“Like this—gently circle your arms under the lower edge of the mushroom cap. You don’t need much strength; it will hold steady.”
“Is… this right?”
“Exactly! Next, use your fingers to lightly pinch here…”
The Sword Saint Puchi still tried to struggle, but it faced the experienced Inanna.
All resistance proved futile. Four nimble hands explored and kneaded its round mushroom body.
From a distance, No. 1 silently watched the scene and quietly asked via private mycelial network chat: “I heard little Fourteen lost quite a few valuables before?”
No. 4 nodded its mushroom cap, counting on its tentacles. “An S-grade magic crystal, a knight’s body, and two particularly cool swords… all dropped in Scarecrow Abyss.”
“No wonder the Fungus Lord is doing this!” No. 1 patted No. 4’s mushroom cap with a tentacle, speaking earnestly. “No. 4, we must work hard. If we don’t, we’ll end up like little Fourteen—reduced to pitiful playthings.”
With that, it turned to leave.
No. 4 did not respond immediately. It tilted its mushroom cap slightly, somewhat puzzled.
“Pitiful”?
But being hugged and kneaded by Pink Puchi felt so comfortable… aside from glorious battles, that was its favorite thing.
Yet since big bro said so, it must be true.
It raised its short legs to follow, but Inanna’s call came from behind: “No. 4, come help me, okay?”
Looking at Inanna’s open arms, No. 4 hesitated for a moment, then “puchi puchi” trotted over, becoming yet another “pitiful plaything.”
It was held in Inanna’s arms as a demonstration prop, teaching Galadriel the proper way to rua a Puchi.
Galadriel did not feel any special affection for Puchis in general. Even the soft and docile No. 4 in Inanna’s arms stirred no particular emotion in her.
But Fourteen was different. Seeing its expression of restrained helplessness and slight resistance, Galadriel felt an inexplicable sense of satisfaction…
“May I take it for a day?” she suddenly asked.
“Well… we’d have to ask if it’s willing,” Inanna replied. Since Galadriel was not on the mycelial network, Inanna asked on its behalf.
“No way…”
“Of course!”
Before the Sword Saint could finish, Lin Jun answered for it.
“Have you no shame?!” The Sword Saint was furious. He was a Sword Saint, not anyone’s plaything!
It prepared to force its way free—Galadriel wouldn’t be hurt over something so minor anyway.
However, Lin Jun’s pained sigh immediately rang in the mycelial network: “Alas, how can you be so selfish?”
“Selfish? Me?”
“Precisely. Right now is the perfect chance to leave a benevolent impression in the acting Elf Queen’s heart—for the sake of Puchis and Mushroom Tribe. Yet you only consider your own feelings, unwilling even to make this small ‘sacrifice.’”
“I…”
“Last time, you lost a full set of precious equipment. Did I blame you even once? I even prepared better replacements—those were hard-saved assets from the Puchis! We treated you with sincerity, yet… you show no regard for the Puchis’ future.”
“…”
“Fine, fine. I misplaced my trust. Sword Saint, please do as you wish…”
Under Lin Jun’s skilled moral coercion, the Sword Saint suffered a guilty conscience.
As Lin Jun’s voice faded from the network, the Sword Saint Puchi fell silent. When Galadriel tentatively hugged it again, the round mushroom body finally ceased struggling.
Though it knew the Fungus Lord was pressuring it with words, it truly felt at fault!
Galadriel heard none of that private exchange. She only felt she had finally smoothed this Puchi’s mycelium.
Inanna’s method worked wonders—she truly was a master of Puchi nature.
…
That night.
[Mental Guidance]
In a haze, Galadriel saw the Sword Saint’s departing back.
Fury surged. “Airaven Slayn! Running away again?!”
“Sorry, I can’t return.”
“Why? Because of the war?” Galadriel seemed to see mountains of corpses and seas of blood from human-demon battlefields behind the Sword Saint.
“Because…”
The Sword Saint’s figure began trembling violently, shaking more and more until—“whoosh”—it shrank into a tiny lump!
“Because… I’m already a Puchi…”
Galadriel stood stunned, one hand still extended in retention, staring at the four-sword Puchi standing there as the scene grew increasingly blurred…
In her bedroom—impenetrable to outsiders—Galadriel jolted awake, involuntarily shivering.
Looking at the Puchi curled into a ball at the foot of the bed, she finally understood why she cared so much about this Fourteen.
The way it carried swords, that arrogant air—now the more she looked, the more it resembled that dead man Airaven!
She certainly didn’t take the dream seriously.
Revived from death as a Puchi… she did miss Airaven, but not to the point of lovesick delusion or losing her mind.
She gently stroked the Puchi ball.
Still… keeping this Puchi by her side wouldn’t be bad!
…
…
…
This Sword Saint seemed to have some misunderstanding about him.
Everything he did was for the future of Puchis—absolutely no personal grudge involved.
The envoy would likely be delayed several more days. Lin Jun temporarily shifted attention elsewhere.
In Norwid, a modest but decent outlying cottage now housed the Silver Thorn team.
Though Redstone City was destroyed, it was force majeure—along with an entire pigfolk army.
Thus, postwar not only no punishment but recognition and compensation.
Of course, all resources now funneled to the new defensive line. Personal compensation for nobles or local rulers like them was recorded for later fulfillment.
Fortunately, with adventurer experience, the team knew the “three burrows” principle—never putting all wealth in one place.
Redstone gone hurt, but they lived comfortably—better than many fleeing nobles who lost territories.
Now, what truly troubled the team wasn’t money but their mage Ivan.
Since inserting an S-grade magic crystal into that ancient equipment and hand-crafting a teleport array to save everyone, he had remained comatose, still unconscious.
The other three tried various channels and methods—all ineffective.
Only recently had they invited two Relic Association scholars.
After examination, they diagnosed the rare “overmagic” state but said no precedent for mental recovery.
According to them, Ivan surviving this long was thanks to their care—daily mental potions.
But merely delaying. At most another month, Ivan’s brain would overload and die.
This outcome was hard for the other three to accept.
Ivan became like this saving them. Dying on the spot would be easier—they’d mourn occasionally, adventurer’s resolve.
But watching apparent hope yet powerless—pure torment.
The three sat in the courtyard, dejected.
“I’ll go to Ishildor. Maybe special potions there could work,” Nightowl suddenly said.
Captain Nova poured cold water. “From what I know, elves long abroad face troublesome return procedures. Plus round trip—too late. You don’t plan sneaking via shadow shuttle into Elf Forest? Even if you did, probably no such potion…”
Nightowl grew frantic. “Then what? Just wait to bury him? Though that magic-addict idiot might not have had many years left, dying like this—I’d feel guilty for centuries!”
“Sigh…” Nova was helpless.
Half-dragon Gar sprawled in his chair, staring skyward from start to end, silent.
They had tried everything.
No one noticed a Puchi quietly emerging from under Ivan’s bed in the room.
(End of Chapter)
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