This Dungeon Grew Mushrooms

A heavy snowfall lasted for two full days before easing, but the bitter cold did not lift; instead it continued to seep into the North’s soil.

A tall bearman trudged through waist-deep drifts, one weary step after another.

He reached down with a shaggy paw and snapped a dead branch with a crisp crack.

He tossed the branch into the basket on his back—this would be tonight’s fuel to keep the family warm.

Suddenly his gray-brown eyes brightened. He brushed away the snow beneath his feet and pulled up a primal fox frozen stiff, clearly unable to survive the sudden freeze.

A low rumble escaped his throat—there would be one more bite of meat for his cub tonight.

The brief joy didn’t last. As he prepared to move on, a familiar fur pattern pricked at the corner of his eye.

Scratching aside the snow with his claws, he revealed one of the tribe’s bearmen who had gone foraging two days before and not returned—now a cold corpse, curled up as if still trying to huddle for warmth.

He had no idea how long this unnatural freeze would last, but he knew that if it continued, half the tribe would be dead within a fortnight.

With the snow and cold at this intensity, even migration was impossible.

As he fretted about the future, a small shape caught his eye.

A round, waddling mushroom—one of the walking pujis—had somehow appeared beside him. It stood lightly on the snow, leaving two neat rows of tiny round prints.

The walking puji didn’t seem afraid; it simply stood still in front of him.

The bearman instinctively reached to scoop the puji into his basket as an offered meal.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t touch that puji.”

The bearman whirled around. A mushroomborn agent stood not far off.

What tightened his chest further was the troop behind the agent—their eyes all fixed on him.

He retracted his paw and took a cautious step back. “You demons—what are you doing here?”

Unlike half-demons, demonkin, or lizardfolk, the long-furred bearmen were not part of the demon hordes; they had dwelt in the North long before the demons arrived.

The demons’ coming had squeezed their living space, leading to frequent fights in earlier years; only in recent decades had things stabilized, or rather, the bearmen gave up pressing to reclaim their lost lands.

So when a stranger demon troop appeared, his first reaction was alarm.

He scanned their strength and thought whether he could sound an alarm to his tribe if fighting broke out.

Xīnghuǒ paid no heed to his suspicion and looked around instead. “I’m here to find a bearman tribe nearby—seems I’m in the right place.”

At the word they’d come for them, the bearman’s pupils narrowed and he suddenly turned and ran.

Xīnghuǒ rolled his eyes but didn’t pursue. He led his team along the track the bearman had left.

When they reached the tribe, the whole settlement stood ready for defense.

Xīnghuǒ kept his distance and called out loudly, “We represent the puji Fort—we come on behalf of the North Alliance. Our lord knows you may be suffering from sudden cold; we were sent to provide aid!”

He signaled two Fatty pujis at the front of his column to step forward. From their bellies they produced large quantities of mushrooms and firewood.

Scarce supplies laid out before them caused a stir among the bearmen.

One who appeared to be the leader stepped forward. “What do you want?”

“Nothing. Consider these gifts from us to our Northern brethren.” Xīnghuǒ called them “brethren” freely, voicing warmth as he spoke. “If you’d like to join the North Alliance and help build a better future, you’re welcome anytime. At least in the North Alliance, no one starves or freezes to death.”

After leaving an address, Xīnghuǒ had his men unload about a third of the food and wood, then moved on to the next tribe.

Only after they had gone did the bearmen come out to gather the mushrooms and firewood.

They wore expressions of disbelief—who would have thought the North Alliance would give such aid free of charge in times like this?

Were their supplies endless?

Whatever the answer, free supplies were welcome; the tribe would now hold out longer.

After deliberation, the bearman leader dispatched a small party, ostensibly to thank Xīnghuǒ, to travel to the address he left and scout for news.

No one knew how long the abnormal cold would last, so sending a team to reconnoiter was prudent.

There were many such Xīnghuǒ-led teams—the rescue effort was in full swing under Lin Jun’s direction.

However, due to distance limits, the aid could only reach much of the North; some more remote tribes were out of reach, and for them Lin Jun could only wish them luck.

The cold also affected demon cities near the North, though its effects were not yet obvious—only the low-tier demon ranks in the gutters felt it deeply; the change hadn’t alarmed any demon bigwigs.

For now the demon leadership still focused primarily on the war with humans.

…

“That damned Cenophen—useless at everything yet somehow able to let such a major summoning go off under his nose! Twice he’s messed up—His Majesty should send him to the slaughterhouse!” Sigismund, whose body was becoming ever more pig-like, spat as he read the latest intelligence, scornful of his pig-headed colleague.

An elemental lord of storm had been summoned inside the army’s lines and, though Cenophen himself wasn’t killed, the troops were crushed—only about thirty percent of the force was recovered.

The storm element then surged north, passed through Earthpeak Fort’s ruins, and reached besieged Three Mountains City.

There, between the shell-like Three Mountains City and the demons besieging it, the element chose to harry the demon army first.

Ultimately Prince Vesalius and another vampiric duke, coordinating with their forces, defeated the elemental lord.

As the element dispersed it released all its remaining energy; the roaring winds and lightning caused heavy casualties to the army.

If the Sword Saint had not been grievously injured by the prince earlier, humans might have launched a counterstrike—at this moment a successful raid could have forced the western front to collapse back to the harbors.

No matter who looked at it, all blame pointed at Cenophen.

Although the report didn’t detail everything, any ritual field capable of summoning an elemental lord must have been massive and noisy.

Judging from that abyssal beast, with offerings and such, it would have needed eight to five hundred people; the activation alone would take half a day.

Sigismund couldn’t imagine how negligent Cenophen must have been to miss protecting against this.

In any case, retribution after the war would not be kind to Cenophen.

“We still have to rely on ourselves!” Sigismund crumpled the intelligence and looked up.

Before him lay the burning Highkeep Fortress[“高堡要塞”].