After retracting its mycelial tendrils, the illumination Puffcap obediently sat on the ground without moving.

A while later, Evan transferred several more Puffcaps into the space.

The scout Puffcap extended its senses in every direction. Aside from the Abyssal data cubes and the treasure, it detected no other objects or people.

To be safe, Evan still sent his consciousness rippling into the darkness like waves across water.

“Great Ixion, Lord of Light, are you here?”

“I didn’t mean to read your diary. I only fell in here by accident.”

“And, well… I also have a heart that yearns for the light…”

A long time passed without any response.

Tch.

Only then did the Puffcaps begin strutting around again.

Having reread the [Final Experiment Log], Evan supposed it could be considered a prophecy of the apocalypse, in a way.

After all, even a being like Ixion, Lord of Light had prayed to the “universe” for favor.

Of course, whether the record had truly been left by Ixion remained uncertain. In theory, anyone who knew how to create Abyssal data cubes like these could sign the name “Ixion” at the end. It was not as if the Lord of Light possessed some unique seal that could never be forged.

For now, however, Evan chose to proceed under the assumption that the record was genuine.

He seemed to be hearing more and more claims lately that the world was doomed. He was starting to grow numb to them.

At the end of the day, he was only a little mushroom struggling to survive beneath the Veiled Empire’s shadow. Even if he wanted to save the world, he had no idea where to begin.

Hopefully, a being as powerful as Ixion would find a solution.

Come to think of it, did this world even have a concept of the “universe”?

When Evan asked Louisa and Alden Kraal, neither of them recognized the word.

As for the concept of “aether,” even Evan himself had no idea what it actually was, so naturally they had never heard of that either.

Even so, he quietly committed the clue to memory.

According to the record, it seemed closely connected to the survival of the world.

There was another question. If Ixion, Lord of Light had sought to create souls, did that mean the total number of souls in this world could not increase naturally?

In other words, were all existing souls truly being reincarnated over and over?

Whenever Evan stripped a soul completely bare, it would dissolve directly into the world. Now that he thought about it, the world was probably reclaiming those souls and placing them into the next cycle.

Then another thought occurred to him.

Could the final solution Ixion had devised have been theft?

If the souls in his own world could not increase naturally, he could simply steal them from somewhere else. Those stolen souls became Heroes!

The Hero Evan had encountered in the Western Isles had possessed a name on his Status Panel that clearly came from Evan’s original world. Heroes were obviously not natives of this one.

No, that did not quite fit.

This dungeon had only appeared three hundred years ago, while legends of Hero Summoning had existed since ancient times.

So perhaps it was not a solution, but some means of delaying the inevitable?

Evan had no idea what benefit stealing a few souls every several centuries could bring to the world, but the theory did not seem entirely impossible.

The thought that Ixion, Lord of Light, worshiped by countless people, might secretly be a habitual thief who stole souls across worlds left Evan with a very strange feeling.

He set aside the information concerning the world’s destruction for the time being.

As for the Divine Artifacts, the Blood Calamity mentioned here was in the hands of the Emperor of the Veiled Empire, while the Heartwood of Genesis Fragment had already been reclaimed by that old tree. Evan had never heard of the Void Realm at all.

Ixion, Lord of Light had called them failed projects, but only because they had been unable to create new souls and were therefore useless to a being on his level.

Evan, on the other hand, desperately coveted the abilities attached to those failures.

There was little hope of obtaining either the Blood Calamity or the Heartwood of Genesis Fragment for now. He could at least have his subordinates investigate the Void Realm later.

Finally…

Evan surveyed the Abyssal space, which still contained a vast number of other Abyssal data cubes.

One Puffcap inserted a mycelial tendril into another cube.

[Test Subject: Sunstone]

[Experiment Log 19]

[Subject: Soul No. 734445]

[Soul Magnitude: B+]

[Continued dividing the soul with Sunstone… reached the limit at 75 portions…]

…

…

…

Sure enough, they were all records of experiments involving Sunstone.

Perhaps these records were the true treasure hidden within this Abyssal space!

The Divine Artifact’s Status Panel did not contain a single useful explanation. Even after obtaining Sunstone (Complete), the only thing Evan knew how to do with it was create a few Puffcap Kindred.

Then there was Emperor Mortis Dracon’s Blood Calamity. Its overwhelming curtain of crimson blood had been terrifyingly powerful, and Evan had watched it with considerable envy.

If he could thoroughly study these experimental records, he might not learn some earth-shattering technique, but surely he could at least figure out how to use Sunstone properly.

That was far more practical than any prophecy of the apocalypse.

Just as Evan prepared to devote his full attention to the records, however, a minor incident interrupted him.

The Sword Saint had returned.

He had returned by dying.

…

On his second rebirth, the Sword Saint expertly emerged from the mycelial cocoon. The moment he came out, he found Marshal Puffcap waiting for him.

“Sword Saint, master of Sword’s Zenith…” Marshal Puffcap looked down from above and tapped the Sword Saint Puffcap’s cap with a mycelial tendril. “How did you die?”

“Yes, why did I suddenly die?” Paying no attention whatsoever to Evan’s tone, the Sword Saint Puffcap rubbed the underside of his cap with his mycelial tendrils and pondered the same question.

“How can you not even know what killed you? Did something kill you in one hit?”

“That shouldn’t be possible. There were quite a few Slimes down there, but they weren’t particularly strong. And the Straw Wight in the manor shouldn’t have come outside…” The Sword Saint thought back to his final moments. One second, he had been cutting through the swarm of Slimes with ease. The next, everything had gone black.

That piqued Evan’s curiosity.

Even as a Puffcap, the Sword Saint was still the Sword Saint. The [Aura Sense] Evan had granted him was only LV6 and fell short of what he had possessed while alive, but none of his other detection skills were missing.

Combined with his mastery of [Sword’s Zenith], there was no reason he should have been instantly killed somewhere like the Scarecrow Abyss.

If the place were truly that dangerous, no adventurers would ever venture into it.

