This dungeon has mushrooms growing on it.

Chapter 253, Section 252: Trapped
Creak...creak...creak...

Outside the window, the decaying blades of the huge windmill turned slowly in the thin night fog, each pull causing the mill's structure to groan.

Inside the attic, the light was not much better than outside. Only a few sparse starlight shone through the grime-covered window and the cracks in the broken wooden planks, barely outlining the silhouettes of two short, stocky figures.

Torin and Grimes, two young dwarves whose beards were not yet fully matted, were huddled together in a corner without any regard for their appearance, with a burlap sack lying on their bottoms. Their four eyes were wide open, staring intently at the compass in Torin's hand.

In the guide compass, the rune-engraved pointer spun endlessly like a headless fly.

“Hey, Torin,” Glenn’s voice rang out in the dim light, puzzled, “You’re supposed to be a young master of the Deepforge clan, why are you carrying such cheap items?”

He tried to nudge his companion with his elbow, nearly knocking the compass out of Tolin's hand.

Tolin frantically protected the compass, growling irritably, "What kind of young master am I... But I brought this directly from home! Although I have no interest in swinging a hammer, the craftsmanship of the Deep Furnace family is reliable, even the slag is reliable! Maybe the problem lies with the guiding stone outside!"

"Pfft—!" Glenn nearly choked on his breath, as if he'd heard the funniest joke of the century. He quickly covered his mouth, his shoulders trembling as he chuckled. "You're making it sound like the Guiding Stone wasn't made by the Deepforge Clan, Torin. Did you shine your miner's lamp on your head? That's the Guiding Stone, protected by all three races! Made of Mountainheart adamantite! The runes on it are old enough to be our great-grandfather's tombstone! It would be a miracle if it had any problems!"

Tolin rolled his eyes at his companion's retort, but there was no doubt that what the other person said made sense.

He scratched his unruly stubble on his chin in frustration, and after a long pause, he finally squeezed out another guess: "That...that's the work of that sneaky fox spirit I ran into before! Ever since I met her, nothing has been right!"

This time, Glenn didn't object; instead, he nodded: "That's possible!"

Unfortunately, their speculations ended there. They were now trapped in the crumbling mill, barely able to save themselves, let alone confront the so-called fox-man.

Beyond the windmills, towering wheat fields stretched into the depths of mist and darkness under the faint starlight, the rolling waves of wheat accompanied by unusual rustling sounds—the noises of scarecrows and crows.

They were chased and forced to hide here.

An ordinary scarecrow might not wander in on its own, but that doesn't mean it's safe.

Not to mention that the "farmer" with a pitchfork who can come and go freely in and out of the mill might return at any time, simply being stuck here is fatal in itself.

The longer they waste time, the deeper they will sink into lower social classes.

That's why they suspected the fox-person.

The two had been in the dungeon for far less than a day. Logically, they should still be lingering on the relatively safe "edge." However, after encountering the fox people, not only did their compass break, but they also sank a level and arrived at the "wheat field maze."

These were all accidents I'd never heard of before.

"What do we do now?" Torin cried, his voice filled with grief and indignation. "Am I, destined to be the greatest adventurer on the continent, going to rot in this moldy attic? This is too awful!"

"The 'greatest adventurer' who died on his second adventure..." Grum rolled his eyes. "Why don't you say I was even worse off? I practically died with you."

"I've already paid them. Isn't it only natural for mercenaries to die on missions?" Torin retorted stubbornly.

“Then it’s only natural for adventurers to die on adventures!” Grlum, too lazy to argue any further, seriously suggested, “There are still some ways, we could try bribing the crows. Crows are the eyes of the farm, but not entirely! Do you have any gems on you?” Torin subconsciously rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a pure, clear emerald the size of a pigeon egg: “Bribe the crows? Is the rumor from the drunkard in the tavern true?”

"Of course it's real! Otherwise, why would I mention it!" Grlum grabbed the emerald, its smooth texture making him subconsciously weigh it in his hand before exclaiming, "Damn! This is much better than the bag of junk they gave me before!"

He decisively stuffed the exquisite gem deep into his inner pocket, while simultaneously pulling out a ruby ​​that was noticeably smaller and had a dull, cloudy color, and clutching it in his hand.

Tolin watched helplessly as the other party blatantly switched the gems, pursed his lips, but didn't even raise an eyebrow. He had a whole bag of emeralds of this quality...

Grimes held the second-best ruby ​​in his hand, leaning his arm out of the broken window. He deftly twisted the gem with his fingers, using its faint facets to refract the sparse starlight into the field.

Before long, a glossy raven flew over, snatched the ruby ​​from Glenn's fingertip, and then flapped its wings and flew swiftly towards a certain direction deep in the wheat field!

"That's it, follow them!"

The two slid down the ladder to the bottom of the mill and rushed out.

Glenn took the lead, his two gleaming short axes flashing before him. A scarecrow that had just emerged from the straw was instantly torn into pieces of dry grass.

Suddenly, rustling sounds came from the surrounding wheat fields.

"This way!" Glenn quickly identified the direction the crow had disappeared in and led the way.

Tolin followed closely behind, wielding his heavy warhammer, and smashed another scarecrow that lunged at him from the side into pieces with a single blow.

"Hey! Do we really think we can get out of here by just following that black bird?" he asked, panting as he ran.

"Not necessarily!" Grlum said without turning his head. "Some crows belong to the farm, some don't. It's just a gamble!"

"What are the odds?"

"It's a 50/50 chance, either yes or no!"

"How can this be considered a 50/50 chance?!"

The two ran for their lives through the maze-like wheat field, the rustling sound behind them never fading away. Suddenly, the dense wheat stalks in front of them disappeared, and their feet slipped into the air. They had run to the edge of a steep cliff!
Below lies unfathomable darkness, and behind you, the scarecrow is closing in!

"It's a bad bird?!" Tolin's heart sank.

“No! It’s a good bird! A very good one!” Grlum suddenly pointed to the opposite bank.

The crow was perched leisurely on a twisted branch of a withered tree on the opposite bank, the ruby ​​still in its beak, its dark eyes watching the two of them.

Across the cliff, the outlines of relatively sparse, low-lying wheat fields can be vaguely seen, marking the edge of the area!

(End of this chapter)