Beneath mottled bark, gnarled branches slowly writhed. Countless translucent strands of mycelium stretched like a web between the gaps of its body, spreading from its chest to its limbs.

From the crack atop its head sprouted a cluster of glowing mushrooms, soft caps looking absurdly out of place on a body of withered wood.

Tree demons were not creatures of flesh and blood. They could not be parasitized in the same sense. This one had simply connected to the fungal network through the mushroom growing on it.

Compared to Dylan or Gray, its independence remained far greater.

Yet Lin Jun noticed something.

The spores he had scattered last time had left no trace in the grove. This mushroom on the treant’s body was likely the only result.

At the grove’s entrance stood only this one treant, but deeper within, shadows swayed faintly among the trunks.

Interesting.

Roots writhed across the ground, opening a path between the Pujis and the treant.

Only a single root, seized tightly by Gray, struggled helplessly, unable to retract.

“Mushroom, Master.”

The treant, whose limbs had only recently regrown, still appeared frail as it stepped before the Pujis and once more spoke into the fungal net.

“The branches of the Ancestral Tree yearn for peace. Please, do not bring destruction.”

At the mention of “destruction,” its head turned subtly toward Gray.

From its emotions, Lin Jun sensed fear.

So that was it—pleading for peace.

But…

“What is this Ancestral Tree? And its branches? Are you referring to yourself?”

Hearing such a special name from a wild monster piqued Lin Jun’s curiosity.

“The Ancestral Tree is the source of all treants. We are its branches!”

When speaking of the Ancestral Tree, the treant’s tone grew excited, almost reverent.

Lin Jun peered deeper into the grove. “And this Ancestral Tree… is it inside?”

He wasn’t impressed by lofty titles.

If it truly resided on the sixth floor, it could be no stronger than that old bat.

If not on this floor, then no matter how powerful, it couldn’t affect him.

“The Ancestral Tree is not here. We are but a lost offshoot.”

Offshoot?

Lin Jun eyed its peeling, decrepit bark…

“Fine, I understand. But one question: what exactly do you mean by ‘peace’?”

“Branches do not attack mushrooms. Mushrooms do not attack branches.”

“And if I require aid, could you provide it? Naturally, I would offer something in return.”

Negotiation always started small. Lin Jun knew that well.

The treant hesitated, glancing back at the grove before shaking its head. “Branches do not attack mushrooms. Mushrooms do not attack branches.”

Ah. Isolationism.

Lin Jun thought a moment, then replied coldly, “If that is all… then I refuse.”

His will carried through the network, letting the treant fully feel the weight of his intent.

To Lin Jun, these treants were rare intelligent beings in the dungeon. They could easily connect to the fungal net, communication was no barrier, and thus they were valuable.

He was willing—even eager—to bring them into his fold, raising the collective intellect of his organization.

Even if they couldn’t leave their grove, their presence would give him practice managing other races.

But only if they joined.

If they refused even minimal contact, there was no way to bring them in.

And why should they be allowed to remain separate?

To him, the dungeon was already his personal domain, even if he truly controlled less than a third of it.

The treants weren’t strong enough to demand independence. What made them think they could carve out a state within a state?

Left uncontrolled, they were no different from other monsters—worse, even, because their intelligence made them unpredictable.

And only one treant had come forward, the others lurking unseen. How sincere could this “parley” really be?

Lin Jun wasn’t trying to be domineering. Had they shown the slightest willingness to engage, things could have gone well.

But no.

“You don’t want contact? Fine. But since there’s no relation between us, why should I stop Gray?”

“Oh—Gray is that big black mushroom, by the way.

Here, monsters preying on each other is the norm. Your grove has only treants. Surely that land wasn’t given to you willingly by others? Don’t you agree?”

The treant faltered, unable to answer.

Lin Jun didn’t press. He wanted them to think carefully.

“This time, I’ll take Gray away. Next time, I hope to meet treants more willing to speak.”

He left with the Pujis dragging Gray along.

With his current strength, he could have been more forceful—brought in a full squad of Pujis to intimidate them.

But that would only breed resentment.

Better to leave things uneasy but open, rather than close the door entirely.

If he could pry open even the smallest crack of cooperation, with his resources he was confident of winning some treants over.

——

The Mushroom Master left, and the treant remained frozen in place.

When its limbs had once been torn off, it had not died.

It had no name, just another of hundreds in the grove.

The only difference was its misfortune—being on watch the day destruction came in the form of the black mushroom.

And its fortune—that it had survived.

Limbs lost could regrow.

When they fought the Big Black Shroom, the rest of the grove had stayed hidden.

It hadn’t always been that way.

The first time it came, half the grove had rallied, united by the rule that all intruders must die.

But by the time it arrived, the monster had already gone, leaving nothing but shattered wood.

The second time. The third. The fourth…

Endless raids taught them—this was not an enemy they could defeat.

Every fierce resistance only brought greater losses. Ignoring it lessened the damage.

So the system of “taking turns at the gate”—in truth, taking turns as sacrifice—emerged.

Each time, the black mushroom would destroy a few treants, then leave satisfied.

Losing a few was acceptable if it meant the survival of the many.

But it felt wrong. And yet, it had no alternative.

Treants did not reproduce quickly. Their numbers dwindled steadily.

One day, they would all be gone.

It believed this firmly.

So its survival brought no joy—only a delay of the inevitable.

Until a mushroom sprouted on its head…

Through that mushroom, it glimpsed the presence above—vast as a boundless forest.

Compared to that being, the entire grove combined was insignificant.

Unbeatable. Even the black mushroom was merely a fragment of it.

It had peered into the titan, but the titan had not noticed it—yet. That filled it with dread.

It had thought to rip the mushroom out, hiding once more.

But then extinction would be certain.

Since the Big Black Shroom was part of that being, survival meant communication.

It tried to share this with the others, but the roots returned only suspicion and anger.

At most, it had been allowed this one chance to speak alone.

And now the meeting was over.

Thanks to it, the Big Black Shroom hadn’t ripped it apart again.

But the outcome was not promising.

It was less a negotiation and more a final warning.

It didn’t know how many kin would accept a mushroom on their bodies.

But it would try to persuade as many as it could.

Hopefully… not too few.