[Experimental Artifact: Blood Calamity]

[Sixth Experiment Log]

[Test Subject: 001]

[Attempting minor adjustments to this human’s stat data…]

[…Adjustments complete. Heredity is stable. Designating this stable mutant lineage: Elves.]

…

[Test Subject: 024]

[…Physiological enhancement and implantation of moonlight sensitivity successful. Designating this stable mutant lineage: Werewolves.]

…

…

…

Well, look what he had found.

The origin of the species!

Elves, Dwarves, Beastkin, Trolls, even Goblins…

All these sapient species that now roamed the world, each possessing complex civilizations and souls, could trace their origins to the same starting point: humans.

The records were incomplete, however. Evan had found no Abyssal data cubes documenting experiments involving Vampires.

Nearly half of this attached space had already fused with the world. The Abyssal data cubes containing that information might have been permanently lost during the spatial fusion.

All the data stored in this standardized format had been left behind by Ixion, Lord of Light. Meanwhile, the traceable histories of species such as Elves and Dwarves stretched back several thousand years, perhaps even tens of thousands.

In other words, these experiments had begun a very long time ago.

That explained why the souls of every species had looked almost identical through Evan’s [Soul Sense].

Simply put, the beings this world called Demonkind, Elves, and so on were essentially different varieties of Goblins. No wonder there was almost no reproductive isolation between them.

The absurd part was that Evan’s entire impression of Ixion, Lord of Light had changed.

The mysterious and unfathomable deity had become a cold, dispassionate researcher.

The Blood Calamity experiments had been anything but safe.

According to the records, the early experiments with lower-numbered subjects had involved only minor adjustments. Their failures usually resulted in unbalanced stats or physiological deterioration.

As the experiments progressed, however, the alterations grew increasingly radical. The failed experimental subjects had not died peacefully.

It reminded Evan of the experimental logs concerning the “Sunstone” in the attached space of his own Dungeon No. 13. Some of those experiments had involved exposing ordinary test subjects to its radiance until their minds fractured.

This deity’s methods possessed all the hallmarks of a mad scientist who cared nothing for ethics and pursued results at any cost.

The one who came later had been no better.

His research, however, had gone in an entirely different direction from that of Ixion, Lord of Light.

“Reproductive viability” and “population stability” appeared repeatedly throughout Ixion’s experimental logs.

His ultimate goal seemed to have been the creation of an entirely new sapient species capable of sustaining its own population and continuously producing new souls. Of course, he had ultimately failed.

The later researcher had instead focused on creating individuals with highly specialized tendencies.

And his ultimate purpose had been…

[…Observation confirms that a body’s specific structure can significantly influence or even shape an individual’s nature. It follows that highly specialized individuals will more readily develop extreme tendencies and become vessels for the corresponding Sins.]

[Unfortunately, Sins generally follow and magnify the desires and flaws inherent in life, while Virtues mostly require individuals to restrain their nature and act against it. This approach of guidance through physical specialization is therefore difficult to apply to cultivating bearers of Virtues.]

[Still, this is enough. After all, I do not need to obtain them all.]

And he had achieved results. Partial results, at least.

The records showed that he had used Succubi, whose innate nature gave them exceptional compatibility and adaptability, and highly malleable elemental spirits as raw materials for a series of complex and dangerous fusion experiments and directed mutations.

Eventually, he successfully created a unique individual named Nia. As intended, she became a stable bearer of the [Sin of Lust] title, only to be killed by the experimenter, who then seized it for himself.

Naturally, there had been far more failures.

The Kyth, for example, had theoretically been capable of acquiring [Sin of Gluttony], yet had never truly succeeded.

Then there was the defective product created for [Sin of Greed]. It had been granted the trait of “seizing,” but the actual results had fallen far short of the desired standard.

The Demonborn.

Was this arrogant latecomer the Demon King?

After all, everyone on the continent knew that the Demonborn had been created by the Demon King.

Blood Calamity had indeed been in the Demon King’s possession back then. Both the timing and the circumstances matched.

The Demonborn, a warrior species personally created by the Demon King, had originated as failed experiments labeled “defective products”?

That was not Evan embellishing the description. Those were the exact words recorded in the Abyssal data cubes.

Of course, if the experiments were judged solely by the brutally demanding objective of successfully bearing and acquiring the corresponding Sin, the assessment was not entirely wrong.

That pompous Slime Demon King had secretly been an arrogant mad scientist too!

Still, Evan had to give the Slime Demon King credit for his efforts.

Whether it was the Mushborn, the tawny leatherbound codex, or even Elara, who might have some connection to [Sin of Lust], Evan had found all of them extremely useful.

The only thing that puzzled him was why the Demon King had been so obsessed with collecting more Sins.

Judging from the records, the Demon King clearly would have wanted more Virtues as well if they could have been obtained through the same methods.

The powers of Virtues and Sins were certainly formidable, but there were countless paths to strength. Was there really any need to throw himself so completely into this particular pursuit?

Even an ungraded skill like [Sword’s Zenith] did not seem much weaker than the Sins and Virtues.

Besides, could a Sin simply be used after it was taken?

The [Sin of Wrath] on Evan’s Status Panel was still grayed out. It was little more than a trophy he could look at.

If there was some way to use it, Evan would have been very interested in learning how.

Unfortunately, after searching through the records, he found nothing relevant.

The Demon King had written that he did not need to obtain them all.

