When Luluwo's group descended into Springday City atop a griffin, it naturally drew a massive amount of attention.
Griffins were notoriously difficult creatures to keep.
Not only were they ferocious and prone to injuring people, but their food and daily care required dedicated attendants. Neglect them even slightly, and they'd fall ill almost immediately.
Which, frankly, was strange.
Creatures capable of high-speed flight should have had excellent constitutions. There was no logical reason they should get sick so easily.
Eventually, people uncovered the truth.
These griffins were pretending to be sick—deliberately protesting their treatment and demanding better food and living conditions.
This behavior only appeared in domesticated griffins. Wild ones, after all, didn't have foolish humans trying to raise them.
Even the Viscount of Springday City couldn't afford to keep a griffin. Most residents had never even seen one before. So when Luluwo and her group landed, guards rushed over in panic, clearly wanting to ask questions—but none dared approach, cowed by the beast's intimidating presence.
It wasn't hard to guess what they were worried about.
How were they supposed to handle a griffin?
What if it hurt someone?
Anyone capable of riding such a creature was either immensely wealthy, extraordinarily powerful—or both. A mere guard had to tread carefully.
He had barely finished rehearsing a respectful opening line in his head when he saw Luluwo pull out a red-and-white sphere from her cloak.
She reached out toward the griffin.
In the next instant, the massive beast dissolved into a streak of light and was absorbed into the ball.
"Whoa—!"
The surrounding crowd erupted in shock.
What had they just witnessed?
Spatial magic?!
How could something as enormous as a griffin fit inside a ball no larger than a palm?
"That thing Roger gave me is actually pretty interesting," Luluwo muttered, casually tossing the Poké Ball before securing it at her waist.
She flicked her arm dramatically, cloak billowing, lifted her chin, and declared coolly:
"Alright. Let's grab supplies first—then we'll see what this Cangyin Dungeon is really made of."
To move quickly, they'd brought minimal luggage, planning to restock once they arrived in Springday City.
"Captain, you're drawing way too much attention," Belto muttered. "Wouldn't it have been better to land quietly in the forest?"
Mira shrugged. "You know her personality."
They ignored the surrounding stares without a care. Being watched was nothing new. As they walked forward, the crowd instinctively parted to make way.
"Go report to the Viscount," the guards whispered among themselves before hurrying off. "These people are definitely not ordinary."
Springday City itself was small and unremarkable.
The only thing truly noteworthy was its produce.
Its vegetables were enormous—high-yield, better-tasting than normal, and entirely thanks to the Cangyin Dungeon.
These oversized vegetables held some market value. Whether bought out of curiosity or genuine appetite, sales were steady. Many people simply wanted to see what potatoes or onions taller than a person looked like.
Springday wouldn't grow rich from farming—but at least its residents lived comfortably, indulging in small luxuries from time to time.
But—
"This doesn't match what I heard at all," Mira said quietly.
She stared down the empty main road.
This was the city's largest thoroughfare—it should have been bustling with foot traffic.
Instead, it was nearly deserted.
A few scattered pedestrians only made the place feel lonelier, so quiet it seemed tumbleweeds might roll through at any moment.
Not abandoned, but unmistakably declining.
"There used to be several merchant caravans with permanent outposts here," Mira said, scanning the closed storefronts. "Why are all the shops shut?"
A sense of desolation lingered in the air.
There were adventurers around, though—clearly drawn by news of the Cangyin Dungeon's mutation.
"Springday turning out like this is normal," Belto said. "The city relied entirely on giant vegetables. Once its unique advantage disappeared, decline was inevitable."
"Think about it—what showed up recently that could replace them?"
"Oh." Mila immediately understood. "Sein Dungeon."
Springday's oversized vegetables were noteworthy only because of their size—a novelty born from curiosity. After living ordinary lives for too long, people naturally craved something new.
The vegetables were expensive, only marginally better-tasting than normal produce, and impractical for daily consumption.
So when Sein Dungeon's Gourmet Zone opened—offering far stranger, tastier ingredients—Springday's decline became visible almost overnight.
Merchant caravans packed up and relocated to Bedford City. Eventually, even local residents began leaving.
Who cared about human-sized potatoes when Sein's roasted whole pig didn't even leave a single hair behind?
Not to mention that the Gourmet Zone's output was faster—and cheaper—than farming giant vegetables.
At this rate, everyone might soon be eating Sein food exclusively.
What could Springday possibly use to compete?
Mira looked around with sympathy.
The city had been completely replaced by Sein Dungeon. The local lord was probably losing his mind.
If Wade were here, he'd likely spread his hands innocently.
When he opened the Gourmet Zone, he never imagined it would indirectly destroy another city's economy.
Maybe this was what people called a dimensional reduction strike.
As population dwindled, fewer people entered the dungeon. If Cangyin Dungeon were sentient, it would be panicking.
No wonder it mutated.
While buying supplies, the group overheard several battered-looking adventurers venting nearby.
"Cangyin Dungeon's become a nightmare. I searched all day and couldn't even find a single tree sprite. Today's commission's a total bust."
"You're still thinking about commissions? It's time to bail. Fewer people are going in, and now it's even more dangerous."
"What about Sein next door? My buddy made a fortune there gathering ingredients."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah. This new sword? He bought it for me—not cheap."
"Let's go. Sein it is."
Another wave of "customers" abandoned Cangyin Dungeon right before their eyes.
The group fell silent.
"Boss, can I ask something?" Belto casually chatted up the shopkeeper. "How dangerous is Cangyin Dungeon after the mutation?"
"Heh." The shopkeeper sneered. "If dungeons were shops, Cangyin would be on life support."
With business drying up, he finally found someone willing to listen—and poured out his grievances nonstop.
