“Nightowl, I know you’re grasping at straws, but this guy too…” In the courtyard, Nova stared at the black-robed figure Nightowl brought back, his brows refusing to relax.
The man stood half a step behind Nightowl, wrapped in an old cloak of rough fabric with frayed edges.
His posture was awkward, shoulders slightly hunched as if instinctively trying to hide in shadows. Every movement carried an inescapable air of furtiveness.
The hood’s shadow concealed most of his face, revealing only the lower half—skin an unhealthy waxy yellow from lack of sunlight, chin covered in uneven stubble.
Traces of mycelium marked his face—clearly a Puchi master—yet strangely without a Puchi in sight.
Most unsettling were his eyes. Occasional glances from under the hood quickly scanned the courtyard furnishings and Nova’s face. That gaze held no openness—only appraisal and scrutiny.
Though silent, the man exuded an aura of “untrustworthy.”
Nova’s judgment was spot-on. This fellow was a D-class personnel named Occas. Completing the task was his only path to survival.
Even this life-risking opportunity had been earned through wit, defeating that monster in the arena.
Facing Nova’s suspicion, Nightowl shrugged. “I don’t fully trust him either, but he says he has a way.”
The team wasn’t surprised how he knew Evan’s condition.
Living here months, seeking treatment everywhere—news spreading in certain circles was normal.
But…
“Another con artist after money?” Half-dragon Gar cracked his massive knuckles with light pops, tone unfriendly.
Such “capable experts” claiming solutions—they’d seen too many lately. Eight or nine out of ten were scammers eyeing their gold.
With Silver Thorn’s years of adventurer-honed eyesight, they rarely fell for it. Those clumsy frauds usually tasted Gar’s fists.
Watching Gar approach with tangible pressure, Occas—who had seen true hell—remained inwardly calm.
He gave a hoarse chuckle and said two sentences:
“I don’t want money.”
“If I fail, take my life.”
Gar’s advancing steps halted. He glanced back at Nova for guidance.
Nova stared coldly at Occas. “You think we wouldn’t dare kill in the city?”
Though Redstone City lost, with their status, killing a fraud with cause wasn’t major—settled with some coin.
“No, I believe you. I’m completely serious,” Occas met Nova’s gaze.
Nova saw it—the eyes were serious.
Even overly so, as if he wasn’t here to save Evan but himself…
“How do you plan to save him?” Nova stepped back, gesturing Occas could sit and talk.
Occas didn’t sit. Carefully from inside his cloak, he produced two items—a sharp dagger and a crystal vial of transparent liquid. “First, he must become a Puchi master.”
The team wasn’t overly surprised by this.
Puchi masters’ tenacious vitality was well-known. They had considered it themselves.
But mycelium vitality affected only the body. After confirming Evan’s issue was purely mental, they abandoned the attempt.
Occas requiring Puchi master status—if for subsequent treatment burdening the body, needing advanced physical resilience—made sense.
But that potion?
Nightowl’s hand emerged from shadow, easily snatching the sealed crystal vial.
Occas, barely golden-tier, had no resistance against Silver Thorn members.
Nova stepped forward first, fingertip condensing mana for two mid-tier detection spells for toxins and curses. Glow swept the vial—no abnormal reaction.
Confirming no obvious malice, Nightowl dipped a thin needle in the vial mouth, lightly touching her tongue.
Though rarely using poison, Nightowl knew it—and had high resistance—daring the taste.
Occas said nothing, calmly watching the female elf.
Truthfully, he didn’t know the potion’s exact nature—only guessed some healing elixir.
Inwardly tense, but outwardly composed.
“Eek—!”
Nightowl suddenly gasped. Her body instantly tensed as if electrified.
Then instinctively melted into blurred shadow, rapidly sinking into ground darkness—vanishing.
“Nightowl?” Nova startled, staff already in hand.
“You bastard!” Gar seized Occas’s neck, lifting him like a chick.
Under half-dragon terrifying grip, Occas’s face quickly reddened, eyes bulging, legs kicking futilely. Throat only “gagging” asphyxiation sounds. Slight more force—he’d die on spot.
“Wait! Gar, wait!” Nightowl’s voice timely came from wall corner shadow, slightly urgent.
She rematerialized, face unusually flushed, chest lightly heaving, breathing rough—but eyes exceptionally bright. “I’m fine! Just… caught off guard.”
Quickly having Gar release Occas, Nova asked, “What happened? What is it?”
Nightowl shook head, savoring as she licked lips. “Unclear formula, but massively nourishing! Extremely pure life energy, and… forest feel—like standing deep in oldest forest after rain, soil, leaves, some… tranquil vitality? I love it—very much!”
“Forest feel?” Nova and Gar exchanged glances—confused.
Elves’ sensitivity to natural forces far exceeded other races. Nightowl’s description hard to fully grasp, but “massively nourishing,” “pure life energy,” and her excited color proved the potion not only harmless but rare treasure.
Instantly, this shifty-eyed Occas gained mysterious aura in Silver Thorn eyes.
Gar awkwardly scratched head, helping gasping Occas up, pressing him into chair. Fan-like hands clumsily yet controlled rubbed shoulders and neck, gruffly apologizing. “Cough… sorry, brother. Too impulsive.”
Nova echoed. “Please forgive. This potion… truly extraordinary.”
Nightowl leaned closer, eyes shining at Occas. “More of this? Where from? I’ll pay high—very high!”
Occas finally caught breath, neck clearly marked purple from Gar’s fingers.
In past, such treatment—he’d bear grudge, repaying thousandfold.
But now…
He touched burning neck, oddly calm inwardly.
Just nearly strangled—minor.
He bore the terrifying “Boss’s” task.
Boss promised—if succeeded, he could leave nightmare cavern for comfortable year in mycelium fortress.
Not just “good days”—even fortress prison, as long as escaping that place, he’d gladly accept!
This sole chance—fought through wit, resilience, luck among countless desperate D-class.
How abandon over mere rough treatment?
He smiled, saying Gar needn’t mind—understood.
Regretfully told Nightowl only one vial—no more.
Finally calmly refused Nova’s compensation offer—sincere. Mushroom garden used contribution points as currency.
“As I said, I want no money,” Occas repeated, gaze sweeping three. “If I truly wake this mage, Silver Thorn owes us a favor.”
Favor sometimes worth far more than gold—of course, assuming success waking Evan.
Occas asking favor not money—Nova nearly believed he had real confidence.
Nova finally asked, “You are…?”
“Mushroom Worship Cult.”
Mushroom Worship Cult… recent small sect in Mushroom Capital. Worshipping Puchis seemed comical—spread as curiosity in adventurer taverns. They’d heard.
Could this seemingly laughable cult hide true experts?
They didn’t know—true leader Julia still imprisoned in Mushroom Capital. Occas merely using name.
Trading with this suspicious-sounding cult… team had no devout Light God priest. As long as Evan woke, who mattered not.
Nova exchanged glances with others, finally nodding gravely for team. “Good! Wake Evan—Silver Thorn owes Mushroom Worship Cult a favor.”
Occas’s suspended heart finally settled.
What did he care for Silver Thorn favor?
Merely credibility bait.
As long as task succeeded, escaping hell—he’d pay gladly!
Next, Occas per instructions performed mycelial parasitism on comatose Evan.
Then fed diluted water of life.
Vast pure vitality flushed Evan’s body—mage bedridden months visibly regained color, physical state even healthier than before coma.
Mental issues—no longer Occas’s concern.
Next day, he brought mentally ascended No. 10 to Silver Thorn courtyard.
(End of Chapter)
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