Clearly, he had intended to use the Virtues and Sins he collected for something. But what? Driving back the Mist and saving the world?

Evan withdrew from the data cube. The next time he met the Demon King, he would try asking before beating the slime senseless.

The moment Evan emerged, one of the so-called defective products hurried over.

“Boss! I did it!” Lumen’s eyes shone, his words tumbling out with excitement. “I defeated a full four-person Diamond-rank squad by myself in the training arena today! They even had two battle mages who worked perfectly together!”

Lumen’s daily battles in the training arena were one of Evan’s regular sources of entertainment, so Evan had naturally known about today’s achievement from the start.

Even so, the Puffcap extended a mycelial tendril, rubbed the head of the Demonborn with [Physical Immunity], and praised him.

Hmph!

What a shallow understanding of the Demonborn.

The Demon King had not even managed to uncover the full potential of his own creation.

So much for the Demon King!

Outside the attached space, workers from Mycel Keep directed pack Puffcaps as they hauled away the experimental vats of every size that Evan had transferred out and brought in vast quantities of ritual materials.

After all, Evan had gone to considerable trouble to move this attached space here so that he could freely play with… research dangerous Abyssal Magic.

The Abyssal data cubes inside had merely been an unexpected bonus.

Even calling them a reward was something of an exaggeration. They had offered little practical benefit beyond expanding his knowledge of history.

Evan would have to reclaim the Blood Calamity before he could put any of that information to use.

While his subordinates hurried through preparations for the Abyssal Magic laboratory, Evan found the perfect place to train [Soul Touch]: the region sacrificed by the Hand of Passage.

Countless departed souls now wandered there, severed from their bodies.

Evan discovered that these drifting souls were the perfect source of XP for the [Soul Touch] skill he was currently honing.

He had been worried that he did not have enough D-grade personnel. These undead were practically free XP!

Better still, after the imperial army eliminated the cult remnants, the infestation of departed souls discouraged them from venturing into the region again. They merely established a perimeter and kept watch from outside.

That meant Evan’s Puffcaps did not need to bother concealing themselves. They could simply concentrate on lashing out with their mycelial tendrils and stabbing any undead that wandered close.

Thus, albeit reluctantly, they spent some time serving as cleaners and purifying the Empire’s territory.

Then there was Duke Eustace.

He had originally intended to march on Mycel Keep, but the Red Dragon had disrupted his plans.

He was deeply concerned that his enormous army, marching across the open expanses of the North, would present an irresistible target to the overlord of the skies. As a result, he had repeatedly delayed his advance.

More than a month had now passed without any sign that the Red Dragon intended to return the way it had come. That seemed to give Eustace some confidence. After weighing his options again and again, he finally launched his offensive.

Naturally, he did not commit his entire army. The first unit he dispatched was a vanguard force of fifteen hundred Demonkind soldiers.

The force was well equipped and commanded by one of his most experienced military officers.

In truth, Eustace believed the vanguard alone would be enough.

He knew that an imperial envoy had once rallied two tribes for an expedition against the Demonborn tribe, only for the tribal army of several thousand warriors to be routed. Demonborn Duke Dion had shared all those details with him.

But that had been before the cold wave swept across the North.

Even Eustace’s territory had suffered devastating losses. Across the North as a whole, scarcely a tenth of its former life remained.

Even if the scattered tribes fortunate enough to survive had huddled together for warmth, how much of their former strength could they possibly have retained?

Besides, the vanguard Eustace had dispatched was nothing like the disorganized rabble of those tribes.

Behind it stood the combined main force commanded by Eustace and his ally Dion, six thousand soldiers in all, fully prepared to advance.

Eustace did not consider the North a serious threat.

The primary reason he had committed so many troops was that they would eventually need to divide into squads and search every region of the North.

As for the tribes standing in their path, they had dared to capture his scouts before. If his army happened across them, it could simply crush them along the way.

Amid the soldiers’ muttered complaints, the vanguard set out.

Evan detected the imperial force’s movements almost immediately.

Faced with these rather tardy guests, he decided to proceed according to his original plan. His forces would display roughly equal strength, obstructing the Empire’s advance without appearing too threatening.

Of course, things were different now. Evan no longer needed to handle a minor skirmish like this personally.

After transmitting the live surveillance feed of the imperial vanguard directly into Piglet’s mind, Evan returned his attention to stabbing undead and training his skill.

“They’re finally here!”

Inside Mycel Keep’s command room, Piglet’s eyes lit with excitement as the live images reached her. She slapped the wooden table, careful not to strike it too hard.

She had waited so long for the Empire to arrive that she was practically growing mold!

She would have to hold back in this battle, but having an opponent was still better than having none.

Under Piglet’s direction, a thousand-strong force from Mycel Keep departed only three hours after Eustace’s vanguard.

It numbered one thousand soldiers, but once the Puffcaps were included, its true strength exceeded twenty thousand.

Seen from above, the army resembled a moving sea of mushrooms.

Piglet soon divided it into five separate forces and stationed them near several key routes through the North leading toward Mycel Keep.

No matter which route the imperial vanguard chose, it would encounter a blocking force of at least four thousand Puffcaps.

The number had been carefully calculated.

The Puffcaps might have had a vast numerical advantage, but ordinary soldiers commanded them, so an individual Puffcap was still no match for an imperial regular.

According to Piglet’s calculations, four thousand was just enough to cause the vanguard trouble while remaining at a disadvantage.