The two Puffcaps huddled together and discussed the matter at length, until the Sword Saint Puffcap suddenly remembered that Puff Five was still waiting for him.

When Puff Five learned that Puff Fourteen had died and returned, she hesitantly offered a suggestion through the Mycelial Network.

“Could it be… that you ran out of Mana…?”

The two Puffcaps stared at each other.

“Don’t you get dizzy first when you run out of Mana?”

“You’re a Puffcap. Where would the dizziness be, when you don’t even have a head?”

“Haha… I’ve never been a Puffcap before. I’m still not used to it.” The Sword Saint rubbed his cap, looking unusually embarrassed.

“…”

They had lost a knight Puffcap body, an S-grade Mana Crystal, and two skill-bearing weapons.

Cursing under his breath, Evan began preparing a second knight Puffcap body for the Sword Saint. After all, there was currently no better candidate for delving into the depths of the Scarecrow Abyss and looting everything he could find.

This time, the Sword Saint even had the nerve to ask for two more swords, bringing his total to four.

Once fully equipped, the Sword Saint was about to depart when Evan stopped him again.

“This time, you’re going with her!”

“Who?!”

“And remember to hide your identity!”

…

Elara?!

“Is this… a new Puffcap Kindred? It’s carrying four swords! It’s so adorable!”

Elara had only just been rescued through the teleportation circle, yet she happily scooped the Sword Saint Puffcap into her arms the moment she saw him.

The Sword Saint Puffcap had intended to dodge, but for some reason, his fungal body slipped beyond his control for an instant.

It was probably that Mycelial Sovereign!

Although they had not known each other for long, Alwyn had already begun to understand Evan’s personality.

This fungal body, which did not entirely belong to him, clearly concealed all manner of restrictions.

But what was Alaric’s daughter doing in the Mycelial Garden?

The Sword Saint Puffcap twisted his fungal body, trying to escape from Elara’s not particularly powerful arms.

Yet however he shifted his leverage or redirected her force, he could not slip free of her embrace.

He quickly realized that the girl was exceptionally skilled at holding Puffcaps. She understood a Puffcap’s body inside and out—perhaps even better than he did, and he was one.

Unless he resorted to brute force and hurt her, escape was impossible. She had utterly overwhelmed him through technique alone.

What in the world had this girl been spending her time on? Just how many Puffcaps had she hugged?!

As Elara’s nimble fingers reached for his cap, Alwyn felt his dignity hanging by a thread—despite no longer having a face to lose.

Elara’s technique did have its merits.

Alwyn had never imagined that gently scratching certain parts of a Puffcap could be so relaxing.

The hollow where the cap met the body, the bases of the mycelial tendrils, even a gentle squeeze of the short fungal legs…

As for Elara touching him all over?

The one being touched was Puff Fourteen. What did that have to do with Sword Saint Alwyn, who had already died in battle?

Elara continued stroking and kneading him until Puff Four, now restored to a normal fungal body, tapped her arm with a mycelial tendril.

Elara doted on every Puffcap equally. Naturally, she would never neglect an old favorite for a new one. She picked up Puff Four and began expertly rubbing and scratching it as well.

Only Puff Ten stood silently in everyone’s shadow, showing no intention of joining them.

It was not idling, however. It was studying magic through the Mycelial Network.

Several fungal folk had been assigned to leaf through spellbooks at its request, transmitting the images directly into Puff Ten’s consciousness through the Mycelial Network.

Puff Ten understood perfectly well that Puffcaps had no need to train their skills. The great Mycelial Sovereign could bestow most abilities upon them.

But “most” did not include the knowledge required to cast spells. That was something Puff Ten needed to learn on its own, and it enjoyed the sensation of absorbing knowledge.

It intended to become a Puffcap Archmage.

Though it had never said so aloud, Puff Ten firmly believed that it was the Mycelial Sovereign’s finest creation!

…

By the time Elara returned, the search party dispatched by Fael Isaacs had already begun trying to clear the passage Puff Ten had blocked earlier.

Evan sent a batwing Puffcap through the breach to bring Elara up to the Sixth Stratum, then had her ride the hidden room straight to the First Stratum.

When Elara emerged from the dungeon, Fael Isaacs rushed over as soon as he received the news. He came very close to throwing himself at her feet and pouring out all his grievances.

Who could possibly understand the pressure he had been under after learning that Duke Alaric was on his way to Mushroom Metropolis?

“Thank goodness… Thank goodness you returned safely!” Fael Isaacs wiped the sweat from his brow, then noticed the additional figure beside Elara.

He might have struggled to tell at a glance whether another Puffcap Kindred was unusual, but the Sword Saint Puffcap was only two feet seven inches tall and had four sword sheaths strapped to its little fungal body. It was far too conspicuous to be an ordinary Puffcap.

Fael Isaacs did not ask any questions. Alaric would arrive soon, and it was not his place to meddle in Elara’s affairs.

Elara, meanwhile, wanted to speak with her old man about her plan to visit the Dwarven Mountains.

Fael Isaacs arranged for Elara to move back into the adventurers’ guild. There she encountered Fifteen, who had recently returned and was staying in Mushroom Metropolis for the time being.

When Fifteen first saw Elara, he smiled and approached to greet her.

The moment he caught sight of the sword-bearing Puffcap beside her, however, his movements visibly stiffened.

Only after confirming that it carried four swords rather than the two he remembered did he quietly breathe a sigh of relief.

It made sense. He had ridden back from the Scarecrow Abyss without stopping.

Even if the Puffcap that had utterly humiliated him had immediately climbed out from the depths, it could not possibly have traveled faster than he had on horseback, much less ended up at Elara’s side.

Still, perhaps it was only his imagination, but he could not shake the feeling that the four-sword Puffcap was “staring” at him…

The Sword Saint Puffcap was indeed staring at Fifteen.

It was rare to have such good luck and encounter Fifteen again. Its mycelial tendrils were itching to test out a four-sword fighting style.

