Inside the Crimson Spire.

“My lord… how do you feel?” Warlock Margas and an apothecary watched a little tensely as Sigismund slowly awoke from the chair.

Sigismund’s gaze swept over the bottle of Illusory-Dream Potion on the table, already drained to the dregs. Recalling how, in the dream just now, that mysterious enemy had been temporarily trapped in the conjured dream, he said in a low voice, “Effective. I need more Beautiful Dream Flowers. Send people to search and to buy—at any cost. Coin is no object.”

The apothecary’s face tightened. “My lord, even if we offer a high price, the Beautiful Dream Flowers in circulation are extremely limited. At most we could…”

“How long will it last?” Sigismund asked directly.

“Roughly… less than a month’s supply.”

“Margas,” Sigismund turned to the wan, flagging warlock, his voice low yet carrying a rare hint of something close to reassurance, “the ‘Otherdream’ plan was first proposed by me, so today’s predicament isn’t your fault. I’m giving you half a month to find a way through it. The promise I made you still stands.”

In other words, fail, and there would be nothing.

And if Margas couldn’t find a solution, then even if it made him look inept, Sigismund would have no choice but to appeal to His Majesty.

“Yes, my lord!” Margas—whose strength had already dropped two tiers and who had paid a heavy price—had no way out and could only grit his teeth and accept this final chance.

…

Elsewhere, to apply real pressure against the demons, Duke Alamar took the risk of pulling some of his less mobile heavy infantry regiments and his precious main force of mages out from the well-defended Highcastle Fortress.

His spearpoint still aimed at Duchess Eleanor’s encampment.

The battle was nearly one-sided.

Individually, Eleanor’s troops were clearly not weak, but under Alamar’s steamroller-level command they collapsed quickly. The Hemlock Knights, like a whirlwind of death, hunted down and reaped the routed stragglers without mercy.

Unfortunately, in sheer stealth and mobility, Eleanor herself was quite adept. Amid the chaos of the field, even Alamar struggled to pinpoint and run down the vampire duchess determined to flee.

Clad in heavy arcane plate, Alamar reined in his warhorse and stood in the middle of the ravaged battlefield. His gaze passed over broken demons and burning tents, reaching far toward the ever-silent Crimson Spire.

“This time, not even a token rescue?”

Another victory, yet Alamar felt only a chill along his spine.

He was now certain: this Eleanor had simply been thrown out as bait to draw his fire and buy time.

Within the Crimson Spire, Sigismund must be brewing something exceedingly dangerous!

Perhaps a fortress-killing grand spell, or some twisted monstrosity summoned by blood sacrifice.

Whatever it was, Alamar could not possibly sit by and let the enemy complete it.

No matter the hurdles, no matter the cost, he had to respond!

Difficult as it would be, he would have to launch an attack on the Spire itself next.

Only then could he force Sigismund out of his lair to face him head-on.

Only… the situation felt strange: “Why does it look like I’m the one invading the Empire now?”

—

Beneath Mordu’s["Mushroom City"] towering gates, the line of people waiting to enter stretched long.

In the queue, Horn was happily counting the freshly earned silver coins. The cold feel of metal at his fingertips made the corners of his mouth—threaded with white Mycelium—pull up to his ears.

He and his teammates had just completed an escort job. Smooth trip, easy money.

“All right, all right, stop counting those few silvers already. All that clinking is driving me mad,” grumbled Old Hammer beside him in his gravelly dwarf voice, hefting his signature warhammer.

Horn grinned, tucked the coins into his bulging purse, and deliberately jostled it so it chimed even more sweetly.

He knew perfectly well Old Hammer was a bit jealous of that extra cut.

“Old Hammer,” he bent down and slung an arm, practiced and easy, over the dwarf’s sturdy shoulder plate, “seriously, why don’t you become a Puji Master["Puji-handler"] too? So many perks!”

“What nonsense are you spouting?!” Old Hammer jolted like a cat with its tail stepped on and awkwardly shook off his arm. “Why would I do something so brainless as letting that thing live in me?!”

“Click, ‘parasite’—how nasty that sounds! It’s symbiosis! Turning a Puji’s power into your own!” Horn curled his lip and motioned with his eyes to Noah and Aime trailing quietly behind. “Those two ladies—half their lives are in their faces; more worries are normal. But you, an old dwarf who can’t even comb his beard straight, surely don’t care about a few extra lines on your face?”

“How many times have I told you! My beard is not ‘uncouth’—this is the traditional braiding of the Zafar Clan!” Old Hammer bristled and glared.

“Yeah, yeah, tradition, tradition.” Horn waved him off, then leaned closer, lowering his voice temptingly. “But really, think about Puji Master. Picture it—more silver, isn’t that enticing?”

Old Hammer’s whiskers twitched a few times—perhaps a touch of hesitation. Seeing that, Horn pushed even harder.

It wasn’t truly about Old Hammer earning more; vaguely, Horn simply wished for more “of his own kind” around him—so he wouldn’t feel so conspicuous.

As Horn’s chatter droned on, the four of them—plus the dozen-odd plump Pujis waddling at Horn’s heels—flowed along with the crowd, underwent inspection and registration, and passed through the massive city gate.

But they’d barely gone a few steps inside when a staffer wearing the badge of the “Puji Masters’ Professional Association” raised a hand to stop them.

“Sir, one moment please.” The staffer approached Horn. His tone was polite yet brooked no argument. “You can’t walk all your Pujis through the city streets like this.”

“What do you mean?” Horn blinked, not quite getting it.

“According to the latest Street Management Ordinance of Mordu,” the staffer explained smoothly, “a single Puji Master may carry at most two Pujis at the same time in public districts. Exceed the number, and if you cause congestion or obstruct citizens, you’ll be fined.”

“Wait… then what about the rest of my Pujis? I can’t just dump them outside the walls!” Horn pointed in dismay at the Pujis behind him.

“Over there,” the staffer sidestepped and pointed to a nearby multi-story circular building visibly carpeted in thick Mycelium. “Please deposit the surplus Pujis at the ‘Puji Custody House.’ It has dedicated Mycelium that can replenish Pujis’ mana around the clock, and there’s unified registration under professional caretakers. Should anything occur, the Association will compensate and handle it. Safe, reliable, and trustworthy!”

Horn opened his mouth and came up empty, feeling like Mordu had advanced too fast—leave for a while and you were already behind the times.

Resigned, he followed the directions to that strange custody house.

With the staff’s explanation, he registered two storage bays.

Each bay held ten Pujis; each bay cost one copper coin per day.

The price wasn’t high, but having a new daily expense appear out of nowhere still made Horn feel like he’d taken a loss.

Face dark, he left the Puji Custody House with only two Pujis padding at his heels. Hearing the tightly stifled, still-leaking giggles of Noah and Aime behind him, and remembering the task limits for Puji Masters, he couldn’t help grumbling under his breath: “So many blasted rules…”

He wanted to pop by the Rotten-Willow Tavern to see if there were any other weird rules lately, but halfway there a crowd drew his attention. Two guards stood before a giant official bulletin board.

Imitating the other Puji Masters, Horn scooped his two Pujis up onto his head—so they wouldn’t get stepped on in the crush.

He finally squeezed close enough to see the notice:

[Recruitment of New Puji Master Forces]

Which translation should I use going forward: Puji Master or Puji-handler?ul dpmb="yes" Puji Master Votes: 0 0.0% Puji-handler Votes: 0 0.0% Total voters: 0 · This poll will close on Sep 19, 2025 11:41 PM.input value="18468" type="hidden"input value="1" type="hidden"