If she had misjudged the imperial vanguard’s strength and the four thousand Puffcaps were swiftly wiped out, the other nearby forces could arrive as reinforcements within a short time.

She had prepared for every possibility.

Yet accidents were inevitable on the battlefield.

…

An ordinary melee Puffcap was locked in combat with a fully armored Demonkind soldier who charged with a furious roar.

The soldier’s longsword descended with a shriek of displaced air, but the Puffcap darted nimbly from side to side. When the soldier committed to a powerful overhead strike, it deflected the heavy blade with perfect precision.

The Puffcap immediately sprang past him. Its tendril blade swept through a gap in the Demonkind soldier’s armor from a cunning angle, inflicting a grievous wound.

The injured soldier dropped to one knee. A moment later, a detonation Puffcap rolled out from among the surrounding mushrooms and made point-blank contact with the immobilized soldier.

Boom!

Watching the scene through the Mycelial Network, Piglet licked her dry lips.

That had been nothing more than an ordinary elite melee Puffcap!

And judging by Piglet’s experience, its Demonkind opponent had been a perfectly competent imperial regular.

Two Puffcaps had killed him?!

Had Boss been unable to resist joining the fun personally?

Piglet dismissed the possibility as soon as it occurred to her.

Regardless of whether Boss possessed that kind of agility, this was no isolated incident. The same thing was happening across the entire battlefield.

Four thousand elite Puffcaps were driving the fifteen-hundred-strong vanguard force back on every front.

Realizing something was wrong, Piglet hurriedly ordered a retreat.

They could not keep fighting. At this rate, they were going to annihilate the Empire’s entire vanguard!

Piglet even ordered her soldiers to deliberately sacrifice a wave of Puffcaps so the enemy could claim a few more kills. Otherwise, the final casualty ratio would look far too humiliating.

Even then, it amounted to little more than damage control.

“How is this possible? How can these four thousand Puffcaps be so strong?” Anxious over her failure as a commander, Piglet struggled to identify the cause.

Evan hesitated. “Um… could it be the [Combat Instinct] I just added?”

Mycel Keep Puffcap Update Log: To provide the imperial army with a better combat experience, we have removed the newly added [Combat Instinct] and downgraded some Puffcaps from elite units to cannon fodder.

…

The main force dispatched by Duke Eustace numbered more than four thousand and was commanded by General Reynard, an elderly Lizardkin with Paragon-rank strength.

Reynard was not a native-born imperial Demonkind. He had been born in a tribe near the imperial border, where imperial border forces frequently harassed and raided them under the pretext of military exercises.

Unable to endure it any longer, Reynard had once led his tribe in resistance and even won several victories.

But once they truly caught Duke Eustace’s attention, an army surrounded the entire tribe and left them no choice but to surrender.

The duke admired Reynard’s skill in battle and command, so he took the Lizardkin into his service. Thirty years had passed since then, and the former tribal rebel had long since become one of the duke’s most trusted and influential subordinates.

Duke Eustace had chosen him to command this expedition because of his extensive experience with the North and its tribes.

The Demonborn had also dispatched a force of eight hundred.

Their numbers were small, but the Demonborn were a warrior species created by the Demon King. With demon sigils engraved into them from birth and stats exceptional even among Demonkind, a Demonborn could ordinarily fight two or three other Demonkind of the same level. Against worthless Half-Demons, they could handle even more.

Once morale and other factors were considered, those eight hundred Demonborn were no weaker than Reynard’s force.

Due to disagreements over command authority, the two armies did not merge. Instead, they advanced in parallel with some distance between them.

General Reynard’s expression was grim. He had just received word that the vanguard force had stopped advancing.

After only two days of marching, he caught up with them.

They had established camp in a highly defensible position, with a steep wall of ice at their backs and a frozen river curving around their front. Layer upon layer of fortifications surrounded the camp, giving every impression that they intended to hold out against a siege. Anyone unaware of the situation might have assumed they were the ones under attack.

“Harlson, you were supposed to clear a path for the army. What exactly are you doing here?” Reynard demanded when the vanguard commander came out to receive him.

Harlson lowered his head without defending himself and led the general into the camp.

The sights along the way were appalling.

Most of the soldiers sat silently around campfires. Many were wrapped in bloodstained bandages, their eyes either vacant or still haunted by lingering fear.

The air reeked of herbs and blood, with the faint stench of corpses beneath it all.

Only after they entered the commander’s tent did Harlson recount what had happened to the vanguard.

Simply put, a single clash had frightened Harlson badly enough that he no longer dared advance recklessly.

The enemy’s strength and numbers had far exceeded expectations. Although the vanguard had scraped out a costly victory, the soldiers’ morale had plummeted. Harlson feared that continuing deeper into enemy territory alone might result in the destruction of his entire force, so he had made camp and waited for the main army to catch up.

“Hmph.” The general snorted, his displeasure evident. “After bungling the battle this badly, you stopped advancing too? Are you trying to make us a laughingstock for those Demonborn? Duke Dion’s men are watching from nearby!”

Despite his dissatisfaction, Reynard took Harlson’s account seriously. He did not continue berating him and instead summoned every officer.

After another round of discussion, Reynard discarded his contempt for the North and revised his original deployment.

First, he ordered the main force and the vanguard to merge and reorganize. The distance between individual units would be reduced, while flank patrols and scout coverage would be increased. If any position came under attack, the neighboring forces would be able to respond and provide support quickly.