Unfortunately, this was not a chance encounter inside the dungeon. Starting a fight here would be difficult to explain.

It had no choice but to abandon the idea.

Even though the Sword Saint had given up on provoking him, Fifteen still felt an inexplicable chill run down his spine.

Puff Nine, perched atop his head, remained perfectly calm. It already knew that the Sword Saint Puffcap was one of their own.

Clutching Fifteen’s hair with its mycelial tendrils, Puff Nine climbed down with little kicks of its short fungal legs, its cap brushing against Fifteen’s cheek.

“Don’t panic, little Fifteen. If a fight breaks out, I’ll protect you!”

After making its grand declaration, Puff Nine immediately went over to Puff Four to strengthen the bonds among the Puffcap Kindred. Along the way, Elara picked it up and gave it a thorough rubbing as well.

When she finished, Puff Nine could not help lamenting that its own Fifteen possessed no such skill.

…

Once Elara had been settled in, Fael Isaacs finally dragged his weary body back to his office.

Lillian stepped behind him and massaged his neck and shoulders, applying just enough pressure to ease the tension.

Elara’s disappearance over the past few days had truly exhausted him.

The pressure had not come from Duke Alaric alone. The people of Mushroom Metropolis had grown increasingly vocal in their demands for a more extensive search and rescue operation.

How could a war hero simply vanish inside the dungeon without explanation?

Fael Isaacs had been forced to set aside his other administrative duties and devote most of the city’s manpower and resources to the search. He had even risked angering the dungeon’s Puffcap Kindred by sending people to excavate the blocked passage on the lower stratum.

Under pressure from every direction, Fael Isaacs could practically feel his hairline receding.

Fortunately, Elara had returned on her own, temporarily sparing him the threat of premature baldness.

That did not mean he could relax.

He was not one of those useless parasites content to coast through life. He had become the city lord of Mushroom Metropolis through a rare exception, and he had far greater ambitions to pursue. Now he needed to catch up on all the administrative work he had set aside.

After resting for fifteen minutes, he returned to the broad desk in his office.

Most of the documents were requests submitted by his subordinates. Some sought an allocation of materials to install additional magic circles in the city’s defenses, while others requested permission to procure specialized materials from elsewhere.

Fael Isaacs skimmed through them and approved each in turn, until one document brought his pen to a halt.

“Cult of the Sacred Puffcap…”

The report was straightforward. Several small gatherings dedicated to the worship of mushrooms and Puffcaps had recently appeared in Mushroom Metropolis.

New faiths like these were hardly rare in this world, and the vast majority never amounted to anything.

Ordinarily, a belief of unknown origin like this would immediately be classified as a heretical cult. The problem was that the Kingdom of Concord and the Puffcap Kindred were still in the early stages of establishing contact, with considerable potential for future cooperation.

Nor could anyone be certain that the Puffcap Kindred were not secretly encouraging the Cult of the Sacred Puffcap.

If they were, then how the Church handled the matter would, to some extent, become a diplomatic issue.

For now, the group’s core members appeared to be survivors of the Battle of Dragonroar Valley and their families. They were indeed the people most likely to become followers of the Cult of the Sacred Puffcap.

Their numbers were still small. If the cult was to be suppressed, it had to be done early!

Fael Isaacs recalled the recent reports from the occupied territories in western Concord. Taking advantage of the chaos there, the heretical Hand of Passage had quietly conducted several sacrificial rituals.

They sacrificed not only humans but any Demonkind they managed to capture as well. Judging by the traces left behind, the scale of their sacrifices was steadily increasing.

There was no telling what those lunatics were planning now.

Fael Isaacs summoned Mirabelle and ordered her to arrange an undercover investigation. At the very least, they needed to identify whoever was behind the Cult of the Sacred Puffcap.

What worried him most was that the so-called Cult of the Sacred Puffcap might simply be a new disguise worn by the Hand of Passage.

If the Hand of Passage managed to unleash chaos in Mushroom Metropolis, he would not even have a place to weep.

As for how the Kingdom of Concord’s relationship with the Puffcap Kindred should factor into the decision, the Duke would be arriving soon. Fael Isaacs decided to ask Alaric for his judgment then.

…

Several days later, when Alaric finally arrived in Mushroom Metropolis, Elara was there to greet him with the Sword Saint Puffcap cradled in her arms.

Even with all the Sword Saint’s shamelessness, the sight made him silently turn his cap aside.

“Darling, you actually enjoy having your forehead rubbed like this, don’t you?”

“Ina, how do you always see through me?”

“It’s a lover’s intuition!”

…

The playful, tender words seemed to echo in Alaric’s ears.

He pulled away from the fleeting memory and found Elara before him, still teasing the Puffcap in her arms.

For an instant, the way his daughter tilted her head and smiled while playing with the Puffcap overlapped perfectly with his memories of his wife.

Yet the tenderness in his heart was overshadowed by his displeasure with the Puffcap.

He did not dare imagine how his wife would react if she came back to life and saw what had become of their only daughter under his care…

When Alaric first learned that Elara had gone missing, he had been badly startled. His first thought was that Demonkind had found an opportunity to target her.

As it turned out, he was not entirely wrong. Demonkind had indeed sent two groups of assassins after Elara following the war, providing the Mycelial Garden with several high-quality D-grade personnel.

Using the mark that connected them, Alaric had immediately tried to locate Elara. His luck had been poor at first. The first crystal was defective and indicated that she was somewhere to the north. Only the second worked properly, pointing south toward the Puffcap Dungeon.

While he was hurrying toward Mushroom Metropolis, however, word reached him that Elara was safe.

After some thought, he decided not to turn back. He might as well see his daughter.

To his surprise, Elara had immediately asked for permission to visit the Dwarven Mountains and speak with the Dwarves.

Alaric suspected this was the wish of the Puffcap Kindred. Perhaps they wanted to establish contact with the Dwarves.

It was not an unreasonable request. Besides, the Kingdom of Concord already intended to deepen its cooperation with the Dwarves and Elves and reinforce their old alliances. Elara could simply accompany the delegation.

