauler’s stomach. At Piglet’s suggestion, he had stored all of them away.

Adding the Demon Cores to the exchange catalogue had been a deliberate decision.

If Demon Cores were truly as important to the Demonborn as Piglet had claimed, they would send more tribe members to work so they could recover the cores sooner. That would help Evan bring the entire tribe under his control more quickly.

It now appeared that Piglet’s information had been correct.

This time, Hunt wanted to redeem one Demon Core first.

Evan did not approve the request immediately. Through the Mycelial Network, he required every Demonborn present to state explicitly whether they were willing to contribute their personal Contribution Points toward the exchange.

Hunt was the tribe’s chief, but within Evan’s system, he possessed no privileges over the other Demonborn. He had no authority to force his tribe members to sacrifice their Contribution Points. Even though Evan knew that every Demonborn present would agree, the confirmation still mattered.

As expected, none of them objected. They all considered recovering their companion’s Demon Core the obvious priority.

Not long afterward, a round Puffcap struggled out of the Mycelial Tunnel beside the enormous mushroom tree.

Its mycelial tendril reached into its body and drew out a Demon Core retrieved from the Boss’s hidden treasury, whose location no one knew. The core gave off a dim glow.

Sky extended a trembling hand and gently accepted the Demon Core from the Puffcap.

Its surface was covered in a web of fine cracks, yet it had miraculously remained intact. Faint, familiar mana fluctuations still lingered within.

Tears spilled without warning as Sky rasped the name of the Demon Core’s owner.

“Tavian…!”

The surrounding Demonborn lowered their heads. Silent grief settled over them.

Tavian had been the one who first proposed the plan that led to such devastating losses, but he had acted solely for the tribe’s sake. In the end, he had stood alone in a narrow passage and used his own body to hold back the insect swarm.

None of the Demonborn had expected his to be the first Demon Core they recovered.

“Let us bring Tavian… home to the tribe,” Hunt said, his voice subdued.

Before leaving, Hunt turned once more toward the Puffcap that had delivered the Demon Core.

He straightened his back, then bowed deeply with solemn ceremony, performing a gesture Evan had never seen before.

“Boss, thank you,” Hunt said, his voice low, clear, and filled with sincere gratitude. “You have given our tribe hope, but more than that, you have given Tavian and the rest of our tribe members… a chance to come home.”

Another round Puffcap took a short running start and sprang lightly onto the broad cap of the one carrying the Demon Core, landing securely atop it.

A mycelial tendril patted Hunt on the head, then “accidentally” brushed across one of his severed arms.

“You earned this through your own efforts. It belongs to you! Keep working hard, and you won’t just recover the Demon Cores. Your hands can be restored too! You might even become stronger or earn a better home for your tribe. None of that is beyond reach!”

Evan skillfully offered them another enticing promise of a better future.

“We will remember your words.”

Evan had an excellent impression of this Demonborn tribe.

Perhaps because they had spent so long in the bitter cold of the Far North, far removed from the conflicts of the mainland, their motives seemed unusually straightforward compared to most people’s.

When redeeming the Demon Core, for example, Hunt had proposed pooling the Contribution Points of every tribe member present.

Had they been humans, someone would probably have objected, “Why don’t the ones who aren’t here have to contribute any points?”

The Demonborn had not.

Most of them possessed a deeply rooted conviction that the tribe came before the individual. Perhaps that very conviction was what had allowed them to survive in the Far North.

At the same time, the harsh environment had made the Demonborn both easily satisfied and extraordinarily resilient.

To them, having enough mushrooms to fill their bellies made for a good life. Connecting to the mycelial mat and feeling the warmth of abundant mana was an immense blessing. Now they even had a chance to recover the Demon Cores of their fallen tribe members. That was fortune beyond anything they had dared hope for.

Whether they were leading Puffcaps deep into the mines to excavate Mana Crystals or patrolling the slightly overheated caverns to eliminate wandering monsters, they performed every tedious and exhausting task without complaint. They even seemed to derive a grounded sense of satisfaction from the work.

