This Dungeon Grew Mushrooms

“Hold! For humanity!” a centurion shouted hoarsely, leaping up and driving his battle-axe into a troll’s eye socket, but the next moment he was grabbed by the enraged troll and flung against the rock face.

Before the giant’s fury could fully vent, several arrows flew into the blind spot that had just opened in his vision and sank into his skull.

His massive body convulsed and crashed backward, crushing several demon soldiers below who had no time to evade.

In this narrow valley mouth, tactics had lost meaning; humans and demons engaged in the most primal, blood-soaked meatgrind.

Every inch of ground drank blood; severed limbs and corpses mixed together until they were indistinguishable.

The fight in the air was no kinder.

Elite bloodborn warriors and flying half-demons battered the walkways on the cliff faces.

Figures constantly fell from the heights—human defenders torn by claws or demons struck through their wings by arrows—bodies falling into the chaos below and disappearing in an instant.

“Vilaris, tie up Arama,” Sigmund calmly assigned tasks. “I’ll deal with that Lorenzo fat—” He almost said “fatso,” but curbed himself.

Though he greatly wanted to end Arama himself, reason had to outweigh personal vendetta on the battlefield.

Arama, who possessed the Sunstone, severely countered the bloodborn; sending the sun-fearless Vilaris to engage him was the sensible choice.

Clearly, he’d underestimated how willful Vilaris was.

When Lorenzo reappeared on a towering walkway, Vilaris didn’t even greet him. She let out a sharp cry and, like a gecko, vaulted up the sheer cliff toward where Lorenzo stood!

Sigmund’s eye twitched, but he was helpless. He had to face Arama and that detestable Sunstone himself—fortunately he had some preparation.

He pulled a delicate crystal vial from his breast, the black fog within swirling thickly. He uncorked it and drank the strange potion without hesitation.

Twisted black veins crept across his pale skin; a chill radiated from him.

“What is that?” Lin Jun asked, curiosity undimmed even in the heat of battle.

“It lets me resist the Sunstone’s weakening,” came the curt reply.

[Status: Tenebrous Curse]

Lin Jun read the status on the panel and fell silent for a moment. Fine—if Little Xi called it good, fine.

Sigmund said nothing more. With a casual gesture, the fresh blood on the ground began to flow as if alive, coalescing behind him into several different bloody weapons that radiated the metallic reek of gore.

Opposite him, Arama slowly drew his two-handed greatsword.

As he moved, the Sunstone set in the sword’s guard flared with a fierce light like midday sun, dispelling some of the valley’s chill.

“Father!” At the instant Arama prepared to charge, his daughter Inanna’s urgent cry came from within the heavy-armored puji, forcing him to pause.

“That glowing thing!” Inanna’s voice trembled with an indescribable excitement. “I can sense it! It’s of great use to puji—!”

“The Sunstone?!” Arama suddenly remembered earlier talk about the fungal carpet needing sunlight, but no one had dared target an heirloom artifact.

There was no time now to study what the Sunstone might do to the carpet and the puji.

“Get through this first!” Arama roared, lifting his radiant greatsword and charging toward Sigmund in the valley’s center.

Through the narrow slit under the heavy-armored puji’s cap, Inanna watched her father’s determined rush and fretted: “Boss, what do we do? The old man charged without hearing me out!”

Lin Jun was remarkably calm and reassured her: “No rush. Even without puji help, we might hold.”

Sigmund’s blood-formed weapons shot forward. Arama bellowed and swung the Sunstone greatsword in a white-hot arc, smashing the flying blood-weapons to pieces; the splatter of blood mixed with sword-light hissed on contact.

But with each weapon he destroyed, Arama’s arms grew heavier.

He had only just shed blood-toxin and was nowhere near fully recovered.

“What’s wrong, Arama? Your sword’s gone dull!” Sigmund sneered and darted like a phantom. Pale fingers curled into claws as dark-red light gathered at his fingertips, aiming straight for Arama’s throat.

Arama sidestepped; his greatsword slashed and forced Sigmund back, but a sharp gust cut across Arama’s chest and left a bleeding wound.

His breathing grew ragged, cold sweat beaded at his temples. The Sunstone burned bright, but his own condition worsened.

Meanwhile, the human lines, despite superior numbers and quality, began to fray under the demon onslaught.

In the air, Lorenzo’s situation grew desperate.

Vilaris’s speed far exceeded his expectations. Using uncanny footwork she darted between walkways and cliff faces; her twin blades became a lethal silver storm, adding fresh wounds to Lorenzo’s robe and body.

His magic shield was battered by the endless slashes; his casting rhythm was shattered. He could only block and dodge miserably, unable to complete a decent counterspell.

Arama watched helplessly. Each block sent pins and needles of fatigue through his arm; each dodge was more sluggish than the last.

Sigmund seized a small opening on Arama and fired a spear forged from congealed blood that pierced Arama’s left shoulder!

“Seems the protector of humanity will fall here,” Sigmund said with satisfaction as he stepped forward, blood energy roiling in his palm. “When you betrayed me for no reason back then, did you ever imagine you’d end up like this?”

Arama braced on his sword, forcing himself upright though blood poured from the wound. His gaze remained firm. “To climb higher, you killed that whole village of innocents. You think that was ‘no reason’?”

“What do they have to do with you?!” Sigmund’s voice rose. “Was it I who saved your life? It was I who risked being discovered by that old monster to drag you from the dungeon! And you—you and your people—betrayed me for those unrelated folk! You drove me to the brink!”

“Hmph,” Arama spat a blood-tinged mouthful. “How many times must we go through this debate? At this point in the fight, you still argue?”

“Ah… true enough.” Sigmund inhaled deeply as a dark red blood-blade formed in his hand. “I just couldn’t help but say a few more words at the end.”

At that moment, the Sunstone in Arama’s greatsword burst with a brilliance far exceeding before, like a dying sun’s final flare!

Where the light licked, Sigmund’s blood-blade began to sizzle and melt; even the dark veins on his skin seemed to twist in the radiance.

Arama seized the last eruption and charged with a roar; the sword’s tip aimed for Sigmund’s heart!

But a cold silver arc struck faster.

As if anticipating it, Sigmund’s other hand had already grabbed the curved knife at his waist; the blade flashed and severed Arama’s right arm.

Arm and shining greatsword flew in an arc and crashed to the ground.

Arama staggered back, blood gushing from the severed stump.

Sigmund flicked blood from his knife and mocked, “I only wanted to say a few words—did you think I’d let my guard down for that?”

He raised the curved knife to Arama’s throat.

“Farewell.”

Yet just as the blade was about to fall, Sigmund abruptly changed direction; the arc of the knife slashed through empty air beside him!

Clang clang—!

Two metallic clashes rang out almost simultaneously.

With the sudden blocks, the blood energy surrounding Sigmund burst outward into a dense fog, and two originally transparent knight puji coalesced into view.

Sigmund’s gaze snapped past them, locked on someone farther off—the familiar figure clutching a small puji, the conspicuous pink-haired girl.

It was that girl! Arama’s daughter! How was she here? Were those two hidden puji under her control?

Inanna, puji, Otherdream[“Dream Realm”], roommate…

A chain of questions crackled through Sigmund’s mind.

Before he could sort it out, the roommate—previously calm—erupted into a near-mad frenzy of excitement and craving, a piercing mental wave that almost tore at his consciousness:

“Quick! It’s that one! The puji the woman’s holding! Grab it! Now! At any cost!”

Sigmund: “???”