Second, he changed their planned route.

Even if it added half a day to the march, they would avoid several locations well suited to ambushes and surprise attacks.

Finally, and most importantly, he adjusted their strategic objective.

For the time being, he set aside their primary mission of investigating the cause of the North’s abnormal cooling. Their foremost objective would now be to locate and crush the northern tribes’ resistance forces.

This would prevent the army from scattering across the North in search parties, only for the northern tribes to seize the opportunity and defeat them one by one.

Once his deployments were complete, Reynard considered the matter for a moment. He then sent the details of the encounter, along with a summary of his revised marching plan, to the commander of the Demonborn force advancing some distance away.

The two sides might have been competing in secret, but Reynard was no reckless fool incapable of recognizing what mattered.

Then, with the entire army on high alert, they encountered the Puffcaps again.

There were still four thousand of them.

Following Reynard’s orders, the commander of the thousand-man unit that encountered them immediately formed a defensive line and notified the other forces to send support.

A vast white mass of Puffcaps surged toward them. The Demonkind force met their charge, gained the advantage, and ultimately exterminated every attacking Puffcap.

The battle was over before Reynard arrived with reinforcements, without the defenders ever being drawn into a bitter struggle.

The thousand-man unit had suffered barely a dozen casualties.

However, all they had killed were Puffcaps. When the tribal Puffcap handlers saw from a distance that the battle had turned against them, they abandoned their Puffcaps and fled.

Under Reynard’s orders, the unit commander had no choice but to restrain himself from pursuing them.

Faced with such results, every officer kept glancing at Vanguard Commander Harlson. His face turned crimson, but he could not utter a word.

In the face of the evidence, any defense would have sounded like an excuse.

In the end, Reynard intervened to spare him further humiliation. “The enemy may be deliberately showing weakness. If those tribes intend to resist the Empire, they’re bound to employ a few tricks. All units are to remain vigilant. I will not tolerate any mistakes!”

However, after they encountered several more northern Puffcap forces, the Demonkind commanders gradually lost their earlier caution.

It would be wrong to call those Puffcap forces completely helpless.

The Puffcaps were numerous and unafraid of death. As long as they did not mindlessly charge to their deaths, a little tactical coordination was enough to cause the Demonkind commanders considerable trouble.

Beyond that, however, there was little worth mentioning.

In particular, the individual Puffcaps were nowhere near as powerful as Harlson had claimed.

The most reasonable explanation was that Harlson had made some elementary command error that resulted in the vanguard’s costly victory, then deliberately exaggerated the Puffcaps’ strength to conceal his failure.

Before long, everyone’s gaze toward Harlson carried a hint of contempt. Even Reynard no longer showed him any courtesy.

The general could already imagine how the Demonborn would mock their incompetence after receiving his warning, then fighting a few battles against the northern Puffcaps themselves.

If they were not still marching and fighting, he would have disciplined Harlson severely.

The Puffcaps might not have been individually impressive, but their numbers were absurd.

Reading another report that the right flank had exterminated over a thousand Puffcaps and driven back their handlers, Reynard frowned.

Over the past several days, battles large and small had killed nearly twenty thousand Puffcaps.

How many Puffcaps could those tribes possibly have in this frozen wasteland of the North?

A large portion of them were inexpensive cannon-fodder Puffcaps. Their only purpose on the battlefield was to give the imperial army more kills and bolster its confidence.

Dead Puffcaps could be recycled, while dead enemies could be broken down. Once both sides of the equation were considered, the actual mana loss was negligible.

Better still, thanks to [Mycelial Reconstruction], many Puffcaps simply waited until the imperial army left, then climbed back to their feet and slipped into the underground Mycelial Tunnels. Afterward, they could be sent out as fresh Puffcaps to die a second time.

The first step in fighting Evan was always to destroy the mycelial mat and burn the corpses.

Unfortunately, very few people understood that yet.

The imperial commanders leading this northern expedition certainly had not grasped the secret.

General Reynard’s force won one victory after another against the Puffcaps, but the constant fighting inevitably wore down his soldiers both physically and mentally.

Wary of the Puffcaps’ seemingly inexhaustible numbers, the seasoned Reynard cautiously chose to halt his advance.

As for the Demonborn force, events unfolded exactly as Reynard had expected. After their first easy victory against the Puffcaps, they mercilessly mocked their allies’ incompetence.

After several more battles, however, they stopped laughing.

It was not because the Puffcaps were particularly formidable. The Demonborn were elites among elites.

Reynard’s soldiers still had to struggle with the Puffcaps for a while, but the Demonborn cut them down as easily as harvesting wheat. Across several consecutive battles, they had lost barely a dozen warriors.

Yet they were now even more conflicted than Reynard.

Those damned northern tribes and their damned Puffcaps were stealing Demon Cores!

Demon Cores were the sole source of new Demonborn, so their importance went without saying.

In the past, victory had allowed them to recover the Demon Cores of their fallen comrades at their leisure. Even in defeat, Demonborn warriors would often accept further casualties and fight desperately to recover as many Demon Cores as possible.

When a Demonborn warrior was first killed by a Puffcap using Detonation and his Demon Core could not be found during the cleanup, they attributed it to bad luck. Perhaps the explosion had hurled the Demon Core into some hidden corner.

But sixteen Demonborn had died by now, and only two of their Demon Cores had been recovered. All the others had been stolen.

Recovered was the right word.

