Leaving the Adventurer’s Guild, Norris was still savoring the lingering taste on his tongue.
Because their bounty involved a large sum of money, they had been taken to a private room to process it. The drinks provided there were unlike anything he’d ever had before—fruity, lightly sparkling, refreshing and sweet. The taste left a deep impression.
As a “cadre” of the Mushroom Garden, Norris never lacked tasty mushrooms. But in the dungeon, there was no such thing as real wine or beverages.
He thought about buying some later, to share with Louisa, Gray, and his Demonkin friends like Qiong.
But that would have to wait until just before heading back.
Besides posting the bounty, they also had another mission…
—
Near Mushroom Town, in a patch of forest not yet cleared.
A woman dressed like a plain peasant made her way quietly to a small woodland pond.
The scene around the pond was bleak—flowers and grass blackened, trees withered, as though a plague had swept through.It was her doing. Yesterday, she had poured in an entire bottle of “Decay Potion.”
Yet instead of satisfaction, her face was clouded with gloom and frustration.
Because beneath the rotting branches and blackened leaves, white mycelium still spread stubbornly, even climbing the dying trees to absorb their last nutrients—growing even more… vigorous.
“Even decay potion doesn’t work?” she muttered in disbelief, gnawing her fingernails hard enough to make them click.
Over the past days, she had tried all six poisons she carried. The results were disastrous.
Poisons that could wipe out whole fields of crops did almost nothing to these fungal carpets.
Even the most promising decay potion only managed to wither the fungi touching the water’s edge.
To actually kill the mycelium, she’d have to pour pure, undiluted potion directly on it.
But the cost? Who could afford that?
A single bottle of decay potion was worth enough to buy a wagonload of mushrooms—yet it could only destroy a patch of mushroom field barely four square meters wide.
Clearly, poisoning the fields was no longer a viable plan.
“Damn it!” She bit harder at her nails.
She could still report back with this result—it wasn’t her fault. Who could have predicted the mushroom fields would be so resistant to poison?
But it also meant no credit for her.
And she had worked so hard for this mission—disguised among refugees, walking for a month and a half from the front lines—only to gain nothing. The thought made her burn with unwillingness.
Then—her ears twitched. Someone was coming.
She darted behind a tree, slowed her breath, and listened.
Two people. Not headed toward the pond, so likely hadn’t spotted her.
They stopped at a distance, talking.
Far enough that an ordinary person wouldn’t even notice. But her hearing was extraordinary.
“How’s it look?” asked a raspy male voice.
“Got down to the seventh layer. Picked up some key intel. What about you?” another, younger voice replied.
“This is the latest map of the mushroom fields and population data,” the raspy one said.
“Same deal as always—let’s trade.”
The sound of papers being shuffled followed.
“All this over a bunch of mushrooms?” the younger voice muttered. “If the front lines just pressed harder, humans would be crushed already.”
“Shut up!” the raspy voice snapped, suddenly sharp. “His Majesty and the Twelve Pillars’ plans aren’t for you to question. Do your work, and watch your tongue, unless you want—” His words cut off abruptly, voice rising. “Who’s there?!”
Dylan and Norris spun as one, weapons flashing free, pointed toward the dead tree where the woman stepped out.
“She heard us! We can’t let her go!” Dylan barked.
The two lunged like arrows. But the woman didn’t panic. In fact, a faint smile curved her lips.
Judging by their movements and speed, they were slightly weaker than her. Two against one—she could still escape.
But she had no intention of running.
Her arm warped grotesquely, transforming into a monster’s claw.
Norris and Dylan skidded to a halt.
“Guess that makes me… one of you?” the woman said, flexing the claw before returning it to normal. She smiled lightly.
The two exchanged a glance and slowly lowered their weapons, though not fully sheathing them.
“No need to be so tense,” she said airily. “I’ve got sharp ears, that’s all. Happened to overhear. Since we’re all working for the Empire, why not share intel? Mutual aid makes life easier, doesn’t it?”
Dylan’s gaze stayed cold. He slid his blade back into its sheath. “Intel? We’ve already exchanged what we had. We don’t need extra.”
“Don’t be so cold.” She reached into her clothing, producing several glass vials filled with dangerous, shimmering liquid. “No intel then, but you won’t turn down poison, will you? Even sold quietly, it’s good coin.”
“Well… that’s true,” Norris admitted, licking his lips, reaching for the vials.
The woman drew them back quickly. “Call me Rita, shapeshifter. As for which master I serve… that’s not for now. And you two? A little honesty?”
Norris’s skin peeled away to reveal silver scales. “Norris. Lizardman.”
The illusion on Dylan’s face rippled and vanished, revealing a visage covered in green fungal threads, eerie and inhuman. “Dylan.”
Rita studied him—no race came to mind. Likely something rare. Best not to press.
She handed over the poison. They in turn gave her their “intel.”
“One question,” she asked as she read. “Are you here long-term or short-term?”
Dylan: “Long-term.”
Norris: “Short-term.”
She committed both reports to memory, then returned them. Turning to Dylan, her eyes gleamed. “Perhaps we could build a more… lasting partnership?”
After a pause, Dylan spoke quietly: “Soon, a place called the ‘Puji’s House’ inn will open in town.”
He gave her a long look. “Next time, don’t try to fob us off with a few bottles of poison. Understood?”
Rita laughed. “Understood, understood. Call it a debt I owe you.”
With that, the three parted without another word, disappearing into different directions of the forest.
Only after she had gone did Dylan and Norris rendezvous again.
“Boss,” Norris said through the fungal network, confused. “I still don’t get it. Why did I have to act like some greedy, lecherous lizardman?”
“Don’t you get it?” Lin Jun snapped, exasperated. “It’s called character building! Rich backstory! You seriously don’t understand?”
“Boss,” Dylan asked, “so I’m the innkeeper now?”
“Exactly!”
The spy that had slipped in days ago had made Lin Jun realize the risk.
Killing every spy would be too conspicuous. Ignoring them might let them wreak havoc.
Better to manage them directly.
The idea came from Dylan’s old travels with Clororo.
The demon race’s spy network was vast, but not united. Each duke commanded their own agents under the Emperor’s orders.
In theory, spies of different dukes worked separately. In practice, in the same region, survival often led them to cooperate—sharing intel, each reporting back to their own lords. Everyone earned credit.
Yes, there was a risk of exposure, but overall, the benefits outweighed it.
After all, enough credit meant being recalled to the Empire to live in comfort. Who wouldn’t want that?
Mutual aid was the shortcut.
So Lin Jun decided: he would be the one to organize this “mutual aid society.”
If it failed—well, then he’d just wipe them all out. On his home turf, what was there to fear?
—
Norris returned to Mushroom Garden No. 3, lugging a huge barrel of the drink.
He was already planning who to invite first to share the “luxury.”
As he opened his mushroom house door—
Clatter!
A few glass beads spilled out, and behind him came a familiar low growl.