However…

Even while speaking with him, Elara had not stopped stroking the Puffcap in her arms. After considering the matter for a moment, Alaric slowly asked, “You spent more than ten days in the dungeon this time. How did it go?”

“Look, I made another new friend!” Elara held up the Sword Saint Puffcap, which had long since given up struggling.

“That’s good. It’s just…” Alaric carefully chose his words. “You know that your position is far more important now than it once was. Countless eyes are watching you, some friendly and some hostile. When you act alone like this, I can’t help worrying. If there were more reliable safeguards in place, such as someone trustworthy who remained by your side, I would feel much more at ease.”

He paused, his tone growing gentler. “Among the young people you usually associate with, is there anyone you consider especially dependable and capable of taking on such a responsibility?”

“Yes!” Elara answered without hesitation. “Puff Four, Puff Ten, and Puff Fourteen. They’re all incredibly strong! With them around, I’d dare go anywhere!”

In truth, Elara wanted to say that there was nothing to worry about as long as Boss was with her, but Evan had forbidden her from saying that.

At her words, Puff Four immediately jumped onto the table.

“Exactly! Anyone who wants to hurt her will have to step over my corpse first!”

Alaric fell silent for a moment.

“I meant… a human,” he said, carefully weighing every word. “For example, your former deputy, Warren. That young man is steady and takes your well-being seriously. If someone that dependable could remain at your side…”

“Warren really is reliable, but isn’t he busy training the Puffcap Handler Corps?” Elara tapped her chin thoughtfully. “If someone absolutely has to accompany me, why not Alden Kraal? His illusion magic is incredible!”

Elara assumed Alaric wanted to assign her a bodyguard. If she claimed there was no suitable candidate, her father might appoint someone she did not know. Alden Kraal was both a member of the Mycelial Garden and an acquaintance with whom she had worked several times, making him a much better choice.

“Alden Kraal?”

Alaric finally dug up an old report from the depths of his memory. Steward Edmund had submitted it long ago regarding Elara’s circumstances, and Alden Kraal’s name had appeared in it.

A noble from a fallen house. A Diamond-rank illusionist.

None of that mattered.

What mattered was that, unless Alaric remembered incorrectly, the bastard was already in his forties, only a few years younger than Alaric himself!

“Isn’t there… anyone younger?” Alaric asked, keeping his voice as level as possible.

“Alden Kraal is perfectly suitable.” Elara blinked, completely missing his implication. “Don’t worry, Father. Alden Kraal definitely has the stamina to keep up!”

She was, of course, referring to the endurance required for long journeys.

Crack!

The solid wooden armrest splintered beneath Alaric’s unconscious grip.

…

Alden Kraal had been preparing to properly test his large-scale illusion apparatus in the Far North when he suddenly received an assignment to accompany a delegation to the Dwarven Mountains.

The prospect of spending one or two months on the journey left him rather depressed.

Fortunately, Boss promised to allocate dedicated resources to support his illusion experiments once he returned, easing most of his frustration.

When one worked for someone else, being abruptly sent on a distant assignment was unavoidable.

There was only one thing Alden could not understand.

Why did Duke Alaric, whom he had never met before, seem to harbor a desire to eat him alive beneath that courteous smile?

It made no sense. Alden’s conduct had been proper, his etiquette impeccable, and his appearance respectable enough. How exactly had he offended the Duke?

Alaric’s gaze bore down on him like a tiger, placing Alden Kraal under tremendous pressure.

One week later, the Kingdom of Concord’s professional negotiating team and escort guards finally arrived. Only when the delegation departed did Alden Kraal, who had visibly lost weight under the pressure, finally find relief.

The delegation would travel through the Scarecrow Abyss and negotiate future cooperation with the Elves and Dwarves in turn.

Since the Dwarven Mountains lay beyond the range of the mycelial mat, the Sword Saint Puffcap would protect the delegation throughout the journey. Only on the return trip would he leave them and resume exploring the Scarecrow Abyss.

The Sword Saint had no objection to walking a little farther or protecting Elara.

Unfortunately, there was no one in the entire delegation suitable for him to practice against.

…

“Your Grace.”

After Elara’s departure, Fael Isaacs approached Alaric, who was also preparing to leave.

He had come to ask how the Cult of the Sacred Puffcap should be handled.

Fael had first mentioned the matter to the Duke the day before Alaric arrived. During his later conversations with the Puffcap Kindred, Alaric had tried to sound them out indirectly.

However, the Puffcap Kindred seemed completely unaware of the cult’s existence, as though it had nothing to do with them.

But even if they did not know now, that did not mean they would never learn of it.

Allowing the worship of Puffcaps to spread unchecked was obviously unacceptable. Yet if the group were immediately branded a heretical cult and eradicated, that response might still harm relations between the two sides, even if the Puffcap Kindred truly had nothing to do with it.

The Kingdom of Concord could not afford to lose the Puffcaps. That was the cold reality.

“Arrest the principal members, but do not put them on trial or mistreat them. Focus on preventing the faith from spreading.”

“And if we discover a connection to the Hand of Passage…?”

“Then kill them!”

Not all heretical cults were equal. The Hand of Passage was clearly among the very worst.

The west coast of the Kingdom of Concord, within the occupied territories.

Amid the shattered walls and ruined buildings, a towering Boarfolk struggled to prop himself upright. His coarse bristles were caked with grit and dried blood.

He was the captain of a squad of more than a dozen Boarfolk.

The occupied territories were now full of scattered Demonkind bands like his.

They were not regular soldiers. They had merely come to take advantage of the chaos left by the collapse of the human defenses, hoping to capture prisoners and carry them away.

Without a Demonkind army at their backs, it was an extremely dangerous business.

Those who ventured into these lands were either confident enough in their strength and cunning, or, like him, had no other choice.

The death of Boarfolk Duke Xenophon on the battlefield had dealt a devastating blow to the Boarfolk faction within the Veiled Empire.

