North of Norvid, at the outer edge of the Mycelium network, the scene was bustling.

A group of Puji Masters [“Puji-handlers”] working under an official commission busied themselves in an orderly fashion.

Standing on land not yet covered by Mycelium, they cradled their Pujis in both hands and shook them back and forth like jelly molds, scattering every last spore stored within the creatures into the soil.

When one Puji was emptied, they immediately switched to another.

This was the preparatory stage of the “Puji Corps” plan: by artificial intervention, controlling the spread of the Mycelium so it advanced first toward strategically chosen fortress cities.

If left to natural growth, who knew how many years—or centuries—it would take before the Mycelium covered vital strategic points?

That was precisely why Lin Jun never granted the [Photosynthesis] trait to Pujis handed out to others.

Of course, opposition to the Mycelium’s spread was inevitable.

By making Puji Masters dependent on the Mycelium to empower their creatures, both the Masters themselves and the organizations that sought to harness this strength became self-driven pioneers of Mycelium expansion, suppressing dissent.

Meanwhile, inside Mordu, the hottest topic by far was the freshly posted “Puji Corps Recruitment” announcement.

Whether or not they intended to enlist, nearly every Puji Master felt thrilled by the notice’s appearance.

Because it signified official reinforcement of their profession’s legitimacy.

Before this, nearly every Puji Master had borne insults like “freak,” “monster’s puppet,” or “fallen one.”

Thanks to Fahl’s establishment of the “Puji Masters Guild” and its oversight in Mordu, things were relatively decent there.

But in the other two cities, discrimination was far harsher.

Now, with the recruitment notice issued, malicious rumors were shattered.

Prejudice would not vanish overnight, of course—but every Puji Master walking the streets could now hold their head that much higher.

What’s more, the generous benefits promised by the new corps attracted many who had been hesitant, pushing them to finally commit to the path of a Puji Master.

From both a social and a practical standpoint, this was an immense boon for the whole community.

Curiously, even ordinary adventurers welcomed the move.

From their perspective, sending a portion of Puji Masters off to join the army meant fewer competitors scrambling for jobs in the market!

Even if some foresaw that in the long run the Puji Master population would only grow, well—wasn’t it already growing anyway?

For adventurers focused on immediate profit, this was plainly a good thing.

And if someday, work really did become scarce?

They could always move on to cities not yet covered by Mycelium!

Thus, the “Puji Corps Recruitment” opened under this peculiar, everyone-wins atmosphere.

The ones rushing to enlist, however, were mostly Puji Masters from humble backgrounds.

Their base physical abilities were weak, and even after becoming Puji Masters, they still lagged behind adventurer-born peers in reflexes, mobility, and combat experience.

Take caravan guards, for instance—employers typically refused to hire Puji Masters without even a Copper-grade certification.

Lacking the ability to protect themselves, their vulnerabilities in small skirmishes were too glaring. If one died unexpectedly, the employer would be on the hook for hefty compensation.

In the current situation—missions scarce, Puji Masters numerous—the army was indeed a golden opportunity for these commoners.

And reportedly, they would mostly serve in city defense garrisons, not field armies—far safer.

In the past, such feeble commoners weren’t even qualified to be cannon fodder. Dragging them to the frontlines was just a waste of food and gear. At best, a handful might be taken as menial auxiliaries in logistics, with benefits far below those of regular soldiers.

But now, the “Puji Corps Recruitment” promised pay and benefits even better than those of standard troops.

For a new institution, offering attractive terms was only natural to draw people in.

Many Puji Masters thought, “If I don’t join now, the benefits might not be this good later!”—and rushed to register.

Even then, slots were limited.

Mordu was allocated 300 positions, Fishsail Harbor and Norvid 100 each.

In total, only 500 for this first round. And there were entry requirements: besides being healthy and whole of limb, Puji Masters had to control at least twenty Pujis minimum.

That single criterion eliminated about 15% of applicants.

As for the exceptional few able to command thirty or more Pujis—they could bypass everything and be accepted directly.

But such talents were usually thriving as adventurers anyway. So far, only one had entered through that route.

…

Fishsail Harbor.

Here, the recruitment site was packed to bursting, almost livelier than Mordu’s.

But in truth, Mordu still had the largest Puji Master population—hence its 60% share of the slots.

The crush here was simply because the city hadn’t yet limited how many Pujis a Master could bring along.

The area around the recruitment office had turned into a sea of Pujis, jostling shoulder-to-shoulder and leaving hardly any space to step.

“What’s the holdup? If you’re done signing up, move along already!”

“Don’t push from outside! How are people supposed to get out?!”

“Hey! Did you just step on my Puji?!”

The din nearly tore the roof off, leaving staff dizzy and overwhelmed.

One more person reeling from the chaos was Soralin.

She leaned heavily on Priest Mayne’s shoulder, face pale, barely able to stand.

She could not comprehend how matters had spiraled so quickly—how could the authorities suddenly be promoting Puji Masters so publicly, encouraging their growth?

Her discoveries and suspicions might not have been perfectly accurate, but at the very least… shouldn’t they have been scrutinized first?

How could this be made official policy, even woven into the army structure, so lightly?

When she pressed her squad leader for answers, she earned only an impatient glance, told her report had long been forwarded up, and since no word came back, it meant the bishop himself had already weighed it and decided.

Soralin stumbled away in a daze.

She could not imagine what nightmare future awaited this city.

What terrified her more was the thought that Fishsail Harbor’s today might be the tomorrow of countless other places!

As she wandered aimlessly, a flash of strange color in a dark alley caught her eye.

There stood a Puji unlike any she had ever seen in this city—a radiant, multicolored Puji shimmering with dreamlike hues.

Its colors flowed softly, shifting like a spilled palette blended into pure light.

Though she knew that under the [Vision of Truth] its essence would still be the same disturbing chaos, what her eyes beheld now stirred in her an involuntary awe—an eerie, breathtaking beauty.

Instinctively, Soralin looked around, but saw no sign of an owner.

A wild one?

The prismatic Puji stood silently in the alley’s depths, facing her without moving—like… like it was inviting her forward.

Should she go?

Her heart wrestled, her eyes growing hazy. She lifted a foot, stepping toward the alley—

“Soralin! Did you ask the squad leader about the report?” Mayne’s voice rang out from afar.

She jolted, whipping around instinctively.

And when she glanced back into the alley—empty.

Only mottled walls and piled junk.

The dazzling Puji was gone, as if it had never been—nothing but a hallucination born of her frayed nerves.