The walls of Forgefire Capital cast vast shadows in the dusk, the gates standing open, a long line of people waiting to enter.
Badul spotted the newly erected wooden sign from far off. Carved into it were the words "INFECTED PROHIBITED FROM ENTERING" — the work of a rushed hand, wood chips still clinging to the edges.
He hadn't made any effort to hide the mycelium tracing his skin, which quickly drew the attention of the other dwarves around him.
The looks he got were a mix of disgust and unease. They muttered to each other and drew away, the once-dense queue opening up a visible ring of empty space around him.
At the gate, a guard stepped into his path.
"Halt! Can't you see the sign? Infected are prohibited. Go back where you came from."
"I'm here to see the Assembly. I'm Bard—"
"Don't care who you are!" The guard's voice climbed. The halberd pushed forward, its butt end pressing against Badul's breastplate. "Rules are rules. Keep walking and you'll see how I handle this."
His other hand had already closed around the knife at his hip, thumb against the guard, ready to draw.
Badul looked at this greenhorn who'd clearly never been near a battlefield and felt almost amused. He was about to say something more when a boot came flying from behind and caught the guard square in the backside. The man yelped and hit the ground, and was just working up to a string of curses when he saw the gate captain standing there, expression dark — and swallowed everything he'd been about to say.
The captain didn't spare him a glance. He walked straight up to Badul.
"Lord Badul, don't waste your breath on a raw recruit who's never seen a battlefield." Then, barely concealing his excitement: "My lord, I fought alongside you in the northern war! Bad luck on my part — got jumped by a vampire during the pursuit."
He shook the empty sleeve where his arm should have been.
Badul looked at that empty sleeve for a moment. "I need to get into the city."
"Lord Badul, the new rules just came down from above, and the infected really can't stay within the walls. But since it's you—" He paused, stepped aside, and gestured to the wooden chair just inside the gate. "How about this — take a seat and wait. I'll go send word."
He gave his men a few quick instructions, then turned and ran into the city, disappearing around a corner.
The young guard picked himself up, rubbing his backside, and drifted over to stand near the chair, stealing curious looks at the legendary hero. The gate captain didn't return alone. Walking behind him was a silver-haired elderly woman, her pace unhurried.
She came to a stop in front of Badul, shook a cloak out from inside her coat — deep grey, wide hood, windbreak fleece trim along the edges — and tossed it into his arms. "Badul, how did you manage to get yourself into this state?" Bretta pressed her fingers to her temple, voice heavy with exasperation. "And you had to show up at the worst possible time."
Badul didn't touch the cloak. He simply fell into step beside her, and as they walked he told her about the blue dragon. "...Making it back alive at all was already lucky."
Bretta let out a long sigh. "Troubled times, indeed."
They walked along Forgefire Capital's main street, stone buildings rising and falling on either side, the ring of hammers on anvils drifting out from the depths of alleys. Bretta laid out the situation in the Clan Assembly.
The mycelium infection threat was plain for all to see. No one denied it, and everyone agreed something had to be done. The disagreement was over what.
She had been working toward finding a way to clear the mycelium from the body — had gotten some ideas from the Empire side, and already had promising progress.
In the meantime, keeping the rate of new infections under moderate control was enough.
But the Firebeard and Blacksteel clans had been inflamed by the series of recent assassination incidents, and were pushing hard to round up all infected under strict management — the harder the hand, the better.
Deepforge, meanwhile, was sitting on the fence — their old lord's mind was entirely wrapped up in battle golems. He was afraid of angering the Mushroom Fortress and disrupting the S-rank magic crystal trade line. Where the infected ended up, he didn't genuinely care.
On matters this significant, no resolution had ever made it out of the Assembly Hall without at least three clans first reaching agreement. That was how it had always worked.
But this time, the Dwarven King had stepped in.
Usually he waited until the clan lords had worn themselves out arguing, or the deadlock truly had no exit, before delivering the decisive word.
This time, Firebeard had barely raised the proposal before the King had openly declared his support. That was why the resolution had pushed through so fast.
"But this will only gut our army's fighting strength — just like what happened to the Empire facing the North. And they know that! Why would the King make a decision like this?" Badul said, furious.
"I don't know either."