Xenophon had already committed grave errors during the war. After his death, the Emperor reclaimed most of his domain, while neighboring lords divided and devoured the rest, leaving him only a small hereditary estate.

Countless Boarfolk lost the power that had sheltered them and were forced to find their own way to survive.

The captain had been unwilling to follow other Boarfolk into the service of new lords, where they would become cannon fodder with no hope of advancement. Instead, he had gathered a band of willing followers and come to the west coast, hoping to scrape together enough capital through this bloody trade.

He had failed.

His last memory was of escorting prisoners back to the port when several blazing fireballs shot from the ruined buildings on either side of the road, sealing off every possible route of escape.

The Boarfolk shook his heavy head violently. As his vision gradually cleared, he saw the iron bars of a prison wagon surrounding him.

He quickly recognized it as one of the wagons he had used to hold human prisoners.

His first thought was to wonder why the humans had captured him instead of killing him on the spot.

Humans had no use for Demonkind prisoners.

But when he looked into the cage beside his, he did not find any of his Boarfolk subordinates. Instead, he saw the human prisoners he had personally captured several days earlier.

They had not been freed. They were still wearing shackles.

One gaunt man met his gaze, and a smile slowly spread across his face.

It held none of the joy of rescue. It was a twisted smile steeped in despair, born from finally glimpsing the pleasure of revenge.

The Boarfolk captain forced himself higher and looked over the edge of the prison wagon. At last, he saw his captors clearly.

A column of silent, black-robed figures walked among the ruins, their faces hidden beneath their hoods.

Even with their bodies concealed by robes, the Boarfolk immediately recognized the distinct Demonkind features of several members.

A group composed of both humans and Demonkind?!

More shocking still, he spotted a familiar figure among them.

In that instant, he understood that the attack on his squad had been no accident.

“Tagg!” A growl erupted from his throat. “It was you! You led the enemy to us?!”

The figure paused, then slowly turned and pulled down his hood.

The young Boarfolk face beneath it belonged to the scout from the captain’s own squad.

Tagg’s eyes were unnaturally calm.

“It was me, Captain.”

“Why?” The Boarfolk captain threw himself against the bars. Iron creaked as spittle flew from his mouth. “Why did you betray your own kind? Why the fuck did you do it?”

“For salvation, Captain. So that all of us can find true happiness in the next life!”

Tagg’s eyes held an almost devout clarity. His answer sent a chill through the Boarfolk captain.

“The next life? The Hand of Passage?!”

Even within the Veiled Empire, the Hand of Passage was infamous.

Eleanor might use cruel methods to breed and discipline her bloodstock, but at least her cruelty was driven by self-interest. It followed a certain logic.

The Hand of Passage was different. These deranged lunatics preached of happiness in the next life and committed one horrific slaughter after another for no purpose beyond offering sacrifices to their Deity.

Even Demonkind despised madmen like them.

Realizing what he had encountered, the Boarfolk began struggling violently.

His bones cracked dully as his muscles swelled with a tearing sound. His already towering body expanded further. Veins bulged beneath his thick hide like writhing worms, and his tusks pierced his lower lip, drawing streams of blood.

The cage gradually warped beneath the Boarfolk captain’s berserk strength.

With a furious roar, he blasted the iron bars apart and stepped out of the ruined cage. He swung one enormous hand backward, striking Tagg across the face as the younger Boarfolk charged toward him.

Tagg flew sideways like a puppet with its strings cut. He slammed into a tree trunk, then collapsed against it and slid to the ground.

The Boarfolk captain did not spare him another glance. His bloodshot eyes swept across the other prison wagons, and his massive hands seized their bars and tore them apart.

Whether the prisoners inside were terrified, cowering humans or excited members of his own kind, he ripped open every cage through brute force.

Screams, sobbing, and furious curses erupted at once, plunging the area into chaos.

He had not freed them out of mercy. He knew that only greater confusion could disrupt the black-robed lunatics and give him a chance to escape.

Some of the freed prisoners threw themselves at the cultists in search of revenge. Others fled toward the forest in blind panic.

Just as the chaos reached its peak and the Boarfolk captain prepared to run, a girl’s voice rang out.

“Quiet.”

It was not loud. It could even have been called gentle, yet it instantly drowned out every other sound.

The prisoners who had been screaming, fleeing, and fighting suddenly went blank, as though their souls had been pulled from their bodies all at once. They crumpled to the ground and fell into a deep sleep.

A crushing weight struck the Boarfolk captain’s mind. His enormous body swayed, and his forward charge stopped dead. After two staggering steps, he toppled to the ground, his heavy breaths reduced to dizzy, rasping gasps.

His reeling mind struggled to understand what had just happened.

A sonic attack?

No!

The cultists had been completely unaffected.

They seized the opportunity while the Boarfolk captain lay weakened on the ground. Several rushed forward and pinned him down.

The girl who had spoken approached him slowly, then raised one slender, pale hand and pulled back her hood.

The face beneath it belonged to a human girl and still retained a trace of childish youth.

Her eyes were unnaturally bright, as if they reflected the blue moon in the sky.

Every black-robed cultist present, human and Demonkind alike, gazed at her with fanatical devotion.

“High Priestess!” they murmured.

The girl crouched and calmly studied the Boarfolk captain pinned beneath them.

She reached out with both hands and gently cradled his savage, contorted face, despite the blood and dirt covering it. Her touch was as tender as if she were holding something fragile and precious.

“Hush… Poor child, a soul lost among the thorns of life…” Her ethereal voice carried a strange rhythm. “Why struggle? This crude shell, this endless longing and rage, this agony of separation and loss… They are nothing but heavy burdens carried along the road of reincarnation.”

The Boarfolk captain fought through the dizziness of the mental shock and roared furiously at her.

“If you’re going to kill me, then do it! Don’t try to fill my head with your shit, you damned lunatics!”

He jerked his head sideways and caught half the girl’s hand between his teeth. It was so delicate that the slightest pressure severed it. The scent of blood immediately filled his mouth and nose.