In short, they were inexpensive to support, diligent, resilient, and individually powerful. In Evan’s eyes, they were practically the ideal… workers.

Evan’s relationship with the Demonborn was currently more harmonious than ever. The successful redemption of the first Demon Core had brought the two sides another significant step closer.

By now, roughly one-sixth of the tribe had established Mycelial Network Links and become “official members” of Evan’s system.

Thirty-two Demon Cores belonging to fallen Demonborn still rested quietly in Evan’s secret treasury. He had disclosed that number from the beginning.

At their present rate of accumulating Contribution Points, the Demonborn could either spend a year or two slowly saving enough to redeem them all, or they could persuade more tribe members to join the “workforce.”

Whichever path they chose, the destination was obvious. The entire Demonborn tribe would eventually be absorbed into Evan’s system.

Only the path there would differ.

For that reason, Evan was not at all concerned that the Demonborn still guarded their final boundary with great care, deliberately avoiding any mention of the tribe’s most closely held secret, the “Cradle.”

They needed time to understand and accept their inevitable future.

The more harmonious their relationship became, the less difficult it would be for the Demonborn to accept the outcome when the time finally came.

Evan had plenty of patience now.

In the past, the dungeon’s constant threats had never allowed him a moment to breathe.

Now that he controlled the dungeon and possessed a secure base, his state of mind had grown increasingly composed.

The conclusion had already been decided. Whether the Demonborn accepted it sooner or later was entirely up to them.

* * *

Evan was in no hurry, but not far from the Amethyst Deep, someone else had nearly run out of time.

Eleven days had passed since the humans withdrew.

Their camp stood on a barren stretch of land roughly four miles from the dungeon. Most of the townspeople and wealthier adventurers had fled to nearby cities, leaving behind refugees with sallow faces and emaciated bodies.

“How is the dungeon?” Fael asked Alden inside a crude tent. The latter held an item crystal in one hand.

“It hasn’t collapsed yet, but I went into the First Stratum to investigate. Spatial rifts are everywhere.” Alden looked somewhat exhausted.

“You’ve worked hard these past few days.”

“It’s my duty.”

Only after Alden disappeared through the tent flap did Fael release a heavy sigh. He turned toward Mirabelle, whose brow was equally creased with worry.

“How much longer will the camp’s food last?”

Mirabelle grimaced. “Guildmaster Fael, with the camp at its current size, we have enough for seven more days. But new refugees have been arriving every day. In practice, four days is probably the limit…”

Cutting off the food supply to so many refugees gathered in one place would be disastrous, far worse than leaving them scattered across the region to starve on their own.

“Couldn’t we ask… the High Guildmaster for assistance?” Mirabelle ventured, barely above a whisper.

Fael glanced at her, and she immediately fell silent.

He pushed a letter across the table. “I already asked. He can’t spare any food either.”

Mirabelle snatched up the letter and quickly skimmed it. “War? The army has taken priority over the grain reserves?! Th-then what are we supposed to do?”

Lillian said nothing. She merely continued massaging the throbbing veins at Fael’s temples.

Fael closed his eyes and considered the problem for a long while. “Three days… If the dungeon still hasn’t collapsed after three more days, we’ll take the risk and send people inside to gather mushrooms.”

Once the decision was made, he dismissed the anxious Mirabelle and wearily picked up the bowl of meat porridge on the table. It had long since gone cold.

Fael gulped down the entire bowl, then smacked his lips.

“That was awful…”

* * *

Deep in the mountains beside the temporary camp, an arrow streaked through the trees and buried itself squarely in a wild boar’s neck.

“Yes! We have meat!” Faye raised her bow and cheered in a hushed voice, unable to conceal her delight.

Anyone could see that the camp’s food supply was dwindling. Vera had decided to hunt in the mountains and bring back whatever she could for the refugees. At the very least, it would reduce the burden on the camp.

Vera glanced unconsciously at the Elf beside her. After leaving the dungeon region with them, the Elf had shown no urgency to return to the forest and had simply remained with the group as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Cyrian,” Vera began with some hesitation, “I heard Druids… don’t like people eating meat.”