"I need to see the King. At the very least I need to understand why."
"The assassin behind all those consecutive killings still hasn't been caught. The King has stopped holding private audiences with anyone recently — same with the other clan lords." Bretta glanced at him, her gaze settling on the grey-white mycelium along his arms, and she shook her head. "If it were the old you, the King might still agree to see you. The way you look right now—"
Badul said nothing. He just turned his head, looked toward the stone tower rising in the direction of the Royal Residence, and shifted his steps toward it.
Bretta grabbed his arm. "My heroic lord! Don't go making things worse — just give it a few days. I'll find a way to convince the King for you. How about that?"
---
Badul looked at her. "How many days?"
The corner of Bretta's eye twitched, but she answered. "Three days, just three! If it doesn't come through, you can go force your way in — I won't stop you." Badul was temporarily persuaded, and checked into an inn.
That night, he fell again into that chaotic dreamscape.
This time the half-demon didn't appear. In the depths of the chaos, there was only a human mage sitting cross-legged in an open space, eyes closed in meditation.
When Badul woke, he didn't notice any change in himself.
The atmosphere in Forgefire Capital was worse than he'd expected.
Dwarves always had fiery tempers. That came as no surprise.
But just around the inn, four or five brawls a day, with deaths mixed in — this had gone past tempers.
The innkeeper said disputes in the city had multiplied several times over from normal; even making eye contact on the street could earn you a fist. People infected by mycelium were all being held outside the walls — this unrest clearly wasn't their doing. But where it was coming from, Badul couldn't figure out. He leaned against the windowsill and watched two dwarves brawling on the street corner below, the gathered crowd egging them on rather than pulling them apart. A sudden, overwhelming urge hit him to go down there and beat every single one of them.
After yet another strange dream, Badul finally got good news.
Bretta stood at the inn's front entrance and gave him a nod. "The King has agreed to see you. Come with me."
He followed her through Forgefire Capital's cobblestone streets, through three archways, the route growing steadily more out-of-the-way.
This was not the road to the Royal Residence. The Royal Residence sat on the highest hill in the city, iron guards posted all along the approach, banners snapping in the wind.
This road led underground.
The heavy iron doors swung shut behind them, and Badul stopped in his tracks.
Rune-lamps were set into the walls on all sides, their light a cold white, picking out row after silent row of soldiers from the depths of the corridor.
Their armor was trim, weapons in hand — but not the Royal Guard's standard issue. These were Zafa Clan private soldiers.
"Where is the King?" Badul's voice sounded very low in the underground chamber.
"The King isn't here." Bretta withdrew to behind the soldiers, her silver hair cold in the lamplight.
"Bretta. What is the meaning of this?"
Bretta put on a helpless expression. "Didn't I say? I asked you not to complicate things for me. I nearly had it all sorted out."
She clapped her hands. The doors on both sides of the chamber opened at the same time, more soldiers pouring out, surrounding Badul.
Badul tightened his fist. He'd come here to meet the King — he hadn't brought his axe.
"Was this all you?" His gaze moved from the soldiers to Bretta, his voice like a thunderclap. "Why? What do you gain from this?"
"What do I gain?" Bretta's voice shook faintly. "More knowledge. More secrets. I will have the chance to penetrate the most fundamental mysteries of magic."
"Who gave you this knowledge? The Empire? You've lost your mind. All of this for that?"
"What do you know!" Her breathing grew sharp. She gripped her staff tight, a flash of pink light passing through her eyes. "I had every chance of reaching the pinnacle of spellcasting. But for the sake of the clan, I sacrificed nearly everything — time, energy, ambition — all of it poured into endless administrative duties, into endless arguments with those fools from Firebeard and Deepforge. Now I'm only taking back what was always mine."
"Have your wits been addled by magic?" Badul stopped looking at her and turned to the soldiers around him. "And you — are you willing to follow her in betraying the Mountains?"
No one answered. The soldiers silently raised their weapons.
Bretta let out a short laugh, raised her staff, and the instant the light at its tip blazed up, the surrounding soldiers surged forward.
Badul spat, sidestepped to dodge the first thrusting spear, caught the shaft in a backhanded grip, and wrenched hard.