The girl showed no sign of pain. Instead, her gaze grew even gentler.

“See how weary you are. Fighting, plundering, fear, betrayal… The living carry so much dust as they trudge in vain through an endless cycle.”

Her voice gradually softened into the cadence of a lullaby.

“Death is not an ending, but a new beginning. There, Species no longer divide us. There are neither strong nor weak, neither the entanglement of pain nor pleasure… There is only the purity of ‘nothingness.’”

As she whispered and stroked his face, a strange sensation began spreading through him.

The Boarfolk captain’s fury, fear, and even the agony of his wounds quietly receded like an ebbing tide.

A deep and irresistible weariness rose in their place. It felt as though he had walked a thorn-covered road for a thousand years and had finally found a soft bed where he could lie down.

The girl’s prayer neared its end. Her voice grew softer still, nearly dissolving into the night wind.

“… Thus do we, the Hand of Passage, guide lost souls onward. Cast off the shackles of this world and return to peaceful sleep. When the bell of reincarnation sounds once more… your next journey will be lighter.”

The final syllable faded.

The Boarfolk captain’s bloodshot eyes had already lost focus, becoming empty and serene.

The harsh gasps in his throat ceased. His taut muscles relaxed completely, and his savage features softened into an expression as peaceful as an infant’s.

The girl held his massive head in her bleeding hand. His chest rose and fell one final time, then became still.

She withdrew her hands and touched one finger of her uninjured hand to his closed eyelid, leaving a final blessing.

Then she rose. Her black robe stirred in the wind as she surveyed the unconscious sacrifices scattered across the ground.

“Prepare the ritual,” she ordered. “If we are to hear our Lord’s divine word again, we must save more people!”

…

Meanwhile, in Mushroom Metropolis, another heretical cult was conducting an evil ritual.

A group of people were praying to a Puffcap.

There was no formal prayer. Most of them simply muttered whatever praise of Puffcaps came to mind.

When the prayers ended, Julia, the Cult of the Sacred Puffcap’s first leader, lifted the ordinary Puffcap down from the altar and let it run outside.

She then brought out a large pot of bioluminescent mushroom soup she had cooked herself. After extinguishing the candles, the congregation shared the soup by its fungal glow.

During the sacrament, one devotee suggested that they ought to find a true Puffcap Kindred to worship.

Julia agreed, but there was a problem. Every known Puffcap Kindred was in the hands of the Kingdom of Concord, and no one knew where they might encounter a wild one.

Everyone offered a different suggestion. Some proposed searching the dungeon. Others wanted to pray to the mycelial mat and ask the Puffcap God to bestow a Puffcap Kindred upon them. The boldest suggested risking unwanted attention by approaching one of the Puffcap Kindred already known to the Kingdom of Concord.

To those who worshiped Puffcaps, the Puffcap Kindred had to be divine messengers of the Puffcap God. Gaining the recognition of a Puffcap Kindred would be crucial to strengthening the Cult of the Sacred Puffcap from within.

They eagerly imagined a future in which a Puffcap Kindred led them. Even though it remained nothing more than a fantasy, the thought alone filled them with excitement.

Then, just as the discussion reached its most fervent point, the synchronized footsteps of an approaching formation sounded outside.

“How did you pack of incompetents manage this?” the guard captain growled, his voice echoing through the narrow back alley. He pointed at the limp body of a man on the ground, his hand trembling with fury. “How many times did I tell you before we left? Make arrests, but don’t hurt anyone! Did every word go in one ear and out the other? What the hell is this? Answer me!”

“Captain, this… this really wasn’t entirely our fault.” A young guard hunched his shoulders, his voice aggrieved. “They put out every candle in the building. It was so dark we couldn’t see anything. When we rushed inside, everyone panicked and knocked over the pot. This man stepped in the mushroom soup, slipped, and had the bad luck to strike the back of his head against the corner of a table… We never even touched his clothes.”

“Couldn’t you use your heads?” The guard captain jabbed a finger against the young man’s forehead. “There were more than twenty of you. If you’d blocked the doors and windows, could they have sprouted wings and flown away? Did you have to charge in like a herd of wild boars and terrify them?”

He could not calm his fury.

Lord Fael Isaacs had personally warned him not to cause any trouble.

The captain had thought this assignment would be an opportunity to distinguish himself. Now someone was dead, and he had no idea how he was supposed to report back.

“What if… we bury him quietly?” A sharp-featured guard stepped closer and lowered his voice.

“Idiot!” The guard captain turned and glared at him. “What if he has family, or friends in the army? The moment they ask about him at the city lord’s manor, the whole thing will come out. Or are you planning to arrest his entire family and silence them too?”

“Captain, I already asked around.” The guard did not look flustered. Instead, he moved even closer and lowered his voice further. “He was a new member recently recruited by the Cult of the Sacred Puffcap. He’s a refugee from the occupied territories in western Concord. He doesn’t have family or a single acquaintance in Mushroom Metropolis.”

The guard captain’s rapid breathing eased slightly.

He said nothing at first. His fingers rubbed the stubble on his chin while his gaze shifted between the corpse and his subordinate.

Seeing that the captain was considering it, the guard pressed on.

“Captain, we can dump him on the mycelial mat outside the city and cover him with some grass and dirt. In less than three days, the hyphae will leave nothing but an unidentifiable skeleton. If we keep the other cultists in separate cells, no one will even remember he existed after enough time passes.”

“Hmm…” The guard captain forced an indistinct sound from his throat.

Three days later, Evan received a sticky soul.

…

This was the second time Evan had encountered a soul with such unusual properties, and this one clung even more strongly than the last.

It was still pulling away from him, but he could maintain control over it for more than a minute.

Evan reacted quickly and shoved it directly into a cannon-fodder Puffcap body kept in reserve for the numbered Puffcaps.

It actually worked!

However, the man who had just become a Puffcap emerged from the mycelial cocoon in a state of utter panic.

He appeared to be trying to scream, but a Puffcap had no vocal organs.