The moment a Demonborn warrior fell, every nearby Puffcap would abandon its original target. No matter whom it had been attacking or how badly it was injured, it would swarm toward the corpse like a piranha scenting blood.

With no regard for their own survival, the Puffcaps used their round fungal bodies to form one hyphal wall after another. Through sheer suicidal persistence, they kept the other Demonborn warriors away from their fallen comrade.

During the brief interval purchased with countless Puffcap lives, someone would pry the Demon Core from the dead warrior’s body. Then one of the Puffcaps would hide it inside its body.

The Puffcaps would scatter in every direction, leaving the Demonborn to intercept them by luck. They still had to contend with interference from the other Puffcaps, and one mistake could leave them surrounded and add more casualties on the spot.

Bang!

A Demonborn squad leader drove his iron-armored fist into an exposed glacial rock beside him. The solid stone split down the middle.

“Damn them… It has to be those northern wretches! They’re the only ones who would go to such lengths to collect Demon Cores!”

“Look at them. Every one of those wretches has Cold Resistance demon sigils. If members of the other tribes survived, then a much greater proportion of them must have made it through!”

The other squad leaders nodded. Several warriors had indeed glimpsed horned figures among the distant Puffcap handlers who appeared to be Demonborn.

Every squad leader present was disgusted by the northern tribes’ methods.

The cowards hid in the distance during every battle, never setting foot on the battlefield themselves and relying entirely on the Puffcaps to fight.

Whenever their positions were discovered, they immediately turned and fled.

Demonborn squads had pursued the Puffcap handlers several times, but none had succeeded.

Instead, they had been lured deep into enemy territory and surrounded by Puffcaps emerging from every direction. Several more warriors had died before other Demonborn managed to rescue them.

After all that fighting, only one mage and one archer had managed to kill an actual enemy from range. Everyone else had done nothing but the thankless work of clearing out Puffcaps.

It was an infuriating way to fight.

At first, they had comforted themselves with the thought that once the Puffcaps were exhausted, the tribespeople would be helpless prey.

Now, as they stared at yet another undiminished horde of Puffcaps ahead, no one could muster such optimism.

Most importantly, they could not afford to lose any more Demon Cores in the North.

After some consideration, the Demonborn commander made a different choice from Reynard, who still intended to complete the mission with his existing forces. He reported the theft of the Demon Cores to his duke and requested reinforcements. He wanted enough strength to exterminate the Demonborn tribe in the North in one decisive attack, then seize their Cradle and Demon Cores.

…

Once the front lines settled into the expected stalemate, Evan temporarily turned his attention elsewhere.

Neither of the opposing dukes had committed their full strength because they had misjudged Mycel Keep’s capabilities.

For the current Mycel Keep, this amounted to little more than a minor skirmish. Even if something went wrong, Evan had plenty of reserves and contingencies available. There was no need to waste his valuable attention watching every moment.

The Abyssal Magic testing ground behind the lines was still under construction. In the meantime, Evan decided to fulfill his promised reward to the tawny leatherbound codex.

Keeping his word had always been one of Evan’s finest qualities.

He had never understood why he had not received the Virtue of Honesty title. Only after meeting the Demon King had he learned that the old bastard was occupying the position that rightfully belonged to him.

Why had that Linc fellow not cut the Slime in half with a single stroke back then?

The bastard had cost Evan a Virtue!

[Fi… finally…]

After half a month of agonizing anticipation, during which even the souls of D-grade personnel had lost their flavor, the tawny leatherbound codex finally received Boss’s summons.

“Don’t get too excited. I never guaranteed that this would work. If we get no results and you start making trouble, I won’t go easy on you.” Evan made the potential consequences clear from the outset.

[Of course, of course. I understand…]

The words claimed it understood, but its pages kept twitching and flipping despite themselves. It was clearly still beside itself with excitement.

That excitement cooled considerably once a Marshal Puffcap wrapped it in tendrils and carried it into the laboratory.

A glowing stone rested at the center of the concealed testing ground, illuminating the surrounding mycelial mat.

To the left yawned an enormous spatial rift leading into the void.

All manner of Puffcaps stood ready around the tawny leatherbound codex.

The patterns covering the walls revealed a variety of anti-scrying magic circles and trap magic circles.

It looked as though they intended to execute the book the moment the experiment ended…

The tawny leatherbound codex soon shifted its attention from the surrounding preparations back to the glowing stone.

It could faintly feel the light from the stone stirring its insubstantial core.

Could it be…?

“All right. Let’s start with direct exposure!”

With that, the Puffcap opened the tawny leatherbound codex as wide as it would go and held it toward the Sunstone.

The Sunstone’s radiance washed the pages in gold.

[Oh… This is… This is!]

Side Story: A Goblin’s Retirement

“Dylan, you don’t understand!”

“Those mushroom houses down below don’t have locks on their doors!”

“It’s happened several times… I wake up half asleep in the middle of the night because I need to piss, and the moment I open my eyes… there are Sable’s golden eyes in the pitch-black room, staring at me without moving! I… I nearly piss myself from fright every time!”

“Only here… at the Puffcap Hearth… do I feel completely safe…”

“And last time Boss… Boss…”

“Boss is obviously the best!” Dylan reacted quickly, clapping a hand over Norris’s increasingly uncontrollable mouth and taking over the conversation. “Norris, you’ve had too much to drink. I’ll help you back to your room.”