“That’s just a rumor…” Fiona hurriedly whispered beside her.

The Elf’s lips curved slightly. With a casual wave, Cyrian said, “She’s right. It’s a rumor. Druids don’t object to eating meat. We eat it ourselves. In fact, I haven’t had any in days, and I’m starting to feel too weak to stand! What we oppose is unnecessary killing beyond what survival requires.”

“I see!” Vera and Faye exchanged a glance. They had learned something else about Druids.

After bringing down the boar, the group did not descend the mountain immediately. They continued upward until they reached a secluded pool where a clear mountain stream gathered between the rocks.

Vera pointed toward the water. “This is the place, Cyrian. Bathing here has to be better than crowding into that muddy lake beside the camp.”

Cyrian surveyed the surroundings and nodded in wholehearted agreement. The lake beside the camp was crowded and offered no privacy, and its water could not begin to compare with this clear mountain stream.

Vera lifted the heavy boar. “You three wash first. I’ll take this fellow downstream and dress it.”

Faye and Fiona immediately cheered. Barely able to wait, they began undoing the buckles of the gear they had worn for more than half a month, now caked with dust and sweat.

“Hm?” Vera stopped and looked at Cyrian in surprise. “Aren’t you going to bathe?”

“Of course I am,” Cyrian answered without hesitation.

“Then… why aren’t you joining them?” Vera tipped her chin toward the pool, where the twins had already removed their shoes and were testing the water.

The Elf looked uncomfortable. “Even if we’re different species, bathing with members of the opposite sex is still…”

Vera stared at Cyrian’s delicate face.

“What?”

The hastily built campfire crackled, its dancing light illuminating four contented faces. They shared the richest, juiciest cuts of the wild boar, fat dripping into the flames as the savory aroma filled the air.

Vera chewed his meat, yet his gaze kept wandering toward Cyrian beside him.

After seeing the truth with his own eyes, Vera had no choice but to accept that Cyrian was indeed male.

Still, he could not help wondering how he had mistaken him for a woman in the first place when that flat chest should have made it obvious.

Was it his voice, as clear and fluid as a spring?

Or was it that exquisite face, beautiful enough to blur the boundary between the sexes?

Vera sighed inwardly. Even if he had the chance to do it all over again, he would probably make the same mistake.

Few Elves remained in the Kingdom of Concord for long. Human lands held far too many things their kind found distasteful. Even so, Vera and his companions had met several Half-Elves before.

Every one of them had been beautiful, but none had come close to Cyrian.

“Cyrian!” Faye suddenly called, grease glistening around her mouth as a question occurred to her. “I heard Elves can make wheat grow in wastelands and dead trees bear fruit, so you never run out of food. Is that true?”

Cyrian had been concentrating on the roasted meat in his hands. At her question, he hurriedly chewed and swallowed, nearly choking himself. He coughed. “Where did you hear that? It’s wildly exaggerated.”

“But you really do have plenty of food!” Faye insisted.

The Elf considered this for a moment, then looked toward a fruit tree at the edge of the camp whose leaves had only just begun to yellow.

“You should see for yourself.” He rose and walked beneath the tree.

Cyrian clasped his hands before his chest in a reverent gesture of prayer and closed his eyes.

Low Elvish words flowed from his lips, carrying an ancient cadence like whispers passing through a forest.

As he sang, motes of emerald magical light appeared above his palms. At first they resembled fireflies, but they soon gathered into a soft jade glow. The light wound around his slender fingers like a living thing before drifting toward the fruit tree in delicate strands.

Tier 4 Nature Magic: Hymn of Plenty.

Vera could not understand the words. He only knew that the song sounded pure and ethereal, like morning sunlight and evening rain washing through his mind, leaving behind a strange tranquility.

Beside him, Fiona stared at Cyrian without blinking. He guided mana through song instead of constructing spells with the mana nodes she knew, and the unfamiliar method fascinated her.

The song gradually faded. The magical light sank into the trunk, and a miracle unfolded before them.