He mindlessly shrieked, “Aaaah!” through the Mycelial Network while his short fungal legs carried him around in a wild frenzy.

Evan tried to calm him, only for the Puffcap to run even faster.

Just as Evan’s patience ran out and he prepared to reclaim control of the fungal body, the man stepped into empty space.

One short fungal leg slipped, and the round fungal body tumbled down a slope. It struck a rock with a dull thud, splitting its cap in two.

He died.

As the corpse decomposed, his soul emerged once more.

This time, however, it was far less adhesive than before. It soon slipped free of Evan’s control and vanished from the space.

Evan was speechless. How could anyone have such poor mental fortitude?

Just look at the Sword Saint. When he had first become a Puffcap, he had only been surprised for a moment before immediately regaining his composure.

This man had done nothing but scream and run from the moment he emerged from the mycelial cocoon until the moment he fell to his death. He had not provided so much as half a sentence of useful information.

Although Evan had failed to question him, the man’s very existence proved that humans could become Puffcaps.

The key was discovering the source of the soul adhesion.

Evan found the man’s corpse beneath a mound of earth outside the city.

He could not replay past events as though reviewing surveillance footage, but with the sensory network and information-gathering abilities provided by the mycelial mat, following the trail was not difficult.

The Cult of the Sacred Puffcap?

Deep within a prison, a woman named Julia remained devout despite her confinement. Facing a cluster of mushrooms growing in the corner, she repeated the same prayer over and over.

“May the Puffcap God protect me… May your hyphae guide me…”

Wait. Who were these people?

Who had given them permission to establish a religious organization centered on the worship of Puffcaps?

It felt like an ordinary apprentice attending lessons as usual, only to suddenly discover that the other apprentices had founded a club dedicated to worshiping him.

Hmm… On second thought, perhaps it was not so bad.

So the answer was faith?

Could faith establish connections between souls?

Ever since acquiring [Soul Sense], Evan’s understanding of souls had deepened considerably.

A soul might appear to be right there in front of him, housed within a person’s body, but once separated from that body, it became an independent entity that was extremely difficult to affect.

Evan could capture souls with [Sin of Greed], but only by grasping the substances attached to their surfaces that represented skill Proficiency.

Once he devoured all the skills, he could no longer interfere with the pure soul that remained.

Souls had always been strange. While housed within bodies, they possessed fixed locations.

Once they left those bodies, however, physical location lost its meaning.

The Frost Elemental Lord currently searching the ruins for the pink Puffcap was a perfect example.

Evan had originally summoned it through a Puffcap near Redstone City. Yet when the Puffcap’s fungal body was destroyed, the Frost Elemental Lord had followed the brief soul contact created during the summoning and crossed more than half the continent in an instant, reappearing in the Far North.

That was because the coordinates of Evan’s soul fragment had changed the moment the Puffcap died.

Souls clearly operated according to an entirely different set of rules.

And now it appeared that faith held a special significance for souls.

No wonder Deities established religions.

Evan remembered a skill called [Sacred Bulwark] that he had obtained after decomposing several Church warriors.

When the Church warriors used it, they could create shields of holy light that merged with one another to withstand attacks. When Evan used it, all he produced was a curtain of light that shattered at the slightest touch.

Could faith have been the reason?

Did the skill’s power originate from Ixion, Lord of Light?

It seemed that the connections established through faith had even more uses for a Deity.

Evan was not arrogant enough to believe he could stand alongside a Deity. Nor did he have much interest in turning everyone into Puffcaps. The Sword Saint had been an exception.

None of that diminished his interest in faith.

In truth, he was interested in any knowledge concerning souls.

More and more evidence suggested that souls were the most important things in this world.

Conveniently, he had ready-made research material right in front of him.

A soft rustling interrupted Julia’s prayer.

She opened her eyes and saw the mycelial mat spreading across the corner at a visible rate.

Then a mycelial cocoon slowly rose from its surface.

“Puffcap… God?”

Pop!

As Julia waited in breathless excitement, a Puffcap with a multicolored cap emerged from the mycelial cocoon.

“Puffcap God? Or… are you a divine messenger, a Revered Puffcap Kindred?” Julia asked tentatively.

The Puffcap did not acknowledge her immediately. First, it planted itself firmly on the ground, then methodically began arranging the loose straw piled in the corners of the prison cell.

Its mycelial tendrils deftly separated the straw into two piles and stacked them to precisely the same height. Even the stray pieces protruding from the edges were carefully tucked back into place.

Only after everything was orderly did it plop itself down on the centerline of the prison cell. It beckoned to the bewildered Julia with a mycelial tendril, indicating exactly where she should sit.

“I am Puff Twelve. The Mycelial Sovereign heard your voice and sent me to guide you toward the truth.”

For the first time, Julia heard a voice through the Mycelial Network.

“The… truth?” she repeated blankly.

Puff Twelve took her by the hand and led her to the cell door. With a light sweep of its mycelial tendril, the iron lock dropped to the floor.

The noise alerted a guard, who came running and found Julia stepping out of her cell.

“Escaping?” His right hand went to his sword, but a flash of color soon captured his full attention. “Puff… cap?”

Colors flowed across Puff Twelve’s cap, shimmering with radiant fluorescence.

The guard’s gaze gradually became unfocused. His hand loosened around the sword hilt until he finally scratched his head in confusion and returned to his seat, completely ignoring Puff Twelve and Julia as they strutted past him.

The other prisoners fell into the same dazed state.

Julia was only an ordinary person. As she stared at this wondrous sight, she murmured, “Is this… a miracle?”

“What are you talking about? It’s only a Charm skill.” Puff Twelve mercilessly shattered her fantasy. “You shouldn’t call everything you fail to understand a miracle. You’ll only embarrass yourself. We believe in respecting facts…”

As Puff Twelve led Julia outside, it instructed her on the correct way to worship the Mycelial Sovereign, whom she called the Puffcap God.

Every guard they encountered along the way was easily Charmed.