After Mimicry reached a higher skill level, maintaining an outward appearance no longer depended entirely on conscious effort.

Thus, even though mushroom wine had left Norris thoroughly insensible, he still looked like an ordinary young human. His face was merely flushed and his gaze unfocused.

Even if he accidentally dispelled Mimicry, it would not have caused much trouble.

The few “customers” who remained inside the Puffcap Hearth that afternoon were, without exception, Demonkind spies parasitized by hyphae.

The Puffcap Hearth’s famous limited supply of Elven specialty potions usually sold out in a frenzy shortly after the establishment opened in the morning.

Anyone who lingered into the afternoon, paying an outrageous premium for mushroom wine accompanied by “maid Puffcap service,” was generally a Demonkind spy whose purpose had nothing to do with food or drink.

Even if one of those spies glimpsed Norris revealing his true nature, they would merely scoff in secret at his lack of professionalism.

Dylan hauled Norris upright with an arm around him, and the two staggered toward the rooms.

After settling the hardworking young man into bed, Dylan glanced at the sunlight slanting lower outside the window. Judging that the time was about right, he turned toward the kitchen and raised his voice.

“Bianca, I’ll take care of the rest.”

In the kitchen, Bianca stood on tiptoe as she chipped crystalline chunks of ice from an ice-cooling Puffcap used specifically for refrigeration. At Dylan’s words, she peered out from the kitchen, surprise on her face.

“Huh? Dylan, you’re being awfully nice today!”

“When have I ever treated you badly?”

“You’ve always been nice.” Bianca blinked and added with a grin, “But you’re being especially nice today!”

“Perfect.” Dylan pointed to the battered old broom leaning in the corner, its bristles frayed and split. “Go to the market and buy two new brooms before it gets dark. This morning, I saw a passing Puffcap with a splinter from that broom stuck in its backside.”

Bianca’s radiant smile immediately collapsed, and she pouted. “Oh. Then you’re only being ordinarily nice today.”

The girl had grown considerably taller. She directed the Puffcaps that had finished working to form a line and obediently return to the shelter in the rear courtyard, where the floor was covered in mycelial mat. Only then did she dust off her hands, swing her arms, and jog toward the market.

As she passed the bustling Bent Willow Tavern, a wave of noise spilled out along with the odor of cheap liquor.

The adventurers’ rough voices carried their favorite pieces of gossip.

“…and guess what happened in the end? Ha! A Puffcap won the whole tournament! Hahahaha!”

“A Puffcap? Weren’t there a bunch of nobles and talented young warriors competing? They couldn’t even beat one Puffcap? Maybe they deliberately let it win to impress the duke’s daughter.”

“Let it win, my ass! I heard everyone that Puffcap defeated squealed like a pig! The last man ended up sprawled on the ground, babbling things that insulted His Grace. Now everyone’s wondering what His Grace will do to him!”

“Speaking of which, did any of you see today’s announcement from the Puffcap Handler Association? Someone broke the control-capacity record again! Supposedly, it’s a Beastkin who can command more than three hundred Puffcaps at once!”

“Three hundred?! Gods above… Doesn’t that make him a small army all by himself?”

The tavern erupted in a mixture of shocked exclamations, envious cries, and anguished complaints about why it could not have been them.

Puffcap control capacity was the only aptitude that could transform someone’s destiny without requiring any additional effort.

In fact, effort was useless. Control capacity could not be improved through training.

Even an ordinary person capable of controlling three hundred Puffcaps could probably enlist and immediately receive treatment equivalent to that of a Gold-rank combatant.

Bianca could control only twenty-one Puffcaps, an entirely average result.

Yet she felt no envy toward the Beastkin the adventurers were discussing. She was perfectly content with her current life.

When she entered the market, many of the roadside merchants recognized the lively girl.

“Little Butterfly is here?” The stout proprietress of a general store rose from her wicker chair with a warm smile.

People called Bianca Little Butterfly because the hyphae on her face had been connected into the shapes of two butterflies.

Once Puffcap handlers became commonplace, all manner of related services emerged.

Arranging facial hyphae was one of them.

Naturally symbiotic hyphae grew wildly and chaotically across the surface of the flesh, giving their hosts a somewhat bizarre appearance.

Simply cutting away the exposed hyphae did no good. The severed strands continued growing in disarray, making the Puffcap handler look even less human.

It did not take long, however, for someone to devise a solution.

Once the severed end of one hypha was wrapped in mana, it could be grafted onto another.

The method could not reduce the number of hyphae on someone’s face, but it could bring the tangled growth into order and form regular patterns resembling tribal tattoos. When done well, it did not detract from the person’s appearance and could even lend them a distinctive beauty.

The procedure required exceptionally delicate and stable Mana Control. Few but high-ranking mages were capable of performing it.

Consequently, the service had been expensive from the day it first appeared.

Even a basic arrangement was difficult. “Drawing” lifelike butterflies across Bianca’s face required a level of artistry rarely seen.

In fact, Dylan had asked Alden to arrange Bianca’s facial hyphae.

When Master Alden, a revered figure in Mushroom Metropolis who seemed impossibly exalted to Bianca, had appeared before her in person, the girl had nearly convinced herself she was still asleep.

Why would someone so important expend that much effort on an insignificant commoner like her merely because the proprietor had asked?

Ever since then, Bianca had wondered whether the seemingly ordinary and somewhat disheveled proprietor might once have been an extraordinary figure himself.

