In Lawrence’s mind, spellcasters—especially apprentices—had one golden rule: never rush into the front lines.
You were supposed to keep at least 20 feet between you and anything with a sword.
Getting up close and personal? That was a warrior’s job.
As a mage, your role was to control the field, support the team, and—if you were lucky enough to know some ranged attack spells—fire them off from behind the safety of your frontline buddies.
As much as he hated to admit it, Lawrence knew the truth: without proper spells, apprentice-level casters simply couldn’t match warriors in a straight-up fight. Swords, bows, axes—they were more direct, didn’t rely on mana reserves, and didn’t fizzle out when you got tired.
And as for why more spellcasters didn’t just pick up a sword? Simple—most didn’t have the time, strength, or stamina to pull it off. Splitting your attention between melee combat and spellcasting usually just meant you sucked at both.
He’d never met a spellcaster like Gauss before.
He wanted to call him “unorthodox,” but the guy’s magic was more refined than his own.
Right after Gauss finished off the five skeletons, a deep, distant rumble echoed through the dungeon.
It was like the whole place had been asleep—until now.
The group instinctively closed ranks, weapons ready, eyes scanning every dark corner.
But after a few tense minutes with no new threats appearing, they relaxed. Carefully.
While Edith, the rogue, worked to disarm the room’s pressure traps, the rest of the group checked out the three branching corridors—straight ahead and to both sides.
“Let’s start with the left,” Lawrence suggested. As the one who organized this whole expedition, he had the most say in where they went.
And really, they were planning to fully clear the dungeon anyway. The route didn’t matter as much as making sure they got it all.
“Fine by me,” Zorc grunted with a shrug.
As always, the half-orc’s priorities were simple: Where do we go, who do I hit, and what’s the plan if we run?
Gauss had no objections either.
He studied the dungeon walls as they walked. The air was thick and cold down here, the corridor just wide enough for two people to walk shoulder to shoulder.
If not for the Light spell he’d cast earlier, they’d be walking in near-total darkness.
Water dripped from cracks in the rocky ceiling, echoing through the corridor like some kind of ominous countdown.
The deeper they went, the more Gauss could feel the psychological pressure creeping in from all sides. The weight of the earth above them. The claustrophobic shadows. The kind of environment that messed with your head after a while.
Thank the gods for his Light spell.
Eventually, Edith finished disabling the traps in the entrance hall, and the group began moving down the left-hand path in formation.
“Keep your eyes open,” someone murmured.
The air got worse the further they went—mustier, thicker. The team had to keep clearing their throats just to breathe.
Etched into the stone walls were faded, chaotic markings—strange symbols and runes that felt wrong just by looking at them. Twisted. Maddening.
A few of the group glanced at them and immediately regretted it—dizziness hit like a brick, their thoughts clouding, skin crawling with goosebumps as a sudden chill ran down their backs.
“Don’t look at the walls,” Gauss warned sharply. “There’s something off about those runes.”
The group quickly turned their eyes forward and didn’t dare glance at the sides again.
The oppressive vibe didn’t let up, but the Light spell helped. Without it, the darkness probably would’ve broken their nerves by now.
Eventually, the corridor opened into a new chamber.
They stepped inside—and froze.
The room glowed purple.
Huge bioluminescent mushrooms clung to every wall, their tendrils burrowed deep into the stone, casting a soft violet glow.
As they stepped forward, the mushrooms beneath their boots released puffs of faint, misty gas.
“Careful. The air might be toxic!”
One team member immediately noticed their head spinning slightly.
“Put on your gas masks!” someone else called.
Luckily, everyone had prepared in advance. Gas traps were common in dungeons.
Gauss quickly secured his mask. His vision blurred for a moment, but after a few seconds of steady breathing, the fog cleared.
But something bothered him.
His Mage Armor hadn’t protected him from the gas. Which... made sense. If it blocked air, he wouldn’t be able to breathe at all. Still, it was a good reminder: magic wasn’t a cure-all.
As the team hesitated, considering retreat—
Something hit the floor.
Several long, slimy shapes had dropped from the ceiling pods.
The shapes twitched and slowly stood upright.
No, Myconids—fully grown.
They had huge cap-shaped heads, hollow eyes that glowed red, and rough, wrinkled grayish skin that looked like rotting tree bark. Their limbs were bound with twisting fungal cords, ending in club-like fists and feet. Shreds of decayed cloaks flapped around their bodies as the spores thickened.
The Myconids didn’t speak. Just raised their arms—and pointed directly at the team.
They weren’t friendly.
From the back of the room, a gate slammed shut—cutting off their only exit.
Everyone turned toward the Myconids.
Usually, Myconids were intelligent, peace-loving beings. But these ones looked… off. Feral. Unstable.
“Schlurp... schlurp...”
Spores began to pour from their bodies—thick, heavy clouds that filled the air.
“They’re not responding to speech. We go in hard!” someone called.
They had to act fast. The longer they lingered in this toxic environment, the worse it would get.
Fire magic would’ve been perfect here, but in such tight quarters, they couldn’t risk it.
Zorc and Liam charged in.
Their boots smashed across the fungal floor, kicking up purple spores with every step.
Blades flashed. One of the Myconids had its arm severed clean off—but another leapt in, protecting its ally.
Whip-like tendrils smacked against their shields with sharp CRACKS.
Meanwhile, the injured Myconid began to regenerate—threads of fungi sprouting from its stump, quickly weaving back together.
“Damn, that regen is crazy,” Gauss muttered, watching the thing’s arm grow back in real time.
He couldn’t help but think: if I could absorb that kind of regeneration as a passive skill…
Too bad he hadn’t killed enough types of monsters yet to roll for a new passive trait. But hey, every new kill counted.
He raised his bone wand.
A deep blue glow surged from the tip, forming a spinning arcane projectile.
He locked onto one Myconid’s oversized head—
The missile struck dead center. The cap exploded like a melon under a sniper round.
Mushroom pulp and spores burst everywhere.
The Myconid didn’t even get a chance to feel it. But its allies did—linked by shared consciousness, they all recoiled violently, spasming as the pain echoed through them.
[Total Monster Kills: 111]
[New Monster Type Recorded: 6]
[New Title Earned: ‘Myconid Hunter.’ This title will upgrade as kills increase..]
[Current Title Effect: Anti-Regeneration – Damage you deal to Myconids and related species prevents them from healing for 5 seconds.]
Nice. Gauss nodded, pleased.
He’d guessed right: headshots worked. They couldn’t regrow brains.
And that title effect? Absolutely made for countering these freaks.
The others picked up on it too.
One by one, the team moved in, targeting the Myconids' heads and pressing the advantage.
Gauss fired a second Magic Missile—BOOM!
By the time the smoke cleared, the rest of the Myconids had been finished off by the others.