The fruit tree was suddenly laden with ripe, heavy fruit, its branches bowing beneath their weight.

“That’s incredible!” Faye cried. Nimble as a squirrel, she bounded up the trunk in a few quick steps, plucked the largest and reddest fruit, and took an enormous bite.

Sweet juice flooded her mouth.

“It’s so sweet! Perfectly ripe!” she exclaimed around the mouthful, then picked several more and tossed them to her companions below.

Vera caught one and bit into it. “Isn’t this exactly what they meant by making a dead tree bear fruit? Why did you call the story exaggerated?”

“Take a closer look at the tree itself,” Cyrian replied calmly.

Their gazes shifted away from the tempting fruit and settled on the branches and leaves supporting it.

Moments ago, only the edges of the leaves had been yellow. Now every leaf had withered, and some were already falling. It was as though the entire tree had been stripped of its vitality in an instant. Apart from the large fruits forced into being by magic, it had already entered an early decline.

A note of solemnity entered Cyrian’s voice. “Nature Magic cannot create something from nothing. Hymn of Plenty merely draws upon the vitality, nutrients, and mana hidden within the tree, then forces them into these fruits by borrowing against its future.”

“That’s still amazing!” Faye said as she slid down the trunk. “Elves live in forests. If you can ripen fruit like this, no wonder you have so much food.”

Cyrian slowly shook his head, looking past the prematurely withered tree toward the east. “No. In Elven forests, we almost never use this sort of magic without good reason. It damages the foundation of the plant and may prevent it from bearing fruit the following year. More importantly…”

He paused and held up the fruit in his hand, showing them its flesh.

There were no seeds inside.

“These fruits are sweet and nourishing, but they have lost the ability to bring forth new life. They cannot carry the cycle of life forward. If such magic were used without restraint, it might produce a brief abundance, but only by consuming the future. In time, the forest would weep, and its balance would collapse.”

The twins listened, enthralled. For the first time, they truly understood the reverence a Druid held for nature.

Vera, however, brightened. “I see! We can’t use it often, but everyone in the camp will be delighted to have fresh fruit!”

He turned to Faye. “Come on. Let’s pick the rest and pack them up.”

Once the fruit and remaining boar meat had been bundled away, the four of them headed down the mountain.

…

Dusk had settled by the time the camp’s wooden palisade came into view. Voices clamored beyond the gate, mingling with the smoke of the campfires, yet a certain heaviness hung over it all.

The two guards on duty had been leaning on their spears, huddled wearily behind a crude windbreak. When they spotted the glow of Illumination approaching in the distance, both men straightened.

“Vera?” One of the guards recognized the figure in front, surprise coloring his voice. His eyes then fixed on the wild boar across Vera’s back. “You went into the mountains? And brought down a boar? We thought you’d gone to Northweald too!”

Vera said nothing, merely gesturing to Faye. She immediately reached into her bulging cloth sack, pulled out two plump fruits, and tossed them neatly to the guards.

“Catch! We brought fruit too!” A hint of pride crept into her voice.

“Has there been any trouble in the camp?” Vera asked.

The guard who had recognized him sank his teeth into the fruit, filling his mouth with sweet juice. He swallowed almost greedily before leaning closer to Vera.

“No real trouble yet, but… another few dozen refugees arrived today. They said they all came from the same village to the south. We had to set aside more grain to feed them. People are already complaining that the porridge is thinner than it was a few days ago. No telling whether the ones in charge have any way to deal with it.”

Vera sighed.

After bidding the guards farewell, the group carried their spoils toward the camp’s communal kitchen.

Along the way, countless pairs of eyes followed them from gaps in crude tents and shadows beside the campfires. Every gaze clung to the wild boar on Vera’s back.

The hunger in those eyes was naked, though its owners just barely managed to restrain themselves.

Faye muttered under her breath, frustration creeping into her voice. “Isn’t there anything we can ripen with that spell as much as we want without worrying about the consequences?”

Her question stirred something in Vera’s mind. He kept walking, but turned his gaze toward Cyrian. After several seconds of thought, he spoke with a trace of uncertainty.

