This Dungeon Grew Mushrooms - Chapter 601
The entrance region of Dragoncliff Dungeon had now been completely cleared.
Within several miles of the entrance, all non-official demons had been driven away.
In their place stood the Emperor’s direct Blood Guard—clad in dark crimson heavy armor like coagulated blood, their faces hidden behind expressionless metal visors as they stood watch.
Emperor Mortis stood at the edge of the entrance, looking down at the massive claw marks and traces of dragonfire.
Chief Intelligence Officer Mofrey knelt several steps behind him, reporting the latest information about the fire dragon.
“…Based on all compiled intelligence, seven villages, two secondary cities, and Duke Eugene’s Northwind Fortress were attacked by the fire dragon that emerged from Dragoncliff Dungeon. The cities and Northwind Fortress relied on large-scale defensive arrays to withstand the assault. Structural damage was limited, and casualties were relatively low. However, the villages were almost completely annihilated.”
Mortis bent down and pinched a bit of black ash between his fingers.
“Eugene’s fortress is one thing. But those two cities weren’t even major military strongholds… and they still managed to withstand a dragon of this level?”
Mofrey immediately explained,
“Your Majesty, according to consistent eyewitness accounts, the dragon did not even slow down during its attacks. Its breath was less a deliberate act of destruction… and more a casual strike made in passing. Because of that, the defensive arrays of those two cities were able to barely survive a single impact.”
“A casual strike…” Mortis gave a faint chuckle.
The sound made Mofrey shiver involuntarily. She lowered her head even further.
Mortis straightened and stepped forward.
With nothing supporting him, his figure fell directly into the abyss.
After entering, Mortis flew straight toward the summit of Dragoncliff.
Blood mist churned around him, releasing a stench so thick with iron and slaughter that ordinary creatures would have fled in terror.
Along the way, every dragon-beast he passed—whether savage land-dragons or cunning shadow wyverns—curled into their lairs or wedged themselves into cracks in trembling silence.
Halfway up Dragoncliff, Mortis’s eyelid twitched ever so slightly.
He saw a dragon corpse.
Not a bleached skeleton weathered by decades, but a relatively fresh body, flesh not yet fully decayed.
It was a young blue dragon. Its wing membranes were torn, its neck bent at an unnatural angle. Large patches of scorched and ripped wounds marred its once-glorious scales. The dark blue blood had long since dried and crusted.
Time of death—no more than a month.
In Dragoncliff, dragons had almost no natural enemies.
Except themselves.
Mortis did not slow down, but a trace of doubt entered his crimson eyes.
As he continued upward, similar scenes became more frequent.
On rocky ledges, at cave mouths, even atop floating stone platforms, more dragon corpses lay scattered.
A red dragon and a green dragon lay entwined in death, claws still buried in each other’s chests.
A smaller white dragon had been torn cleanly in half by brute force.
A black dragon’s remains were charred over half its body, clearly struck head-on by an extreme-temperature breath attack.
Civil war.
The signs were obvious.
Just as Mortis was about to reach the upper tier where the dragons dwelled, a pair of furnace-like golden vertical pupils opened within a cliffside cavern.
A massive adult black dragon burst forth, wings spread wide, blocking his path.
“Little insect. Lost your way?” the black dragon spoke in Dragon Tongue, inching closer. “Everyone’s temper’s been bad lately. If some fool mistakes you for a wandering snack… that’d be a shame.”
Though its words sounded like advice, its enormous body leaned forward. Claws dug into the rock. Its pupils locked onto Mortis. Its tail lashed impatiently—clearly ready to pounce.
Suspended in blood mist, Mortis did not even spare the black dragon a proper glance.
He spoke in curt Dragon Tongue:
“Move aside, vermin.”
The black dragon’s pupils narrowed to slits. Dark breath roiled in its throat.
Mortis raised a single finger and pointed at the massive black reptile.
At that moment, a colossal shadow fell from above.
A black dragon nearly twice the size of the one blocking the path descended from the sky. With irresistible force and speed, it slammed the smaller dragon’s head into the rock beneath its claw.
Boom!
Stone shattered.
The pinned dragon let out a muffled cry of pain, thrashing wildly, tail smashing rock walls to rubble—but it was futile beneath the giant claw.
“G–Great Dragon!” it gasped in terror through teeth and stone.
The dragon called Great Dragon did not spare its kin another word.
Instead, it addressed Mortis.
“Emperor of the Bloodkin beyond the outside world.”
“Mother awaits you above.”
Mortis lowered his hand.
Led by Great Dragon, Mortis passed through the upper reaches of Dragoncliff. No other dragons dared provoke them now.
At last, they reached the summit.
Upon a floating platform lay a dragon so vast she resembled a winding mountain range.
A single silver scale of hers was larger than a troll.
Even Great Dragon, enormous among his kind, seemed like a small lizard before her.
The only Ancient Dragon in existence.
Even without special abilities, the mere movement of such a colossal body could bring apocalyptic disaster.
And yet, despite this world-shaking might, an unmistakable aura of decline surrounded her.
As a bloodkin who fed on life itself, Mortis could clearly sense it.
Her time was nearly over.
“Sylvia. A century since we last met, and you are already at the end. I had assumed Ancient Dragons were… near immortal.”
“There is no such thing as immortality. What you call immortality is merely an illusion.”
Her thoughts transmitted directly into Mortis’s mind. She no longer had the strength to speak aloud.
Mortis had no interest in philosophical debate.
“Your offspring broke the oath and left the dungeon. In your current state… it seems you can no longer restrain them.”
“It was an accident. But as you said, to my children, the ‘Struggle of the Dragon Path’ engraved deep within their blood now outweighs even my commands.”
“And the seal?” Mortis asked the question he truly cared about.
“What I have promised—so long as I draw breath, none shall shake the seal.”
“And after you die?” Mortis pressed mercilessly.
Sylvia’s clouded vertical pupils turned toward him.
“Then… you will negotiate with the new Ancient Dragon.”
After saying this, she slowly closed her eyes.
Great Dragon stepped forward, his enormous head turning toward Mortis. His dark-gold pupils held no emotion, but the meaning was clear.
You may leave.
Mortis had not received a satisfactory answer. But faced with something as unforeseen as the succession of an Ancient Dragon, even he lacked a proper response.
Blood mist silently swirled around him again.
Before leaving, he cast one final, curious glance at a spot not far from the Ancient Dragon.
There lay a skeleton clutching a decayed lute.
Judging by its bones, it had once been human.
Mortis only spared it a momentary look, offering no further inquiry.
After leaving Dragoncliff Dungeon, he ordered it sealed once more and dispatched subordinates to enter and observe changes atop Dragoncliff from a distance.
…
Meanwhile—
When the red dragon flew into the Northern Territory, Lin Jun immediately detected the enormous fire dragon through the mycelial vision of the fungal carpet.
Holy shit! A flying red giant lizard!
