This Dungeon Grew Mushrooms - Chapter 584

Sigismund’s question was not asked because he sensed any special connection.

The hidden bond between the puji and Lin Jun—born from a shared soul—had nothing to do with him, nor did he possess any ability to directly peer into the essence of a soul to notice such clues.

The group of defeated survivors before him all looked as wretched as the lowest refugees, yet they had deliberately brought along what appeared to be an ordinary puji.

With even a little thought, it was obvious that this puji—if it was not the mushroomfolk the Empire had been secretly searching for recently—must at least possess some other extraordinary value.

Faced with the duke’s direct inquiry, Moya did not dare to play dumb.

She knelt on the ground and answered carefully and respectfully:

“Honored Lord Sigismund, your insight is as sharp as fire. This is a strange puji that this lowly one happened to discover at the edge of the fallen zone. I thought it might be of value to the Empire… to Duke Elinor, whom this lowly one serves, and so I risked my life to bring it back.”

“You’re one of Elinor’s people?” Sigismund raised an eyebrow.

“Yes.”

Moya hoped that, for Elinor’s sake, Sigismund would not intercept the mushroomfolk. Unfortunately, she had been on external missions for a long time and clearly did not know much about the current relationship between the two dukes.

Elinor and Sigismund’s commercial war was in full swing.

The “red wine” shipped throughout the Empire had been attacked several times recently—some attempts succeeded, others failed.

On the surface, they were bandit raids, but behind the scenes, all bore traces of Elinor’s faction.

Sigismund was not particularly angry about this. In fact, he found it somewhat amusing.

He knew very well that Elinor could not trace the true source of his goods and had been forced into desperate measures.

In response, Sigismund merely made a slight adjustment to how he traded with those vampire nobles, having them send their own people directly into his territory to collect the goods.

Sure enough, there were no further “accidents” along the transport routes afterward.

Elinor might be foolish, but she was not foolish enough to offend all vampire peers at once.

And now, a puji discovered by her subordinate—very likely a mushroomfolk secretly sought by the Empire’s upper ranks—had, by sheer coincidence, arrived in his territory…

What was there left to say?

Sigismund stepped forward, lifted Thirteen up, and slowly turned it from side to side, examining it closely.

What surprised Moya was that the mushroomfolk, which normally hated being picked up, was unusually well-behaved this time. Even when Duke Sigismund squeezed it firmly to test its springiness, it did not resist at all.

Perhaps it was cowed by the duke’s unfathomable presence and strength—Moya could only think so.

As for Thirteen, its feelings were far more complicated.

On a physical level, it instinctively disliked being handled like this by a non-fungus. Yet deep inside, there arose a sense of calm almost like returning to the embrace of the mycelial carpet.

Caught between these two sensations, it chose to shut down.

After a while, Sigismund seemed to finish his inspection and gently set Thirteen back on the ground.

He turned and walked back to the noticeably widened high-backed chair, his heavy body sinking into the shadows.

“Take good care of your puji.” His gaze swept over the uneasy Moya and Stinky Fish. “Simon, arrange for them to rest and re-equip themselves. Since they are Imperial soldiers, they should not leave looking like beggars.”

“Yes!” Deputy Simon immediately acknowledged the order and gestured for the surviving troops to follow him out of the hall.

…

After changing into brand-new standard leather armor and cloaks, and finally enjoying a long-overdue hot wash, a refreshed Moya returned to the barracks room assigned to them and let out a long breath.

“Whew—scared me to death!” She patted her chest, relief written all over her face. “I really thought the duke would definitely keep the puji! I didn’t expect him to just let us go like that… Duke Sigismund really is a magnanimous great figure!”

Stinky Fish nodded at the side, unusually not arguing with her. In that situation, if it were him, he would have seized the puji first and talked later.

Even if he didn’t claim it outright, he would at least force his way into the mushroomfolk matter.

Who would have thought that this duke would be so principled, showing not the slightest greed in the face of something so important.

“But speaking of which,” Moya leaned closer, lowered her voice, and frowned slightly in confusion, “isn’t Lord Sigismund always commanding troops on the front lines? If I’m not mistaken, that chair he was sitting on was twice as wide as Duke Elinor’s! Commanding battles on the front lines, yet he’s managed to grow so… well-fed? Honestly, it’s my first time seeing such a fat blood—”

“Shut up, idiot!” Stinky Fish jumped up like a cat with its tail stepped on, clamping a bony hand tightly over Moya’s mouth, his eyes blazing with shock and anger. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? This is Highkeep Fortress! His territory! Do you want to be turned into a blood thrall and hung from the walls to dry?”

Moya muffled a few sounds under his hand, hurriedly pried it off, and shrank back, not daring to speak nonsense again.

Nearby, Thirteen kept replaying the feeling of being held by Sigismund. It thought that staying here might actually be nice.

Unfortunately, that bloodkin—whose body size was approaching that of a puji—did not seem to intend to keep it.

…

“My lord, are we really… not going to interfere at all?” Deputy Simon could not help himself and whispered again, regret filling his eyes.

“I have my considerations. You may go.” Sigismund waved him away.

“Yes.” Simon did not dare say more and withdrew with a bow.

In the vast, cold hall, only Sigismund remained.

Mushroomfolk. Puji.

The disastrous defeat at Dragonroar Valley had been delivered precisely by the puji master army.

If anyone truly understood the importance of the mushroomfolk, it was him—far more than most within the Empire.

However, he had his own concerns.

It was not that he was unmoved, nor was he afraid of potential trouble from Elinor, that foolish woman who only knew how to use underhanded tricks.

What he truly worried about was the “roommate” who shared this body with him.

Due to the constraints of hiding his actions, he had never been able to openly investigate this roommate’s background.

But judging from various subtle clues, he suspected that behind this roommate, there was an inextricable connection to the suddenly emerged mushroomfolk forces.

Even more boldly… he suspected that the roommate himself might actually be a mushroomfolk.

In their soul-level confrontation, he was already at a disadvantage.

If he rashly brought in another mushroomfolk—one very likely connected to that roommate—into his territory, he feared he would completely lose control of the situation.

After weighing the pros and cons, he chose to generously allow Moya to leave with that suspected mushroomfolk puji.

After all, the Empire’s current opponent was the United Kingdom. Humans were struggling just to protect themselves, and large-scale warfare was impossible in the short term. Strengthening combat power through puji was not an urgent necessity.

Better to let Elinor serve as the pathfinder stone, and observe how the mushroomfolk reacted to contact with the bloodkin.

After a moment of thought, he raised his arm, preparing to summon a trusted subordinate to arrange for more spies to infiltrate Elinor’s sphere of influence and monitor the mushroomfolk’s subsequent movements.

Just then—

Clang… clang… clang…

The embedded clock in the wall behind him struck the hour, its chime long and dull.

Sigismund’s half-raised arm paused, then changed direction.

With practiced ease, he turned slightly and retrieved a jar of clear golden honey and a bottle of delicious crimson red wine from a hidden compartment behind the wide chair.

Twisting off the lid and pulling the cork, one mouthful of honey, one mouthful of wine.

He narrowed his eyes in satisfaction, his entire form transforming from a dignified fat bloodkin into a puddle of bloodkin.