Dylan never spoke about it, so Bianca could only hide her curiosity and imaginings deep in her heart.

Carrying two sturdy new brooms, Bianca returned to the Puffcap Hearth with a spring in her step.

As she approached the entrance, however, she stopped.

The tavern was completely dark.

Confused, Bianca raised her head and looked at the sky.

The last glow of sunset had yet to fade, and the streetlamps had only just begun lighting one after another.

Why had Dylan closed so early today?

Bianca took a deep breath and gently pushed the partially closed door open with her shoulder. Darkness filled the interior, swallowing the familiar tables, chairs, and bar.

A trace of fear crept into her.

She felt her way forward, carefully probing the floor with her toes.

“Dylan? Dylan?” A slight tremor entered her voice.

She tried to reach the place where she remembered the oil lamp being, only to collide with something exceptionally soft and springy.

Rather than alarming her, the sensation instantly dispelled all her unease.

“Puffcap?” She bent over and reached out, finding a familiar cap beneath her hand. “I put all of you away. Why is there still a Puffcap in here?”

At that moment, the round cap of the Puffcap she was touching began to glow with a faint luminescence.

Then a second Puffcap lit up nearby, followed by a third…

One after another, they illuminated the entire Puffcap Hearth until it seemed submerged in a hazy, dreamlike sea of stars.

At the center of the radiance, two smiling faces came into view.

Dylan stood with his arms folded, leaning against the cleared bar with the gentle smile Bianca knew so well.

Beside him stood Bianca’s mother, her hands clasped nervously before her and her eyes glistening with excitement.

“Mom? Why are you at the tavern?”

“To celebrate your birthday, of course!”

Dylan stepped aside with a smile, revealing the handmade cake behind him. It was not particularly elegant, but someone had clearly put considerable effort into it.

At the very top of the cake stood a plump, round mushroom of vivid crimson. Its thick fungal flesh looked so succulent that the slightest touch might make juice seep from it.

“Dylan, that mushroom… Is it…?”

“That’s right.” Dylan’s smile widened. “It’s exactly what you think.”

He had specially requested it from Boss.

[Delectable LV10].

Bianca had been fortunate enough to taste it once. She had yearned for that flavor ever since but had been too embarrassed to mention it to Dylan. Since it was her birthday, he naturally intended to fulfill that small wish.

Like a real butterfly, Bianca flew to the table and stared at the red mushroom with sparkling eyes, nearly drooling.

She picked up a knife and fork and carefully lifted the crimson mushroom from the top of the cake. Then she abruptly stopped.

She looked up at Dylan, then at her mother.

Without hesitation, she divided the mushroom into three portions.

After pushing two portions toward Dylan and her mother, she eagerly popped her own into her mouth. She cupped one cheek in her hand, her eyes narrowing into happy crescents as she hummed with satisfaction.

Behind the three of them, the bioluminescent Puffcaps stacked themselves into a Puffcap pile. The one at the top spun around while performing a trick that involved spraying water.

The three celebrated together in perfect harmony, almost like a real family.

None of them possessed Mana Sense, however, so they did not know that a recording crystal hung in one corner of the ceiling.

Evan quietly saved the scene to show Dylan’s own daughter, Bella, later.

Side Story: The Puffcap Festival

Clang. Clang.

The sound of striking metal echoed through the basement.

The Dwarf Grelm descended the stone stairs and called toward the glow of the fire. “Torin! Is that you in there?”

Clang. Clang.

Only the hammering answered him. Following the sound, Grelm passed through a corridor cluttered with ore and half-finished components until he reached the forge radiating scorching heat.

This was probably the hottest place in the entire North.

Bundled in thick winter clothing, Grelm felt sweat soaking his back. Even the air he breathed felt hot and scorched.

Maintaining a furnace hot enough to smelt metal in this bitterly cold land demonstrated how seriously Mycel Keep regarded the War Automaton Reconstruction Project under Torin’s charge.

This furnace was utterly unlike those in their homeland. The source of the raging flames inside was not coal, but an enormous burrower Puffcap.

A Puffcap furnace.

Only here would anyone encounter something so bizarre.

Grelm finally found Torin beside a disorderly pile of molds.

His friend’s bloodshot eyes and sunken cheeks gave him a fright. Torin had just finished forging a breastplate component meant to house a Mana Crystal. He stared fixedly at it without a trace of satisfaction, only persistent anxiety and frustration.

“It’s no good, Grelm. I don’t have the talent. No matter how many times I try, it never meets the standard!” Torin’s voice was hoarse. “Why? I already wrote home. Why haven’t any clan members come to help me? Does the technology of the ancient War Automatons no longer interest them?”

“Maybe… they can’t get here? The Empire still lies between us and home. Even secretly crossing the border would be dangerous.” Grelm studied his companion’s disheveled appearance. Torin had not even found time to tend his beard. “If you’ve reached a dead end, why not take a break? There’s a festival today. Come have some fun instead of staying cooped up beside this furnace until the heat cooks your brain.”

“A festival? What festival?” Torin looked up blankly. He searched his memory for some time but could not recall anything special about the day.

“The Puffcap Festival! You’ve been buried in this place and haven’t read the announcements. It’s a celebration unique to the Mycelial Garden, commemorating its… four-hundredth anniversary. Delectable mushrooms and specially brewed mushroom juice will be provided free of charge all day, with no limits!”

“Four hundred years?” Torin blinked his dry eyes. “The Mycelial Garden has existed that long?”

