This Dungeon Grew Mushrooms

Fifteen urged his horse along the winding dirt road, hooves kicking up clouds of dust.

Behind him, the puji wrapped several mycelium tendrils tightly around the leather strap beneath the saddle, anchoring itself firmly onto the bouncing horse.

Fifteen did not enjoy having a puji riding on his head, so he had pushed it off several times already.

In truth, after crossing the Strawman Abyss, he no longer needed a puji at all. But Fifteen couldn’t be bothered to waste time selling it for two measly gold coins, so he tried releasing it instead.

Yet this puji seemed to have imprinted on him. No matter how many times he drove it away, it always caught up to his galloping horse with astonishing speed.

Over short distances, its tiny body could explode with agility not inferior to a well-bred mount. It would dart out from a corner and leap back onto the saddle again.

Seeing its unexpectedly high intelligence, Fifteen eventually resigned himself to letting it follow.

He figured he could bring it back for his master and the others to study—perhaps they would discover something interesting.

The sights along the return journey were heavy and bleak. Waves of refugees streamed past him in the opposite direction.

Highfort Fortress had fallen, and Three Mountains City was on the verge of collapse.

Although common folk were slow to receive news, even they had finally heard the truth after so long.

Many held a grim outlook and chose to flee with their families before the fighting reached their doorstep.

Fifteen held no strong opinion about their actions—they were simply trying to survive. But he would never become such a craven dog.

If the kingdom were doomed… if humanity were destined for enslavement… he would rather die on the battlefield of Three Mountains City.

The only thing puzzling him was how strangely the Puji Masters he encountered behaved.

Every time he approached one, they stiffened visibly, their gazes sharp and wary—sometimes even hostile.

After thinking it through, the only possible issue was the puji following him.

Did they notice something special about it and grow greedy?

That didn’t feel right. Not every Puji Master could be that kind of person.

Fifteen knew the world held plenty of wicked folk, but surely the entire profession wasn’t rotten.

So he resolved that the next time he encountered a Puji Master, even if it delayed him, he would ask clearly.

After half a day, he finally ran into another one.

This Puji Master looked wealthy. While others traveled with handcarts, he had two full carriages behind him and over twenty puji in tow.

Considering that many areas along this road lacked mycelium carpets, maintaining twenty puji with mana potions required a substantial fortune.

As expected, when their paths crossed, the well-dressed Puji Master’s face drained of color and he immediately fell into a defensive stance.

But unexpectedly, he didn’t flee like the others. Instead, he ordered his guards to spread out and block the road.

“So someone finally dares to make a move?” Fifteen thought with a cold snort. His right hand slid toward his sword hilt.

Yet what happened next blindsided him.

From a distance, the Puji Master shouted, “You—mage! What do you mean by this!?”

Fifteen froze.

What did he mean? Wasn’t he the one who should be asking that?

And—mage?

He looked down at himself. He wore a swordsman’s typical attire. He carried a longsword. He didn’t have anything even remotely resembling a staff.

He glanced around. Aside from himself and the caravan, the road was empty.

“Is there some misunderstanding?” Fifteen called out. “I’m not a mage!”

Before the words even finished—

Swordlight flashed.

Everyone saw only a blur before Fifteen sheathed his sword again. A thick tree beside the road split slowly and collapsed with a heavy crash.

“Ah… a misunderstanding indeed…” The Puji Master went sheet-white. His forced smile twisted stiffly. “We’ll— we’ll move aside at once…”

Fifteen nudged his horse forward. “So can you—”

“Don’t come any closer!” the Puji Master shrieked, stumbling backward and nearly tripping on his own robe.

Seeing how terrified he was, Fifteen stopped and pulled his horse back a few steps.

The caravan immediately fled in a frenzy, detouring around him as if he were some deadly monster.

Watching their panicked retreat, Fifteen replayed their brief exchange and arrived at a rather absurd suspicion.

He rummaged through his pack and fished out a strange gray-white stone with intricate markings.

He infused it with mana. Light shimmered across its surface.

Then he pressed the stone against the puji’s mushroom cap.

And at last—

He understood why all the Puji Masters had been terrified of him.

“A single charge and I could kill that crossbow dwarf! That bald guy—ten seconds tops! And that coward in front? Pathetic! Run, run, all of you useless worms! Lord Nine is in a good mood today, so I’ll spare your lives! Hehehehe!”

Then the puji suddenly realized something. “Hey—why is this pre-puji-servant still standing here? Those weaklings are long gone! Get moving already! And stop touching Lord Nine’s cap!”

The puji extended a tendril, trying to shove Fifteen’s hand away from the stone.

But then a voice echoed in its mind—Fifteen’s voice.

“You… what in the world are you?”

Fifteen felt the world had gone insane. A puji with full independent thought, constantly evaluating who it could kill along the road?

And only Puji Masters reacted with alarm—did this mean only they could easily sense a puji’s thoughts?

The puji—calling itself Nine—felt no fear. Instead, it wriggled excitedly. “Oh! You learned how to communicate? As expected of the pre-puji-servant chosen by me! Hahahaha!”

A vein throbbed on Fifteen’s forehead. The puji took advantage of the moment and hopped back onto his head.

“Great, since we can talk now, listen—don’t you dare throw me off again. This spot is specially for—”

Before it could finish, Fifteen grabbed it by its short legs and lifted it upside down. Its tendrils flailed wildly.

“Put me down! Just because you’re slightly stronger than me, you think you can treat me like this!?”

He tossed it into the front saddle pouch. Only then did Nine quiet down, puffed up with indignation.

After some attempts at communication, Fifteen finally understood:

This was a special puji calling itself “Number Nine,” part of something it referred to as “the Mushroom Clan.”

“So… why are you following me?” Fifteen asked as he rode onward.

“The long-ears over there were too boring! Not even a decent fight!” Nine curled its tendrils. “But you’re pretty strong, and your name has a number—so you must be important among humans! If we combine forces, we’ll slaughter to our hearts’ content! Just like when you chopped off that human’s head earlier!”

Fifteen: “…”

Now even more determined to bring this thing back to let his master and the bishop examine it, Fifteen pressed on. But he still asked, curious, “You do realize I’m heading to a battlefield? You could die at any moment.”

“A battlefield!? I’m going! I’m definitely going!” Nine bounced excitedly. “Are we going to kill humans or demons!?”

……

After days of nonstop travel, Fifteen finally saw the distant silhouette of Three Mountains City—echoing with thunderous battle cries.

The demons had already begun their assault.

But Fifteen exhaled in relief.

He wasn’t too late.