This Dungeon Grew Mushrooms

On the desolate frozen wastes, Rama dragged Broga across the snow with a spell.

They had put a great distance between themselves and the hunting ground; no tribe warriors or insects were in sight.

“Stop, stop a moment!” Broga croaked hoarsely, his severed leg leaving a streak of blood across the snow. “If you don’t bandage it, I’ll bleed out for real!”

Rama glanced at Broga’s ashen face. Though she muttered, “You don’t look like someone about to die,” she still obliged and halted.

She deftly produced a wad of styptic herb wrapped in oiled paper from her bosom, crushed it, and pressed it onto Broga’s stump.

The purple herb powder mingled with bright blood and quickly formed a dark scab.

The allied tribal forces were now in full rout.

Recalling the scene still sent a chill down Rama’s spine. The ice had been shattered by the behemoth from beneath; more than seventy percent of the warriors had either fallen into the icy water or been trapped on broken floes, barely clinging on.

Broga, that stubborn fool, would normally have been able to climb across the drifting ice to safety, but he’d charged at the front and tangled with that fake worm-king.

Though the six-claw insect was an impostor, its fighting strength far exceeded ordinary insects and pinned Broga down. Though he finally managed to lop off its head with one stroke, he fell into the river afterward.

By the time Rama dove in and hauled him up, his left leg had already been eaten off by an eel-like river insect with a mouthful of organs, and even his prized ringed blade had sunk to the bottom.

Even with such losses, the tribes still had some forces: of the many who’d fallen into the water, a fair number had clambered ashore; gathering them could still amount to perhaps half the original combat strength, enough to contend with the Qis[“Chiss”]—if everyone’s will and courage held.

But that assumed everyone remained fearless and resolute.

In reality, not long after the trap sprung, some “clever” tribes chose to flee early.

And many of those who had barely escaped the water were terrified—Qis’s one mock charge had been enough to make them run, abandoning comrades still struggling in the river.

Bit by bit, even those who had the courage to fight back couldn’t stem the tide of collapse.

After roughly treating Broga’s wound, more routed soldiers straggled in.

“This direction doesn’t look like the way back to our tribes,” someone muttered.

“Are you picky about route while running for your life?” Rama wiped snow from her face. “Find the nearest tribe to shelter with first.”

The two demons agreed to head for the nearest tribe to take refuge; with Broga in that condition, looping all the way back to his own people wasn’t feasible.

Snow fell heavier as they went, pressing dread against their chests. In such a blizzard, warriors fleeing blindly were likely to get lost—and lost in that cold meant death.

At last they staggered into the bounds of a remembered refuge: the Stoneface tribe.

Even dragging Broga with one leg, at an experienced warrior’s pace they were among the first to arrive.

No sooner had they entered the tribal area than Rama stepped into a snow-filled pit and only a scaly Lizardman’s hand hauled her free.

“Thanks.” Rama steadied herself and, without ceremony, blurted out, “Something terrible happened at the hunt! We were ambushed by insects and the force was routed!”

She hurriedly recounted the surprise attack by the giant beast and the allied army’s collapse, then begged, “Please organize people quickly—while directions are still recognizable—to rescue scattered survivors. In this weather, getting lost is a death sentence!”

To the two demons’ surprise, the surrounding Lizardmen showed no reaction. They exchanged silent glances; finally one said, “We’ll take you to rest first.”

They led the pair to an empty tent.

Broga collapsed onto the fur pelts inside and let out a long breath. “Finally, a moment to rest.”

“Something’s off,” Rama said, brow furrowed, voice lowered. “Have you noticed? Did this tribe always have so many Lizardmen? And they’re not panicking hearing about the allied slaughter.”

“Yeah…” Broga’s unease rose as he thought about it.

They spoke in hushed tones when a shout of rage rang out from outside: “Who are you? Why are you in our tribe? Where are my people? What did you do to them?!”

Rama and Broga tensed. A terrifying thought flashed through them—were they here to loot the panic?

Rama grabbed her staff and gave a signal, ready to make a break for it.

Just as they pulled aside the tent flap, another cry rose — but this one held no anger, only fear and despair.

Through the gray-white curtain of blizzard, a vast, suffocating silhouette loomed and slowly closed in — the giant insect-beast had pursued them.

Broga stared at that immense shape and murmured, “These insects… they mean to exterminate everything…”

Pop—

A Puji popped out of the ground near the two demons, from a hole half-buried by snow.

Broga & Rama: ???

…

Qis had not intended to exterminate all five tribes; it planned to consume only one.

This wasn’t because the Qis had a sudden change of heart, but rather its current strength was limited.

After escaping the ruined fortress and being mauled once more by the old bat, the Qis could not muster a large force. Besides a Toothed Beast, two Evil Eyes, and a few Six-Claws, most of its minions were low-quality fodder; in both quality and quantity they were even weaker than when it first met the mushrooms.

If it met the allied tribal force head-on without traps, it probably would have lost.

That’s why, despite its victory, Qis concentrated on the portion of fighters that had fallen into the water; for those ashore it merely intimidated them, lacking the troops to pursue both groups.

After consuming the water-stranded prey, Qis only had one more chance to strike; given time, the two-legged forces would reorganize, and Qis would find it costly to subdue them again.

Moreover, the tribe it chose was not random.

Qis had scouted; among the five tribes, three had nearby Mycelium Carpets.

Though it doubted the mushrooms could react this quickly, to be safe Qis abandoned them and took the relatively weaker tribe as its raid target.

Eat them to refill reserves, then set out for the sea.

Qis understood its best strategy: using the Luo River as a base to slowly explore toward the ocean.

But the mushroom carpet crept closer day by day; the Luo River region was no longer tenable. Qis needed to move to a place free of mushrooms to have time to grow strong enough to turn the tables.

As the tribal outlines became clearer, the Toothed Beast opened the blood-drenched maws on its tentacles.

The feast was about to begin.

Bang—bang bang—!!!

Several bursts of high-energy mana shot from the rear of the tribe into Qis’s ranks. A flying Evil Eye’s mana shield shattered; purple blood splattered everywhere as it spun down.

Huh?