Grelm shrugged. “That’s what the notice says.”

Torin finally nodded. He truly did need a chance to catch his breath. He was about to follow Grelm out and experience Mycel Keep’s unique celebration when his friend suddenly grabbed him.

“Wait. We have to put these on first.”

Like a magician revealing his trick, Grelm produced two outfits. Each had been stitched together from rough patches of animal hide in assorted colors, creating round and bulbous…

Puffcap costumes.

“???”

…

Giant burrower Puffcaps continued moving through the streets of Mycel Keep, melting the city’s snow and ice.

Besides the burrower Puffcaps, however, the streets were now crowded with Puffcaps of every bizarre shape and size.

They were all residents of Mycel Keep dressed as Puffcaps.

Grelm and Torin had also become two squat Puffcaps. Unfortunately, the materials available had resulted in crude costumes that looked nothing like the real thing.

At street corners, actual Puffcaps served insect-meat and Delectable mushroom stew, dried Delectable mushrooms sautéed with Sweetleaf, Delectable mushroom juice, and all manner of other foods made from Delectable mushrooms.

“They really are giving it away for free!”

A Lizardkin child in a Puffcap costume ran past the two Dwarves toward the Delectable mushrooms, with his mother chasing after him.

The Lizardkin child stumbled and fell, scraping his skin.

Torin was about to step forward and check on him when the child climbed up as though nothing had happened.

Hyphae writhed within the wound. The minor scrape healed before it had much chance to hurt, while the little one’s excited cries about the Delectable mushrooms echoed through the Mycelial Network.

Lizardkin matured more quickly than Dwarves or humans. This child was probably not even a year old.

In other words, he was probably one of the fungal folk born in Mycel Keep, initiated into the Mycelial Network immediately after birth.

The sight reminded them of their Lizardkin companion, Barak.

That fool had recently begun courting a Half-Demon with a Succubus bloodline. He spent all his Contribution Points on her and even had to mooch Delectable mushrooms from Torin.

If he succeeded and they had a child, the little one would probably grow up like this, instinctively accustomed to communicating through the Mycelial Network, possessing powerful self-healing abilities, and living among neighbors and friends from all manner of strange species.

Grelm had once asked Barak whether he was worried about mixing bloodlines.

Barak had not cared in the slightest.

In Mycel Keep, the purity of one’s bloodline did not matter. All that mattered was whether someone could control Puffcaps.

As Barak had put it, “We’re all C-grade personnel. What’s the difference?”

The two Dwarves ate and drank their way through the streets. When they passed the square, they discovered a large crowd gathered there.

After asking around, they learned that a contest was being held to determine who looked most like a Puffcap.

“The winner receives a Puffcap Cup that grants them one wish from Boss!”

At the worker’s explanation, both Dwarves immediately entered the competition.

…

“Everyone! I am Orrick, host of this year’s Puffcap Cup! Together with our fourteen esteemed Puffcap Kindred judges, I will determine which contestant most closely resembles a Puffcap!”

The host enthusiastically explained the rules from atop a temporary wooden stage.

Torin noticed that Orrick’s collar shifted slightly with his animated gestures, revealing a pattern of fine hyphae woven into the shape of a “D” on the skin of his neck.

A hyphal tattoo? Was that fashionable now?

Torin did not connect it to personnel grades. Although he was B-grade personnel himself, he had no “B” marked on his body.

Besides, as far as he knew, the Mycelial Garden had C-grade, B-grade, A-grade, and higher senior-member grades. There was no such thing as D-grade personnel.

After the lengthy explanation of the rules, the contest officially began.

“Please welcome our first contestant, the Mycelial Garden’s one and only vision of magnificent color, Pinky!”

“Puff!”

A pink figure sprang lightly onto the stage. It spun proudly in place, displaying its perfectly rounded Puffcap form to the audience.

Torin studied the naturally flawless pink Puffcap onstage, then looked down at the patched, lopsided, and bloated animal-hide costumes he and Grelm wore.

Their chances seemed dismal.

Orrick suddenly raised a hand and halted Pinky’s display.

“Wait! This competition judges how closely a contestant can imitate a Puffcap, but transformation spells are strictly forbidden. Pinky, you are suspected of violating the rules and are hereby disqualified!”

“What? Give me another chance! I… I’ll go put on a costume right now!” the pink Puffcap cried in alarm.

Orrick merely waved. Two ordinary Puffcaps that had been waiting nearby leaped onto the stage. One took each side of the struggling, protesting pink Puffcap, and together they efficiently “escorted” it away.

“No! I need that cup! I really need that wish! Boss still hasn’t…”

Orrick cleared his throat, his expression unchanged. “A minor interruption. All contestants are reminded to read the rules carefully before entering!”

“Next, please welcome Rielle, a noble Elf from Elvenwood…”

Before he finished speaking, the dozen or so Puffcap Kindred serving as judges snatched up mycelial clumps and chunks of mushroom from beside them and pelted him.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Orrick hurriedly corrected himself. “All species are equal in Mycel Keep. No species is born nobler than another… Ah, with the exception of the great Puffcap Kindred, of course.”

The young Elf Rielle did not care whether anyone called her noble. She sprang lightly onto the stage, produced a faintly glowing magic potion, and tilted her head back to drink it.

Before the entire crowd, her body swiftly transformed. In the blink of an eye, she became a Puffcap with an emerald-green cap.

“Uh, t