"No idea what happened. They dumped a ton of literal crap inside—disgusting. People liked the original scenery!"
"Everyone went in for tree sprite sap, but now you can barely find any. Instead, it's all poisonous giant toads. Who wants that?"
"And the terrain's a mess! A door that only opens after cutting down three massive vines—tell me that's not stupid!"
Thanks to his rant, the group gathered a solid batch of intel.
"Pretty much matches the Count's report," Luluwo said as they stood before Cangyin Dungeon's portal. "More dangerous. More disgusting. More stingy."
There were barely any people waiting—no line at all.
After getting used to queuing at Sein Dungeon, it felt almost surreal.
"Let's go see what this thing really is."
They stepped through the portal.
As the teleportation vertigo faded, a wave of stench assaulted their noses.
Way too familiar.
"This is basically Farron Keep."
An endless swamp stretched before them—rotting leaves decomposed into murky sludge.
It looked similar, but lacked Farron's overwhelming, suffocating filth.
And—
"It doesn't smell that bad."
Luluwo inhaled deeply, frowned, sniffed again, then nodded solemnly.
"Yeah. It really doesn't."
"It still stinks," Belto said. "Just not as bad as Sein."
"Captain, you've been assimilated by Sein."
Luluwo ignored him.
Three hillocks rose from the swamp, each wrapped in massive vines.
Farther ahead lay a valley, its entrance sealed by thick, tangled growth.
"Just like the intel—cut three vines to unlock the valley. Inside is Cangyin's original environment."
Basically, the dungeon slapped an entrance trial onto its old content.
A bizarre imitation of the Wolf Blood Trial.
…
So many things were wrong with this design.
Most people entering Cangyin Dungeon were just workers.
Tree sprites weren't strong—ordinary folks could handle them in teams.
Now difficulty had increased, tree sprites were scarce, and players had to slog through a rotten swamp just to reach the old map.
Pure discouragement.
Raising difficulty without improving rewards?
Unless the dungeon lord simply couldn't offer better loot.
Looking around, Luluwo felt a strange nostalgia—like her first time entering Sein Dungeon.
Normally, they'd endure the stench, fight ambush monsters, cut vines, and reach the valley.
But today, Luluwo felt like doing something different.
Chains extended from beneath her cloak, wrapping around her companions and lifting them into the air. Four more chains became her legs, letting her stride forward without touching the swamp—like some monstrous Doctor Octopus.
The monsters lurking beneath the sludge were dumbfounded.
Plant-based, weak, and completely incapable of hitting a floating party.
Any creature that surfaced was instantly shredded by the chains like meat through a grinder.
Luluwo didn't even approach the vines—Ais and Aim burned them down from afar with fire magic.
They were sturdier than average.
But against silver-ranked adventurers?
Laughable.
Within minutes, all three vines were destroyed. The path to the valley opened.
Along the way, Luluwo encountered many painfully familiar traps.
"Those giant toads aren't trying to pull a Basilisk, are they?"
She pointed at several flower-backed toads guarding a white glow.
"Probably," Belto said. "They might spray curse mist—HEY! CAPTAIN, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"
"Why not test it yourself~?"
Luluwo grinned wickedly and tossed him straight at the toads.
They spat pale green slime on contact.
Belto screamed—entirely from disgust.
Instant death curses?
Of course not.
The slime was only mildly poisonous—something Luluwo already knew.
She casually killed one, checked the hunting manual—no entry.
"Only Sein monsters get documented, huh."
Bored, she crushed the rest and rinsed Belto off with water magic.
He glared at her with deep resentment.
Later, Luluwo fished a writhing "human" out of the swamp.
It was entirely composed of plants.
"Uh… is this trying to copy Sein's skeletons?"
She tore it apart.
It didn't revive.
Dead for good.
"Boring."
Soon after, an enormous mass of plants crashed down and rolled toward them.
The shadow alone sent chills through their spines.
Everyone who'd entered Sein remembered the iron ball.
But this wasn't iron.
It was plants.
"So—"
"Flames Unleashed!"
Ais and Aim combined their fire magic.
The plant ball detonated instantly.
Flawless victory.
"I feel like I'm exploring a budget version of Sein Dungeon," Mira muttered.
"Budget's generous," Luluwo yawned. "This is just a sloppy imitation."
For a full silver-ranked party, the dungeon was absurdly easy—so easy it became boring.
But for ordinary locals, Cangyin's mutation was catastrophic.
Even low-tier Sein-style traps could slaughter them.
There were innovations—blinding explosive fruits, carnivorous plants disguised as harmless flora.
They even caught Luluwo off guard once.
Innovation existed.
But the variety was too narrow.
Everything was plants.
Once adventurers learned to avoid suspicious vegetation, half the traps became useless.
This was a classic dungeon flaw—limited monster and architectural systems.
Compared to that, Sein Dungeon—with its absurd variety—was a true anomaly.
A massive one.
"The shopkeeper said there's a powerful monster in the valley," Luluwo said flatly. "Let's prepare, just in case."
Based on what they'd seen so far, she wasn't expecting much.
Splash. Splash.
Heavy footsteps echoed through water.
The enemy sounded massive.
Everyone stared toward the valley.
When it emerged into the sunlight—
They froze.
Because that thing—
It had a tall humanoid body, vine-formed armor painted bronze, a massive shield, and a greatsword.
Its most distinctive feature was the helmet—
It looked like an axe.
A plant-based monster, every part seemingly acting independently, stumbling as it walked.
This was unmistakably a stitched-together fusion monster created by the local dungeon lord.
And—
"Don't tell me…"
"…this thing's copying a Crucible Knight."
The expressions on everyone's faces were indescribable.
Because it really did resemble one.
Like a cheap, cursed figurine version of a Crucible Knight.