This Dungeon Grew Mushrooms

Inside the stone-built cell, light filtered in through a narrow, high window slit. The air carried the scent of old masonry and dry straw, oddly mixed with the faint freshness unique to fungi.

Julia knelt on the straw laid across the floor, hands clasped before her chest as she murmured a prayer:

“…Thus we praise Your abundance and give thanks for the life and sustenance You bestow.”

She paused, slowly opened her eyes, and turned toward Number Twelve, who was currently trying to weave itself a robe out of straw.

“Great Twelfth Envoy of the Mushrooms, do you think ‘abundance’ is too vague a word? It sounds a little too much like something an elven druid would say…”

Number Twelve’s cap swayed gently. Two strands of mycelium extended and gestured in front of it.

No sound came from it, but through the fungal network it was clearly communicating with Julia.

“The ultimate destination of all life… I see. Then I’ll rethink the wording of this prayer.”

At that moment, footsteps echoed outside the cell. Number Twelve stepped into a corner; a ripple passed over its body, and it vanished from sight.

The iron door creaked open. A guard stepped in sideways, a ring of a dozen nearly identical old keys jangling at his waist as he squinted down, feeling each one with his fingers to tell them apart.

“Starting again?” he said without looking up, irritation edging his voice. “Muttering at the walls all day… If you ask me, the higher-ups should send you to an apothecary, not waste rations locking you in here.”

He finally found the right key, unlocked the iron bars, and handed her a reasonably clean coarse linen cloth and a small basin of water.

“Here. Wash up. Fix your hair too. Don’t look like a madwoman. Someone important is coming to see you.”

“Someone important?”

That “important person” arrived quickly.

The door swung open again, this time much wider. The warden’s squat figure squeezed in first, his face plastered with an almost overflowing smile of obsequiousness. He turned sideways, half-bowing, practically ushering the person behind him into the small cell.

Inanna stepped inside.

The warden rubbed his hands together and spoke rapidly, his flattery nearly dripping from his words:

“Lady Inanna, if there is anyone you wish to see, a single command would suffice! As long as they are not particularly dangerous criminals, I can have them brought to the reception room for you at once—clean and proper. There is truly no need for you to personally step into such a filthy place… The air here is foul, the dampness heavy. Should it cause you the slightest discomfort or harm your noble health, that would be our unforgivable fault.”

The warden could at least speak in ingratiating phrases. The guard who had earlier shown impatience toward Julia now stood rigidly in the shadows by the wall, back straight, eyes fixed forward, not daring to glance around.

Inanna merely offered a faint, composed smile and gave a nearly imperceptible nod.

Ever since she had been kidnapped by two men who once bowed and scraped before her—and nearly lost her life in a dungeon—she had grown deeply wary of faces brimming with smiles.

Who knew what lay beneath polite words and courteous expressions?

Unfortunately, Inanna was never particularly skilled at reading people. Often, she herself could not tell whether the smiling face before her concealed kindness—or an elaborately painted mask.

Compared to that, the world of puji was much simpler.

The mushroom folk never hid their nature. They were straightforward to the point of endearment. No wonder she liked them so much.

She ignored the warden, who was still rambling in an attempt to demonstrate loyalty, and turned her gaze toward the cell.

She felt as though there was a puji present, but after scanning the room, she saw none. She had no idea where it might be hiding.

Number Four had already found Number Twelve and eagerly tried to bump caps in greeting, only to be held back by a tentacle, lest its presence be exposed.

Unable to locate it for now, Inanna composed herself and focused on the matter at hand.

“You are Julia of the Mushroom Worship Sect?”

…

“What did you say? Miss Inanna wants to release the leader of the Mushroom Worship Sect?”

Fahl had been nodding repeatedly at the projected profit report on dwarf–elf trade in his hands. Upon hearing this, his brows knotted instantly, and his fingers unconsciously crumpled the paper.

Just moments ago, he had been privately praising the young lady’s diplomatic success. She had secured an agreement—future trade between the two sides would undoubtedly increase.

Mordu had already successfully transitioned from being merely a mushroom production center into the holy land of puji tamers, hosting the headquarters of the Puji Tamer Association. As a trade hub radiating outward, it would surely benefit from increasingly frequent large-scale exchanges.

He had rarely spoken such sincere words of approval.

And now—no sooner had the praise left his mouth than she had handed him another headache.

Strictly speaking, Julia had not committed any heinous crime. She had only received an ordinary prison sentence. With Inanna’s status as the duke’s daughter and a war hero, in this openly feudal system, retrieving such a minor prisoner should have been no big matter at all.

But Julia was tied to religion.

The Church of Light had suffered heavy casualties resisting the demons. Its strength had been severely diminished, and it was already wary of other chaotic sects rising in its shadow.

Precisely because of that weakened state, the Church was more sensitive and vigilant than ever.

If Julia’s case had not potentially involved puji and the mushroom folk, she might have been sentenced far more severely.

At present, she was merely imprisoned and even provided with basic living conditions sufficient to avoid hunger or cold. That already counted as leniency.

But release her?

Inanna could swagger off with the prisoner on account of her status. But when the Church came knocking afterward, how was he, as city lord, supposed to respond?

Fahl, though renowned within the kingdom for building Mordu’s prosperity, was still, at the end of the day, only the lord of a single city.

Even weakened, the Church of Light was not something he could afford to offend lightly.

“Then… should we go and stop Miss Inanna?” Mirabelle asked hesitantly.

“No, no, absolutely not.” Fahl waved his hands quickly.

He could not afford to offend the Church. But could he afford to offend Inanna Saint Claire?

Caught in the middle, any choice would be wrong.

He had to remove himself—and Mordu—from this crossfire.

Soon, he recalled a recent piece of intelligence.

“Right!” Fahl’s eyes flashed as he made a decision. “Wasn’t it reported that the Duke has recently returned to the ducal residence? Mirabelle, immediately use the communication crystal. Inform the Duke himself of everything happening here—exactly as it is!”

He needed someone who truly had the authority to take over this burning mess.

…

One day later.

“Inanna! My daughter! You return from your diplomatic mission and do not first come home to see your father?”

With a booming voice, Arama strode into the room. He glanced at Julia, who was deep in conversation with Inanna, but said nothing at first. Instead, he gave Inanna a massive bear hug!

The force was so great it seemed he was confirming whether his daughter was intact.

Inanna shrank back slightly, uncomfortable.

But at the very instant Arama’s arms tightened, something changed.

A gown of pure crystal ice suddenly manifested over Inanna’s body without warning!

A surge of frigid air burst outward toward the source of the “attack.”

“Old man!” Inanna cried out in alarm, startled herself.

Fortunately, Arama was a lord-tier figure. A mere ice gown was not going to finish him off.

He cracked the ice forming along his beard and chin and asked with a shiver, “My dear daughter, I don’t recall storing such a lovely piece of equipment in the treasury. Was it a gift from the elves?”