On the training ground, the clash of blades rang out without pause.
The Sword Saint Puchi stood at the center of the arena, several tentacles wrapped in swords whipping out in a blur, sending countless slashes raining down on No. 15 like a windstorm. No. 15 moved constantly around the Sword Saint Puchi, his twin swords deflecting every slash — but he kept a fixed distance of twenty paces.
That was the maximum reach of the Sword Saint Puchi's tentacles.
At that extreme range, he could just barely block the four swords coming straight at him.
The moment he moved closer, the Sword Saint Puchi's attacks would stop being confined to the front — they'd come from all directions — and in several previous sparring sessions, that's exactly where he'd always been tripped up.
But after so many sessions, No. 15 had finally identified the weakness of the Puchi body.
Tentacles far exceeding the length of a human arm had real advantages, but a Puchi's tentacles had no bones. Their raw strength wasn't dominant either, and in the instant of a hard collision, they couldn't simply absorb force the way a bone-supported limb could — they had to redirect it by spinning. Four tentacles working in concert compensated for this to some extent, but the weakness was still a weakness. If he could deflect all four simultaneously...
No. 15 lurched sharply forward, twin swords pulling back, as though committing to a full-force charge.
As expected, all four tentacles — which had been alternating attacks — changed trajectory at once, abandoning their rhythm to seal off every possible angle of advance from the front.
But No. 15 had never planned to charge at all. He'd struck the pose but applied no force, center of gravity planted, the lunge purely for show.
Now he shifted smoothly into a receive stance, meeting those blades that had no time to redirect.
Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!
Four blades blocked in sequence, the metallic impacts nearly merging into one. No. 15's arms went numb from the shock, a dull ache spreading from his palms — but his eyes blazed. He'd done it.
All four tentacles swept wide. Nothing stood before him. A straight, unobstructed path ran directly to the Sword Saint.
[Ground Shrinking LV9]
His afterimage was still in place as No. 15 teleported directly in front of the Sword Saint, both swords raised high.
"Master, this time I—"
Boom!
[Mushroom Cannon LV10]
No. 15 spun through the air and crashed into the sand at the edge of the training ground, raising a cloud of dust.
No. 9 jogged over from the sideline and scattered healing spores over him with practiced ease.
The Sword Saint Puchi closed his mushroom cap, walked over to No. 15's side, and pressed the telepathy stone to the back of his head.
"Your intent was far too obvious. From the midpoint onward you kept watching my tentacles — only a fool couldn't see what you were planning. And you were naïve enough to assume I'd only fight you with swords. What if I self-destructed? What if the whole area were poisoned? Did you think about any of that?"
No. 15, face still buried in the dirt, burned with indignant grief. "Weren't we practicing swordsmanship?"
The Sword Saint tilted his mushroom cap and lectured from above. "At any moment, be ready for the unexpected — because you never know when your enemy will use what method against you—"
Before he could finish, the mycelium at his feet lit up as magical energy gathered.
"What? A teleportation array?!"
He tried to jump clear before the array fully formed — only to find his feet had somehow merged with the fungal mat.
A Puchi and a fungal mat were both made of mycelium. Same root, same essence. The fusion had happened right under him without any hint of it.
The Sword Saint severed both feet decisively — but it was already too late.
The temporary teleportation array flashed and was gone. No. 15 stared in bewildered silence as the master who had just been lecturing him vanished, leaving behind only two severed tentacle stumps that had fallen outside the array's range.
---
In the secret room, three fragments of the Sword Saint lay scattered across the cold floor, motionless.
Galadriel peered through the iron bars, her gaze lingering on the few grey-white mushroom pieces, brow slightly furrowed. "What happened? Is he dead?"
No. 1 propped herself up, tentacles resting on the windowsill, peering inside. "He just died for a moment. Put him back together and he'll be fine."
Galadriel's expression turned a little strange. "Resurrection is... that simple?"
No. 1 tilted her mushroom cap. "What do you mean? Is resurrection supposed to be hard?"
Galadriel sighed, recognizing there was probably no point discussing this with mushroom folk.
No. 1 had already moved closer, tentacles folded behind her back, mushroom body swaying with barely-contained anticipation. "Galadriel, No. 14 has been delivered as agreed. So the thing we talked about before—"
A magical necklace bearing the Elf Royal seal dropped onto No. 1's mushroom cap. Emerald-green patterns shimmered faintly across its surface. "Take this and show it to the forest rangers. They'll mark out a territory around the dungeon where those giant treants can take root — but you have to guarantee the treants won't leave the designated area and absolutely won't approach the city."
No. 1 patted her upright mushroom body with a tentacle. "Of course. I swear on my mushroom honor!"
The "giant treants" No. 1 and Princess Galadriel referred to were the treants Lin Jun had relocated from the Puchi underground city to the Sacred Tree Dungeon — descended from Little Green. Lin Jun had obtained the cultivation method from the Sacred Tree, carved dedicated magical runes into them, and grown them into enormous creatures. No. 1 was requesting a patch of territory outside the dungeon to give them better access to sunlight, rather than competing with the migrant trees inside the Sacred Tree Dungeon for what little filtered in.
As the mushroom faction's representative in the Elven Forest, No. 1's calculations were perfectly clear: treants rooted right under her watch were, by any reasonable accounting, under her command — important future allies against No. 2. She had every reason to tend that relationship.
But she hadn't forgotten the Fungus Lord's instructions either. "About the alliance—"
Galadriel answered plainly. "Forming an alliance with a new faction isn't a small matter like setting aside a patch of land for treants to get some sun. It needs to be discussed with the other elves first. A few more days."
"Alright..."
The room went quiet. Galadriel stood perfectly still and waited. No. 1 stood in place, turning her mushroom cap over in thought. A long moment passed.
"No. 1," Galadriel said gently, "aren't you going to go tell the treants the news?"
"Oh, right!" No. 1 snapped back to herself, turned, and ran off on short legs.
Once the puchi-puchi sound of her footsteps faded to the end of the corridor, Galadriel walked alone into the secret room, shut the door behind her, and activated the runes on it.
"What is that creature planning this time?" The familiar sensation of death, the dazed blur of revival — and the Sword Saint slowly came to. The moment his awareness began to return, he reached out a tentacle, feeling along the scabbards to retrieve his swords.
His tentacle touched something soft and warm at the end of the scabbards.
Hm?
"We meet again."
Galadriel knelt on his swords, eyes half-lidded, a faint smile at the corners of her mouth — expression warm, voice familiar and gentle. "Should I call you No. 14 of the mushroom clan—"
Her warm voice dropped cold without warning. "—or the human Sword Saint, Airaven Whitestone?"
The Sword Saint let go of the pinned swords, stood up, glanced at the princess, then at the rune-sealed room around him — and gave his springy mushroom cap a casual flick.
"Hmph!"
The blade tentacle snapped out. A cold flash — and he sliced himself into about a hundred evenly-sized fungal blocks, cascading across the floor with a clatter.
(End of Chapter)
Comments