This Dungeon Grew Mushrooms

Inside Dragon Roar Vale, narrow cliffside plank roads snaked along both walls of the pass.

The eternal gale screamed through the tight mouth of the valley, producing the endless, mournful “dragon roar.”

Those natural, furious winds were enough to stop poorly capable flyers, while troops perched high on the plank roads could bring lethal fire down on the single chokepoint below — a simple but effective defensive design.

On a wider section of plankway, Lorenzo carefully pressed a thin silver needle into Arama’s exposed arm.

When he withdrew the tip, a bead of blood came with it.

He performed a few detection rituals with practiced hands; a faint magical shimmer danced over the blood sample for a moment before fading.

“Good — the blood toxin hasn’t deeply infiltrated. It’s been fully purged,” Lorenzo said, but his tone was far from relaxed. “Still… your physical condition now…”

“I know my body better than you do.” Arama rose from his seat.

His complexion had a strange, unnatural pallor, oddly reminiscent of vampires — one lingering effect of the blood toxin.

Lorenzo hesitated, then blurted the question he’d held back: “You really… won’t consider my plan to withdraw to Oathcity?”

Arama walked to the plank’s edge, one hand on the rough railing, and looked down at the soldiers below who were still busy strengthening the works. “Abandon the men who’ve followed me this far and run over the mountains like a coward? That’s called desertion.”

Being accused of desertion didn’t anger Lorenzo; he continued: “But with your current state and the army’s condition, we can’t hold this. The demon trolls have arrived — within two days at most the pass will be broken. If both of us die here, the United Kingdom will be finished.”

“A fleeing commander, even if he survives, can never rally men again — the next defeat will be worse. If we buy one more day here… maybe Elvion might still have a chance…” Lorenzo’s proposal was to take warriors of gold-rank and above and haul them over the cliffs to fight another day.

But if Arama had intended to flee, he would never have retreated into Dragon Roar Vale in the first place. He meant to use his life to slow Sigmund, to buy the Sword Saint in Three-Mountains City a few more days — even if those days might end up being meaningless.

Lorenzo let out a heavy sigh and, like a deflated balloon, sat on a flat stone and stopped arguing.

Arama glanced at him. “You’re not leaving?”

The question made Lorenzo laugh in spite of himself. “Leave? You already said it’s over either way — why would I leave?! Arama, you old bastard! Always reckless and impulsive, but when death comes you get all clever — trying to step on my back to polish your heroic legend? Dream on!”

Arama looked at the partner who had spent decades sourcing supplies and never let Highwall Fortress run short. The usually stern face cracked into a rare, genuine smile.

Then he turned his gaze back to the amassed demon host and murmured, puzzled, “They’ve been shouting for a while and still not attacking… what trick is Sigmund playing now?”

…

Outside Dragon Roar Vale.

Sigmund’s eyes shone crimson as he shared sight with a bat familiar high above, viewing that odd army his scouts had reported.

It was indeed strange.

Large numbers of storm elementals had left the elemental chaos zone and were coming this way.

Behind them came thousands of human soldiers and an endless sea of Pujis.

Pujis were one thing — though his line had never faced them, reports had mentioned the new human profession “puji master.”

The Pujis looked numerous, but in a straight fight they weren’t terrifying; at comparable numbers, his forces could crush them.

The real problem was this: when did humans acquire the means to command storm elementals?

Controlling a single elemental wasn’t unheard of — demon mages could do similar things — but several thousand storm elementals? It was as if all the elementals from that chaotic region had been driven here.

No one had yet been confirmed as their controller.

Also, though this army wasn’t particularly human-heavy, the fact humans could still muster such a reinforcement now surprised Sigmund.

Who was their commander?

“Hey,” a voice piped up inopportunely in his head, “think we can win?”

Faced with his roommate’s routine “concern,” Sigmund replied offhand, “A rabble of misfits, that’s all.”

“Oh… a rabble of misfits…”

As usual, the voice fell silent after asking.

Having confirmed the approaching force’s composition, Sigmund set his plans in motion.

He ordered Velaris to hold the pass tightly to prevent Arama from breaking out, then issued a flurry of commands to deploy the main army and prepare to confront this presumptuous host.

The key to guard against, naturally, were the storm elementals.

These enemies had high resistance to physical attacks; once they formed up in numbers they could be extremely troublesome.

Luckily his army was well organized and not short of mage contingents.

Moreover, elementals leaving the chaos zone seemed to be in poorer condition — their winds sluggish, lightning restrained — how much fighting power they retained was uncertain.

So while troublesome, they were nothing more than a problem to solve.

When the allied host finally appeared on the horizon, regardless of raw combat strength, the visual of thunder and wind elementals accompanied by a white tide of Pujis struck many demon soldiers’ nerves; more than a few swallowed and gripped their weapons tighter.

As the two armies faced off, Sigmund was about to send a vanguard to probe when the seemingly weaker side opened the engagement first.

From the center of the army circled by layer upon layer of storm elementals, an orange-yellow orb of light suddenly shot up, cutting across the night sky and sailing out over the plain between the two forces. Only when its momentum died did it wobble and begin to fall in the enemy ranks.

“A light spell?” Sigmund frowned at the orb, puzzled.

Even for battlefield illumination, one would expect a fourth-tier daylight spell — what vision could a mere light-cantrip provide?

Before he could ponder further, the thunderous roar at the opposing side surged!

Gales whipped, lightning flashed — the storm elementals suddenly shifted from sluggishness to frenzy, charging forward like a horde.

There was no time to be surprised; Sigmund barked orders almost immediately: “Relay! Third and fourth divisions forward! All mage formations, prepare to support!”