The soldier stumbled forward into him. Badul drove his knee into the man's gut, used him to absorb the fireball Bretta had hurled, and in the same motion snatched the spear and swept its butt end in a wide arc, knocking two men off their feet on his right.
The spear wasn't a thrusting weapon in his hands — it was an iron club. Every swing cut through the air with a shriek, smashing shields apart, caving in plate.
The crash of metal, the snap of breaking bone, choked grunts and cries all tangled together and echoed through the narrow space.
When the last soldier went down, Badul was drenched in blood. The weapon in his hand had long since been traded for a stolen war hammer, its head still dripping. He looked at the wounds along his arm slowly closing with help from the mycelium, and couldn't help admitting to himself that the thing was remarkably convenient.
---
He turned his gaze back to Bretta.
"I'm going to kill you, traitor."
Bretta didn't retreat. A strange smile crossed her face instead.
"Remember what I said? About a method for clearing mycelium from the body — I got some ideas from the Empire side." She paused, the curve of her lips deepening. "As it turns out, I've found the method, with her help."
The door behind her opened. A tall figure ducked through, the dim lamplight tracing her silhouette.
Long legs. A tightly cinched waist. Jet-black hair falling to her waist.
Most distinctive of all was the iconic heart-shaped tail swaying gently behind her.
"Succubus." Badul forced the word out through clenched teeth.
"A pleasure to meet you, dwarven hero Badul. My name is Morfrey." She offered a slight bow, her bearing as composed as a guest arriving at a formal dinner. "Surely you've heard of me."
"The Empire's executioner — you're the one who charmed Bretta?"
"Charmed? No." Morfrey rested one hand on Bretta's shoulder. "I only helped her recognize what she truly wanted. That's cooperation, not control. You were a different matter — controlling you did require some doing. Though you've proven harder to handle than I expected."
Badul swept his eyes around the room and gave a contemptuous snort. "Just this many people? You really did underestimate me."
Morfrey shook her head gently. "You've misunderstood. When I said 'handle,' I wasn't talking about soldiers."
She raised her eyes and looked at Badul, and those eyes began to glow pink.
Badul was prepared. He didn't meet her gaze, fixing his eyes dead on her shoulder.
But the counter that had always worked before failed him this time.
He felt his fighting spirit drain away.
Not fear. Not cowardice. His emotions were simply dissolving — he reached for his fury and found it light as a feather, something he could grasp at but never quite hold. He let out a roar, gripped the stolen war hammer, and walked toward Morfrey step by step, each footfall cracking the stone tiles beneath him.
The hammerhead dragged across the ground, trailing sparks.
The gap between them closed inch by inch, but his steps grew slower and slower.
When he finally reached her, the hammer shaft slipped from his hands and struck the floor with a dull thud. Badul's face was blank. Morfrey laughed softly and moved to step forward, then suddenly noticed his whole body was still trembling faintly, muscles drawn taut, veins standing out in cords along his neck.
He was still fighting.
"Such iron will — you've cost me so much effort." The pink glow in her eyes blazed brighter. "But this is as far as you go."
Thud.
Badul dropped to his knees, body going limp.
Morfrey stepped forward and cupped his face in her hands, the color in her eyes shifting from pink to purple. "From this moment on — you are mine."
[Status: Charmed]
Badul murmured in reply: "Yes... master..."
After confirming he was under her control, Morfrey lightly dabbed the sweat at the corner of her brow.
"A windfall. This will speed things up nicely." She turned to Zafa Clan Leader Bretta. "Though there's no fungal mat near Forgefire Capital, to be safe we should still clear the mycelium from his body — use the slime I gave you."
"Leave it to me."
No wonder Morfrey was cautious. In the Empire, who understood the Fungus Lord's capabilities best? After the Demon King, it was Morfrey — responsible for Imperial intelligence.
The northern war. The Despair Mushroom incident. And that earlier mental confrontation with Sigmund.
Even with [Lust] transferred to her by the Demon King — at the cost of a wound to his soul — she had no inclination whatsoever to engage that creature on the mental plane.
Drive out all parasites. Physical isolation was the safest method.
What Morfrey didn't know, however, was that while Badul's mycelium was being consumed by the slime and he was sent off to have the resulting damage treated, he had another strange dream.
(End of Chapter)
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