“Ah… sorry, for making you worry.” Veyra pulled the three of them to sit, handing each a bowl of mushroom soup that glowed faintly red with warmth.
The swordsman took a sip, his eyes brightening, but he quickly dragged his thoughts away from the strange delicacy and asked, “Why have you been stuck here so long? Did something happen?”
“We… were asked by the Pujis and the treants to restore the vitality of this floor.” Veyra pointed at the soil around them, where sprouts of various magical plants were poking through, and explained with some embarrassment.
He couldn’t bring himself to admit that they had been kidnapped into the task after angering the Pujis.
“Fortunately, we’re almost done now.”
The swordsman glanced at Veyra with doubt, muttering inwardly. Had this guy’s bleeding-heart tendencies gotten so bad that even monsters were now part of his care list?
Still, the important thing was that they were alive. That alone was good news.
Relieved, he focused on the mushroom soup, trying hard to ignore his two teammates.
Those two were now circling the elf, fussing over her like idiots. Sure, she was beautiful, but this was humiliating.
“Huh? A… man?!” Somehow the topic turned, and the mage suddenly let out a loud cry.At once, both the mage and the hunter collapsed to the ground in despair.
The difference was that the mage sulked his way back to the swordsman’s side, while the hunter quickly recovered his spirits and became even more enthusiastic toward the elf!
Seeing this, the swordsman silently decided never to team up with that hunter again—he was dangerous in more ways than one…
…
By late afternoon, the elf Syrion finally finished the last patch of restoration. Though they had been eating well thanks to the red mushrooms, everyone was eager to leave.
The only uncertainty was whether the Pujis would truly allow them to go.
With the puzzled swordsman’s party in tow, Veyra cautiously led them to the stairway down to the fifth floor. But when they arrived, his heart sank—a group of Pujis was blocking the path.
“No way…” Veyra’s expression darkened.
Syrion sighed. “Perhaps… only I need to stay behind. The rest of you should try leaving first?”
“No way!” Veyra immediately refused. “It was my idea in the first place. If we go, we all go together.”
“Veyra, what’s going on here?” The swordsman, even more confused, pressed him.
Before Veyra could explain, the leading Puji wriggled forward. It slipped a tentacle into its round, pale body and fumbled around for a moment before producing a pure, purple magic crystal, no larger than a fingertip.
“An A… Class magic crystal!” Fein recognized it instantly, crying out in shock.
Every gaze was fixed on the tiny gem. Fein even swallowed involuntarily. No mage could resist the lure of a high-grade crystal!
Fortunately, everyone here had some sense of decency. In another party, that crystal alone could have caused betrayal and bloodshed.
The Puji rolled the precious crystal over to Syrion, for the restoration had been thanks to his natural magic.
The others looked on with envy, but no one tried to take it.
As for Veyra’s group, each received a small pouch of red mushrooms.
Then, as if nothing more needed saying, the Pujis shuffled away, returning to their own tasks, leaving the stairway completely open.
“So… they’re letting us go?” Veyra tried stepping forward. None of the Pujis moved to stop him.
Seeing this, the rest hurried after.
Just as they were about to leave the sixth floor, Phylline couldn’t help looking back at the Pujis and whispered: “Veyra, do you think… Pujis would make good familiars?”
…
On the fifth floor, in the damp swamps, Lin Jun was organizing his plans.
The Dungeon was nearly restored. Each floor’s ecology had shifted somewhat, but everything was still under his control—no real problem.
On the surface, with the support of the Pink Pujis, he had secured official approval, meaning he could expand freely.
The only unexpected obstacle for the Mycelium Carpet’s spread was something Lin Jun had once longed for desperately—the sun.
Sunlight boosted photosynthesis, far more efficient than the Carpet’s natural mana absorption. The heat was no issue; his [High Temperature Resistance] handled it easily.
But… there was no water.
The forests and the underground were moist enough for the mycelium to thrive, but in open sunlight, the dry soil caused it to wither.
He had to draw water from surrounding areas to sustain those patches, which severely limited the Carpet’s spread into open ground unless a reliable water source was nearby.
The solutions were obvious: draw groundwater or use water magic to condense moisture from the air.
But groundwater was limited—fine for small patches, unsustainable for wide expansion. As for magic, that meant Lin Jun doing it himself. And no matter how much energy he had, he wasn’t going to waste it like that.
Better if humans could do it for him. Like rice paddies—why not have them dig irrigation canals for his mushrooms too…
Meanwhile, Lin Jun was producing a new batch of second-generation scouts. Their strength lay between the Knight Pujis and the elite Pujis, designed for specialized missions.
Most of the Dungeon’s rifts had been repaired, leaving just over ten scattered across various floors, each leading to different realms. Some even connected to the same place.
Four led into dense forests, three leaked faint cursed auras…
Rifts disrupted the Dungeon’s normal operation, and just maintaining them without expansion cost computational power.
The number was still too high. Lin Jun’s plan was to keep only a few of the most critical passages. So he needed to determine which of the similar rifts led to the best long-term outpost.
The second-generation scouts were born for this purpose—both to explore what lay beyond and to assess whether those realms were dungeons themselves, and where exactly they were located, so he could plan accordingly.
—
Mushroom Garden No. 3.
Beside a warm self-heating Puji, Qiong was seated with his clansmen, cheerfully eating steaming mushroom soup. He had even invited the tailless lizardman to join them.
As for the dragonkin watching from afar, Qiong had tried speaking with him once but was ignored. So he simply let it be.
Ever since Qiong had shared this delicacy with Shou and seen his face soften with rare enjoyment, he had become unstoppable, determined to spread this supreme flavor to all his people.
Now, watching everyone eat and laugh without worry, Qiong’s heart overflowed with satisfaction. Nothing could make him happier.
Just then, Shou approached.
Qiong’s eyes lit up, and he waved happily. “Shou, come! It’s just ready!”
Shou walked closer, his gaze passing over the smiling faces of his clansmen before landing on the bulging pouch at Qiong’s side—stuffed full with precious red mushrooms.
He was silent for a long moment before asking quietly, “Qiong, how many contribution points do you still have left?”
“Cough!” Qiong nearly choked on his soup. He kept his eyes down, refusing to look at Shou, staring hard at his bowl.
Shou sighed softly, his voice low. “Qiong, the red mushrooms are delicious, and it’s fine to enjoy them once in a while. But if you keep this up…”
His tone grew heavier. “We still need contribution points to retrieve our comrades’ cores. Starfire is also waiting for new life to be born in the tribe. We need those points to trade for breeding beasts at the farms…”
“…Sorry…” Qiong’s head drooped lower, his voice barely audible. Around them, the other demonkin froze, guilt written across their faces.
Shou said nothing more. He simply reached out his broken arm and patted Qiong gently on the head.
In the corner, Norris held a half-finished bowl of soup that still radiated enticing warmth. He stood stiffly, unable to drink, unable to put it down, wishing desperately that he had begged the boss for a burrowing skill so he could just dig a hole and hide…