“Cyrian… can Hymn of Plenty be used on mushrooms?”

They had no intention of entering the dungeon itself.

The sight of its collapse remained vivid in their minds: twisted spatial rifts, a crumbling ceiling, and the frenzied howls of monsters.

Although the dungeon had yet to collapse as the Guild predicted, approaching it was still enormously dangerous.

They only planned to venture as far as Hushwind. According to the latest reports, hyphae had already covered the town.

Even if they encountered danger there, their group should have enough time to escape.

On the path to Hushwind, a heavy cart passed them in the opposite direction. The draft horse pulling it snorted with exertion, while the mountain of burlap sacks in the cart gave off the mingled scents of earth and fungi.

Vera did not recognize any of the people traveling with it, but through gaps between the sacks, he saw that they were all filled with mushrooms.

As the food shortage grew increasingly severe, it was only natural that bold and enterprising people had turned their attention to the mushrooms growing here.

In the past, an entire cartload would have fetched no more than a few silver coins, not even enough to cover the cost of transporting them.

Now, aside from their short shelf life, those mushrooms were lifesaving food. Their price had risen many times over.

Vera saw no reason to judge the merchants for profiting from them.

The mushrooms belonged to no one, so whoever gathered them could claim them. If they had to belong to anyone, perhaps it would be Lady Elara, who had taken the Puffcap King away.

The sight awaiting them in Hushwind confirmed everything they had heard. The streets and nearly every other exposed surface were covered beneath a thick white mycelial mat.

Yet there was scarcely a single mature mushroom anywhere in sight.

The people with the cart had clearly stripped the entire area bare.

Vera selected a clearing where the layer of hyphae was particularly dense. “This should do.”

Faye could barely contain herself. She tapped one foot excitedly against the ground. “Cyrian, hurry! Try it!”

“Are you sure this is safe?” Cyrian hesitated, remembering when he had first fallen into the Amethyst Deep and seen the Puffcaps locked in a frenzied battle with the other monsters. “Aren’t the Puffcaps from this dungeon supposed to be dangerous?”

Vera surveyed their surroundings. “It should be fine… There aren’t any Puffcaps nearby, and we’re only at the edge. If something goes wrong, we’ll run.”

Only then did Cyrian nod. He approached the edge of the thick mycelial mat, slowly lowered himself to his knees, and folded his hands before his chest.

Melodious Elvish chanting flowed from his lips once more. Emerald magical light gathered in his palms, then spread across the mycelial mat beneath him.

…

…

…

Evan had been busy again lately.

Most of his consciousness was immersed in the Dungeon Core’s enormous Core Crystal Monolith, tirelessly studying the countless points of light within, as vast as a sea of stars.

Each point corresponded to some minor authority over the dungeon. To master them all was to master the entire sprawling dungeon.

The problem was that there were too many. So many that his cap went numb just looking at them!

Worse still, activating one often produced vague feedback, and receiving no response whatsoever was the norm.

Evan could only test them one at a time, then do his best to observe whatever changes occurred within the dungeon.

While Evan immersed himself in his research, the dungeon’s native monsters suffered no end of misfortune.

Sometimes lightning struck from nowhere and silently vaporized several unlucky creatures. Other times, monsters sleeping peacefully in their lairs suddenly found the surrounding mana concentration plummeting, forcing them to leave while grumbling in search of somewhere else to live.

All that experimentation had at least yielded one modest discovery. Evan had figured out how to operate a magic lift!

More precisely, he had found the point of light that controlled the Hidden Room’s relocation.

He could now move the Hidden Room freely between the First and Tenth Strata. That clearly made it a magic lift!

Although after every relocation, someone still had to open it manually from the outside…

To be honest, he had not yet discovered any particularly clever use for it. Perhaps it could save him some effort when transporting goods in the future?

Compared to the magic lift, Evan was far more interested in discovering where the treasures that appeared from nowhere inside the chests came from. Unfortunately, he had yet to unravel that particular mystery.

Clearly, he still had a long way to go in exploring the Core.

Meanwhile, scattered refugees