The jailers were generally no stronger than Bronze rank. They had no chance of resisting [Charm LV9], even with its power diminished by being used through a Puffcap body.

Once they left the prison, everything became even simpler.

With the entire map laid out through the Mycelial Network, the bustling streets of Mushroom Metropolis might as well have been deserted. Julia did not encounter a single person all the way to the entrance of the Puffcap Dungeon.

After entering the dungeon, she even saw the legendary Puffcap hidden room.

Unfortunately, she did not get to experience the full range of Puffcap services. The hidden room’s door simply closed and opened again, and she suddenly found herself on the Tenth Stratum.

It was almost like a miracle.

Julia was rather frightened on her first visit to the dungeon.

The place had become far less dangerous since turning into the Puffcap Dungeon, but that was only from an adventurer’s perspective.

Julia was, after all, an ordinary woman.

With Puff Twelve guiding her, however, she naturally encountered no danger.

Deep underground, she witnessed something that filled her with both fear and astonishment.

Demonkind!

A considerable number of Demonkind were living in the Deep Strata of the Puffcap Dungeon.

They worked alongside the Puffcaps in cavern after cavern.

Some mined ore or Mana Crystals, while others cultivated Glowgrass, which had recently become increasingly scarce on the market.

Strangely, when these Demonkind noticed her, their gazes held no greed, hostility, or even much curiosity. They regarded her as they would an irrelevant stranger passing by.

They were nothing like the Demonkind she had always heard about.

She cautiously asked, “Revered Puffcap Herald, these people… They’re Demonkind, aren’t they? Why are they here?”

“Puffcap Herald sounds strange. Just call me Puff Twelve. You should also try communicating through the Mycelial Network. The Mycelial Sovereign should have granted you access. I have trouble hearing you when you speak aloud.”

“As for them, they are all fungal folk of the Mycelial Garden.”

“Fungal folk of the Mycelial Garden? Aren’t they Demonkind?”

“That is precisely the problem.” Puff Twelve extended a mycelial tendril toward a female Lizardkin. She was gathering ripe mushrooms from a field with her young, her movements gentle and practiced. “What do you think makes you different from her?”

“Different?” Julia stared at the Lizardkin in confusion. “I’m human, and she is… a Lizardkin. A kind of Demonkind, isn’t she?”

It was the first time Julia had ever seen a living Lizardkin.

“Did you know that the Mycelial Sovereign sees no difference between you?”

“How could there be no difference?”

They were clearly nothing alike.

“You both need food and water. You both experience joy and sorrow. You both desire safety and belonging. More importantly, the Mycelial Sovereign has said that your souls are fundamentally identical after death. There is no distinction between a ‘human soul’ and a ‘Demonkind soul.’”

“Souls?” Julia had never considered such a thing. “But the war between humans and Demonkind…”

“Yes. Different languages, different appearances, rival nations, and the weight of old hatreds keep you trapped in endless slaughter. That is where the suffering begins.”

In the distance, a Dwarf miner handed a piece of freshly excavated ore to a Half-Demon beside him and explained how to distinguish different minerals. Elsewhere, a Mushborn followed an Elf several heads shorter than itself, listening as she explained how to select potion ingredients.

“But things are different here. In this place, you are all simply fungal folk.”

Following Puff Twelve’s gesture, Julia stared at the people living and working together beyond the boundaries of Species.

Puff Twelve continued guiding her.

“Imagine if Dwarves, Elves, humans, Demonkind, even the Mermaids and Fishfolk of the deep sea… If every sapient being in the world became fungal folk…”

“A world… without conflict…” Julia murmured.

“Precisely. That is the truth.”

A layer of gentle Prismatic Splendor spread across Puff Twelve’s cap, as though echoing the vision.

“The Mycelial Sovereign does not merely shelter you from hunger and cold. The Mycelial Sovereign seeks to end all conflict and bring this world… eternal peace.”

Julia seemed to see a world where her husband would never again have to don cold armor and march toward a battlefield from which he might never return. Her children could grow up without hunger or fear. Members of different Species could clasp hands without hatred or suspicion.

A world where every sapient being could smile in peace.

Before this, her gratitude toward the Puffcap God had been simple and specific.

She was grateful that He had allowed her husband to return alive from the mountains of corpses and seas of blood at Dragonroar Valley. She was grateful that He had filled her family’s stomachs with mushrooms.

Her faith had arisen from the most immediate gift of survival.

Now, however, she watched humans and Demonkind working and living together before her, as though the Mycelial Garden were a miniature version of the world Puff Twelve had described.

Having suffered through war herself, Julia began to weep without realizing it.

Puff Twelve did not interrupt her. It simply took her hand gently with a mycelial tendril and continued leading her through the caverns.

Of course, it skillfully avoided every area that might undermine the image of the Puffcap God’s benevolence, such as the caverns holding D-grade personnel or the arena echoing with roars and violent impacts.

Nearly the entire speech about eternal peace had come from a script Evan had prepared in advance, supplemented by a little improvisation from Puff Twelve.

Evan hoped to reshape Julia’s faith, lifting it beyond simple gratitude based on personal gain and loss and directing it toward a grander, more steadfast ideal.

A noble purpose and a beautiful vision were indispensable for strengthening faith.

The Hand of Passage offered the promise of a better next life. Evan offered a better future that could be seen and touched, with the Mycelial Garden itself serving as proof.

Besides, he was not really deceiving her.

Evan spread the mycelial mat and parasitized different Species to strengthen himself and live with greater freedom and happiness.

Yet if the day came when his mycelial mat covered every corner of the world and he achieved symbiosis with everyone, ending war truly would require nothing more than a thought.

He could simply kill anything that tried to ignite another conflict.

Of course, that assumed he survived whatever apocalyptic crisis was approaching.

There was naturally no need to tell Julia that part.

For now, this was only an observational experiment concerning faith.

After touring the caverns and even speaking with some of the fungal folk, Puff Twelve led the still entranced Julia back to her prison cell.

With [Charm] and the guidance of the Mycelial Network, no one had even realized that Julia had b