The basement air was heavy with the scent of timber and a faint trace of fungus. The glow of the oil lamp stretched the shadows of two men across the wall, riddled with circular holes, swaying faintly with the flickering flame.

Clorro looked at Dylan, his face a mix of surprise and disbelief.

“Dylan, little brother, I was just wondering who could act so quickly, organizing a mutual aid society in the newly built Mordu["Mushroom City"]. Turns out it’s you… never would’ve guessed.”

He shook his head, genuine astonishment in his tone.

Dylan, too, was shaken. He set two cups of wine on the table, sat opposite Clorro, and spoke with deep emotion.

“Big brother… I never thought I’d see you here again, and like this.”

“Who would’ve thought?” Clorro raised his cup, took a sip, and smacked his lips at the taste, while his eyes subtly swept over Dylan and the secret room.

“That rookie I once had to teach even basic disguises… now look at you, making something of yourself. How did that mission in the Isles turn out?”

Dylan sighed.

“Luck wasn’t with me. It failed. Making it back alive was good enough. Honestly, if you hadn’t taught me and looked out for me back then, I wouldn’t have survived. I’ve never forgotten what I owe you.”

After so long apart, the two spoke as if they had endless stories to share—Dylan’s desperate survival on deserted islands, Clorro’s narrow escape from Church knights. Between laughter and sighs, their cups soon ran dry.

“Seeing you doing well eases my heart as your big brother.” Clorro stood, raising his hand naturally as if to pat Dylan’s shoulder in encouragement.

But just before his palm touched, sudden treachery erupted!

His five fingers twisted and warped, nails lengthening into sharp black claws stabbing straight for Dylan’s collarbone!

At the same time, cold light flashed in his other hand—a short dagger coated in paralytic blue venom slashed toward Dylan’s waist!

Clang!

Steel clashed sharply in the small chamber. Dylan, as if expecting it, had drawn his short sword in an instant, parrying the claws.

The impact forced them both back half a step, narrowly avoiding the poisoned dagger’s strike.

In a breath, old comrades catching up turned into enemies at each other’s throats.

Clorro’s face flickered with a strange mix of emotions—part pride, part regret—before settling into a sigh.

“Your reflexes are much sharper now, Dylan. Once, you couldn’t have blocked that.”

“That’s because you taught me well, big brother. If only you hadn’t come here.” Dylan’s tone carried regret.

Clorro nodded wryly.

“Yes… if only I hadn’t been sent here.”

The traces of fungal parasitism weren’t hard to recognize. Once Clorro saw the Pujis in Mordu, he couldn’t help but recall how Dylan’s true form had looked similar, only different in color.

The so-called “parasitic monster” theory fell apart under scrutiny.

If they hadn’t met again, it could’ve stayed a secret, buried in memory.

But fate made them cross paths once more.

To Clorro, the Pujis’ House was likely a human trap, and with himself already caught, only taking Dylan hostage offered any chance to escape. Too bad he failed.

At that moment, a round, plump Puji squeezed through a hole in the wall, its cap popping open with a “plop.”

Plop—plop plop—plop plop plop—

More and more Pujis spilled out, filling the cramped chamber until every exit was sealed.

Clorro did not resist further. Instead, he dropped flat to the ground decisively.

“Dylan, little brother, don’t blame me for striking just now. In my shoes, you’d fight too, wouldn’t you? For old times’ sake, maybe skip the torture?”

Dylan sheathed his sword, walked over to the fungal-bound Clorro, and crouched down.

“Big brother… will you join us?” he asked calmly.

Clorro wriggled, forcing a strained, fawning smile.

“Little brother, have mercy… I’ll give you all the intel I know. Just spare me. My wife and child are waiting up north for me to return—”

“Big brother Clorro, since when did you have a family? Did you forget I caught you cheating back then?”

“…”

The silence grew awkward, until suddenly, a voice—thick with bloodlust, as if dredged from a pool of gore—burst forth from the ragged white band of cloth on Clorro’s chest:

“If you will not join… then die!”

Clorro shuddered, but survival instinct forced a desperate scream.

“Wait! We can talk! Let’s negotiate!”

Even Dylan was taken aback, blurting in alarm:

“Boss, please wai—”

But it was too late.

Squelch!

Dozens of fungal tendrils pierced through his clothes, stabbing deep into Clorro’s body. Agony and draining strength blurred his mind. His last sight was Dylan fumbling a healing potion from his breast.

“Too… fast…” That was Clorro’s final thought before darkness claimed him.

…

…

…

When he opened his eyes again, it was the ceiling of a guest room in the Pujis’ House inn.

Everything was calm, as if it had all been a nightmare.

But as he sat up with lingering dread, he found nearly ten crudely patched tears on his coat, the stitching crooked and ugly, turning his once-respectable merchant attire into rags fit for a beggar.

Clearly, it had not been a dream.

Especially when he touched his chest and felt the alien presence of fungi within…

Clorro sat silently on the bed’s edge for a long while, reviewing everything that had happened, trying to discern who truly stood behind Dylan.

If it were a human faction, he would be in a grave—or at least a prison cell—by now.

These fungi, these Pujis… they were far from ordinary, and clearly not some sudden new creation.

They had existed earlier, even before he met Dylan, simply hidden.

And now, they spread openly in the heart of human lands!

Such reach could belong to a duke’s scheme, he thought.

But no—it wasn’t. His mission was clear:

First, to investigate these “Puji Masters” who had appeared in human rear lines—how strong they were, and what weaknesses they had.

Second, to find vulnerabilities in the Mycelium Network and sever human supply chains.

These fungi couldn’t possibly be part of his own side’s plan. That would mean defying the Emperor himself!

Yet from his perspective, this was beyond human capabilities.

A third force?

The elves were suspicious… but would those long-ears really create something like this?

Knock knock—

The door sounded softly.

Without waiting for his reply, the lock clicked open.

Innkeeper Dylan entered, setting a steaming breakfast on the bedside table, wearing a warm, professional smile.

“Good morning, big brother Clorro. Welcome to the Mushroom Garden. If you have any questions in the future…” He paused, his tone steady and dependable, just like Clorro used to be.

“You can always ask me.”