This Dungeon Grew Mushrooms

Dragon Roar Vale — a basin cradled by steep mountains, with only a narrow pass connecting it to the outside.

Its name isn’t because dragons live here, but because when the wind blows through that tight entrance it makes a howl like a dragon’s roar. Hence the name.

Perhaps because of the geography, the local mana is unusually thin; spells here are severely weakened, barely half as effective as outside.

That makes the vale easy to defend and hard to assault. Whether attacking from the outside or breaking out from within, both are extremely difficult.

At the same time, that also makes it easy to besiege from outside — not an ideal place to hold long-term.

Arama chose to withdraw here simply because there were no better options left.

After a string of defeats, this was the only place nearby where his battered troops could use the terrain to barely hold back the demon advance.

If they retreated to another city or fortress, Sigmund’s cavalry would chase them down and annihilate them.

That outcome was exactly what Sigmund wanted.

Arama’s soldiers mattered to Arama; what Sigmund cared about was Arama himself.

Even if those shattered soldiers were allowed to go, they wouldn’t recover quickly — so Sigmund didn’t care if they died. But Arama was another story. He had been Sigmund’s foe for decades, and earlier still they’d amassed a much deeper hatred.

Sigmund obsessed over the thought of personally killing this enemy.

The clever part was that those expendable soldiers could stall Arama while Sigmund dealt with his real target. By engineering a situation where Arama’s forces would be trapped, Sigmund could postpone the planned encirclement of Three-Mountains City and instead personally finish off Arama — all while keeping his overall campaign on track.

If he acted quickly and claimed a new merit, even Prince Vessarius would have little to say afterward.

He feared that if Three-Mountains City fell first, Arama might flee — into the Elven Forest, the Dwarf Peaks, or the isles — and then catching him later would be a pain. The empire could swallow human lands, but consolidating them took time; Sigmund didn’t want his personal vendetta delayed indefinitely.

So he quietly seeded a trap in the marching orders. As expected, Arama took the bait: he couldn’t watch the demon army encircle Three-Mountains City and do nothing. Though suspecting a trap, he attacked anyway and was crushed.

After that defeat, Arama’s forces were a flickering candle — an enticing prize Sigmund could pick off.

With that, the field commander could legitimately divert resources to finish Arama, delay the siege briefly, and still present it as a sound military decision.

Sigmund preferred to capture Arama alive. He wanted to make him watch his daughter suffer, to vent the grudges he’d carried for years.

But he also had a strange roommate in his head — a presence whose origin made him wary of reckless moves. In the end he chose the safer option: kill Arama here and now.

Sigmund looked toward Dragon Roar Vale and sneered.

Then he turned and mentally soothed the clamoring roommate in his skull that kept trying to wrest control.

“Sorry, my bad — I drank it all this time,” Sigmund said, trying to reason. “Please don’t cause trouble. After we finish these humans, I’ll use the victory to petition His Majesty for that ‘Book of Miracles’ you like, okay?”

He appealed to their shared interest — he truly feared his roommate creating problems at the worst moment, since there’d been incidents before.

“Where’s the credit for taking Highwall Fortress?” the voice in his head complained. “By agreement, the book should have been mine already!”

Sigmund held his temper and explained: “The war isn’t over yet. You don’t ask for rewards halfway through.”

“But you drank my half!”

“I’ll compensate later. For now—”

“I call you a friend and you finish my share? Are you mocking me? Asking for the book is just lip service, right?!”

Seeing the voice near breakdown, Sigmund gave up arguing and quickly placated it: “Okay, okay! Calm down — I’ll order messengers to request the book right away, and the next blood shipment is all yours!”

He hurried to summon subordinates and sent a clear order to relay a message back to Highwall Fortress. The murmuring in his head subsided into vague mumbles.

Sigmund breathed easier. Keeping that roommate calm felt more exhausting than facing ten Aramas.

…

A day later, the slow-moving Velaris and her troll legions linked up with Sigmund.

Elenore, still unhealed, remained behind at Highwall Fortress.

Before the battle, Sigmund even tried a bit of parley: “Arama, will you take your men and die here, or surrender?”

“Pfft—”

“If you surrender, I promise I’ll only kill you.”

“Heh heh…”

But in his current dire situation Arama had little patience for talk. The strange chuckle in Sigmund’s head killed his will to continue persuading.

Then a bat landed on Sigmund’s hand and dissolved into shadow essence, coalescing into a scroll stamped with a magic sigil.

Sigmund unfurled the scroll and read, but his brow furrowed as he digested the intelligence.

What did it mean — a mixed army of humans, puji, and storm elementals was approaching this way?