This Dungeon Grew Mushrooms

The entrance to Dragoncliff Dungeon was less a “door” and more a jagged wound torn into the earth.

It lay at the edge of a wasteland eroded by year-round corrosive acid rain, carved into gullies and ravines. At its center yawned a massive pit over three hundred meters wide, its rim uneven and broken. A thin gray mist perpetually hung over the opening, never dispersing.

At this moment, a team of more than ten demons stood gathered at the edge.

Their armor was worn but practical. Their weapons varied—heavy battle-axes, poisoned hand crossbows, and more. In every pair of eyes flickered caution, greed, and tension.

They were a typical Imperial adventuring party, drawn here by the unique dragon-beast materials produced within Dragoncliff Dungeon.

Imperial officials were forbidden from entering Dragoncliff Dungeon. Large unofficial organizations or powerful individuals would also be restricted once they reached a certain scale.

But ordinary adventurers faced no such limitations.

In other words, this was a dungeon without high-tier powerhouses competing for resources.

As Lin Jun would put it: “Like a secret realm in a cultivation novel.”

While ordinary adventurers couldn’t reach the Dragoncliff summit itself, the materials harvested from dragon-beasts roaming the lower plains were more than enough to make a living.

Of course, if misfortune struck and they died… they’d simply end up feeding the dragon-beasts instead.

“Check your gear! Are the ropes secured?” barked a horned demon with a vicious scar across his face. His voice was rough and gravelly.

His name was Gore, the team leader.

A demon-blooded member tugged hard on three barbed metal stakes hammered into the rocky ground. Thick ropes—each as wide as a grown man’s arm—were fastened to them.

“Locked in, boss!”

The other end of the ropes had already been cast into the seemingly bottomless pit.

“Remember the procedure?” Gore scanned the team, lingering on the newer members.

After receiving firm nods, he began directing them down one by one.

Near the entrance, magic was disrupted. Even mages had to descend by rope.

After roughly four hundred meters of descent, a strange sensation crept over them.

They were becoming lighter.

The rocky walls that had required effort to push against now let them drop great distances with the slightest push.

Another hundred meters down, the sensation intensified—almost weightless.

And here, they could see ropes “hanging” upward from the bottom of the pit.

Gravity had reversed direction.

“Careful! Transition zone!” Gore shouted.

The team grabbed the downward-hanging ropes, secured themselves, and released the previous ones.

Descent became ascent.

By the time they finally climbed into Dragoncliff Dungeon proper, half a day had passed.

Gore checked the headcount and nodded in satisfaction.

No panicked rookie had lost their grip and gotten stranded in the zero-gravity zone this time. The newcomers were nervous—but they hadn’t made mistakes.

Not that Gore deeply cared about their lives. But this hunt was in a familiar region, meaning all members were officially registered adventurers. If they died, compensation would come out of his pocket.

Unregistered adventurers—whose deaths carried no liability—were usually recruited only for scouting dangerous zones.

He looked around.

Still the same Dragoncliff Dungeon he knew.

Though the entrance was a vertical shaft, what greeted them inside was nothing like an underground cave.

Blue skies.

Endless plains.

And in the distance, the towering Dragoncliff itself.

Why a gravity-reversed subterranean world had a blue sky was not something Gore intended to ponder.

After counting the team, he led them away from Dragoncliff.

Their targets this time were the tail spines and gallbladders of the Thornback Burrowbeasts near the entrance, and the wing membranes of Shadowglide Wyverns.

They hadn’t gone far when—

“Boss! Look! The sky!”

Everyone turned toward the direction indicated.

Far above Dragoncliff, against the blue sky, a tiny black speck was moving toward them.

It was too distant to make out clearly.

A lizardman gripping a war bow swallowed hard. His voice came out dry.

“H-hey… that thing… that’s not… a dragon, is it?”

“Probably just a flying dragon-beast…” another muttered uncertainly.

Dragoncliff Dungeon did indeed contain true dragons—living at the very summit.

And unlike some dungeon bosses, they were not confined to a specific area.

They could roam the entire dungeon freely. The dragon-beasts below were merely their food.

Since entry was limited by strength restrictions, if adventurers were attacked by a dragon, it was almost certain death.

And yet many still dared to enter, because actual dragon encounters were extremely rare.

The lower plains were vast, and dragons were not diligent creatures. Even when hunting, they typically preyed closer to Dragoncliff itself.

As long as adventurers avoided the cliff, most would never see a dragon—at most, a distant glimpse.

But this time, Gore’s group had hit the worst possible luck.

Even before the black speck drew near, Gore felt his arms trembling uncontrollably.

He was Diamond-ranked, yet even so—

Weaker members were already shaking so hard they could barely stand.

Dragon’s Might.

That speck was unquestionably a dragon.

Fear spread through the team.

“Quiet! Everyone lie flat! Do not move! And absolutely no magic!” Gore roared.

His response was experienced and correct.

Dragons did not consider most demons primary prey. Compared to a fully grown dragon’s body, even a giant troll would take several to fill its stomach—let alone demons of average size.

There were rare cases of dragons flying overhead without attacking.

All they had to do was lie still and wait.

Gore’s handling was textbook.

His team obeyed.

They made no mistakes.

But sometimes, not making mistakes does not guarantee survival.

Sometimes, bad luck ensures only a bad ending.

The irritable fire dragon swept overhead.

Without hesitation, it exhaled a torrent of blazing dragonfire.

The prone adventurers had time for only a few brief screams before being reduced to charred remnants.

After incinerating these “insects,” the fire dragon dove straight into the massive entrance pit.

For the first time in centuries, a dragon flew out of Dragoncliff Dungeon.

Its roar and Dragon’s Might swept across the land, terrifying nearby towns.

Meanwhile, Emperor Mortis was still en route to Dragoncliff Dungeon.

The fire dragon hovered midair, seeming to concentrate for a moment—then flew south.

After some distance, however, it abruptly turned north instead.

This time it seemed even more agitated, unleashing dragonfire upon two villages it passed overhead, reducing them to ash.