Dungeon potatoes were a remarkable crop that could grow even indoors. They matured quickly, and their yield was quite respectable. The only problem was the taste—or rather, the lack of it. Being unpalatable was their sole weakness. Well, I suppose plants didn't exactly evolve for the sole purpose of being eaten. It was only natural that some would taste terrible.
For now, as the first stage of my dungeon potato improvement project, I decided to test how they grew under the sun. I figured that a change in environment might lead to a change in flavor. With that in mind, I started cultivating them in the fields of the Sun Castle. I was still weighing my options for the second stage of the project.
But those potatoes... they grew at an explosive rate. They completely took over their own plot and began encroaching on the neighboring fields. After Bell sent word, I headed to the Sun Castle to prune back the overgrowth. I even built a fence to contain them, but vines immediately coiled around the wood and scaled right over the top. Was this just their nature? If I left them alone, the Sun Castle would be swallowed whole by dungeon potatoes. I needed a solution.
"Village Head, these fast-growing potatoes don't actually have any tubers."
Once the Devil Race workers told me that, their fate was sealed. Extermination was the only option. My apologies, plants.
"I never thought I would see these again..."
It turned out the Demon King was the one with the most knowledge regarding the crop. Apparently, when exposed to sunlight, dungeon potatoes grew aggressively, pouring all their nutrients into their vines rather than their roots. Because of this, they didn't produce any actual potatoes. They were known as a "disaster plant."
"Calling it a disaster might be an exaggeration, as they'll wither on their own after about a month in the sun," the Demon King explained. "If you want to clear them out before then, do it at night. They react to sunlight, but torches and Magic Light won't trigger their growth."
I see.
"But even the ones grown in the shade don't taste good," he added.
That was certainly true. Was it useless as a crop, then?
"Not necessarily. The taste is poor, but the yield is incredible. Lords in the old days grew them to combat famine and as a defense against monsters."
"A defense against monsters?" I asked.
"Monsters love them. They were used as bait for traps, or to buy time for an escape if a settlement was attacked."
He went on to explain that about two hundred years ago, a plague specific to dungeon potatoes wiped them out. Since the Sun Castle had been isolated, its crop had managed to survive the extinction.
"When their food source vanished, monsters rampaged across the land. It was a nightmare. The complaints from the Human Kingdom were the worst of it—they accused us of controlling the beasts. Just thinking about it makes my blood boil."
Back then, the Demon King had only been a local noble. Afterward, the Demon Kingdom replaced the potatoes with Fairy Wheat. Like the potatoes, it was originally grown in the shade, but people soon discovered it flourished in direct sunlight as well. It grew in barren soil and tasted good, so it became quite popular. Its only flaw was a low yield.
This Fairy Wheat actually became more popular in the Human Kingdom than in our own. It was easy to cultivate and delicious. Naturally, it spread like wildfire. To make up for the low yield, they needed massive amounts of land, and the humans grew it everywhere. Eventually, there wasn't a single region left that wasn't farming it. Meanwhile, the Demon Kingdom struggled to find enough space, so we only grew it in the old potato caves. That ended up being our saving grace.
About fifteen years ago, a plague specific to Fairy Wheat broke out. The Human Kingdom fell into a massive famine. We had a shortage too, but nothing compared to theirs. Then came the inevitable claim that it was all the Demon Kingdom's fault, and war broke out. It was still going on to this day.
"They should focus on farming instead of fighting," I muttered.
"I couldn't agree more. However, the soil used for Fairy Wheat has been depleted to the point where other crops struggle to grow."
"Eh?"
"In the Human Kingdom, most of those fields are still unusable. I suppose that's why they're so focused on the war. They manage with whatever healthy land they have left, or by importing food from the Elven and Dwarven Kingdoms. And, though it’s not public knowledge, they buy from the Demon Kingdom as well."
"They buy food from their enemies?"
"There's an official ban, of course, but it's hard to enforce properly. There are factions who want to de-escalate the conflict just to keep the food trade moving. If we cracked down too hard, those factions would lose their influence, and the war might turn into a total massacre. Not that the Demon Kingdom has a massive surplus to share, anyway."
Is that so? I felt powerless. Even if I increased our village's production, it wouldn't change the world. Still...
"Was Fairy Wheat only grown in the shade in the Demon Kingdom?" I asked.
"No, we grew some in regular fields too."
"And those fields won't grow anything now?"
"Most of them are still barren."
"In that case, why don't you try planting dungeon potatoes there?"
"What do you mean?"
"Dungeon potatoes grow like crazy in the sun, right? I figured they might be able to handle that soil."
"That may be, but they won't produce any food if they're in the sun."
"The potatoes aren't the point."
"?"
I wasn't sure what the exact problem with the soil was, but if it couldn't support Fairy Wheat anymore, we just needed to turn it into something else. If the issue was a lack of specific nutrients—like soil exhaustion—the dungeon potatoes might help. Once they withered, they could serve as fertilizer. Since the fields were already abandoned, there was no harm in trying.
"Would it be alright if we also tried growing them for food in the shade?" the Demon King asked.
"Of course."
I wished him luck and handed over the seed tubers.
As for the dungeon potatoes themselves... monsters apparently loved them, but the reactions in the village were mixed. Kuro and his pack refused to touch them. Zabuton and her children ate them happily. The slimes completely ignored them.
The winged lion family at the hot spring seemed to eat them with some reluctance. I made sure to let them know they didn't have to force themselves. The Death Knights? They wouldn't even look at the things. I took that as a firm "no."
The Lamias and Giants tried them but politely told me the village's regular potatoes were much better. Still, both groups wanted to try growing them. The Lamias had discovered that their pet snakes loved the potatoes. The Giants wanted to use them as fodder for the Bloody Vipers; they figured that if the vipers were well-fed, the Giants would be safer. I gave them the seed tubers with a warning: monsters will come for them, and don't let them see the sun.
I conducted an experiment. I filled a mesh bag with potatoes and left it in a remote part of the forest. Within a few hours, a swarm of insect-type magic beasts had descended upon it. There were so many that I decided to just leave them to it. I wondered if they didn't swarm like that when the potatoes were in an actual dungeon.
Next, I buried a bag of them. Even after several days, they were untouched. They weren't even dug up. It seemed that as long as they were underground, monsters couldn't track them. Did dungeons have specific monsters whose job was to dig them up? The mysteries were endless.
The experiment to brew alcohol from them didn't go quite as well. With the help of the Universal Farming Tool, I managed to get a batch ready quickly, but the flavor was lacking. The dwarves were disappointed, noting that it couldn't hold a candle to sweet potato liquor. We decided to distill most of it into high-proof alcohol for other uses.
Finally, the High Ogre Maids experimented with cooking them. By grinding them into powder and steaming the paste, they created a substance with a neutral flavor and a bouncy, elastic texture—much like konnyaku. It was edible as-is, but boiling it made it surprisingly delicious. The lackluster taste was gone. I wondered if dungeon potatoes were actually a relative of the konnyaku potato. The ones I remembered were much larger and bulb-like, but I decided not to sweat the details. I was just happy we’d found a way to make them taste good.
I presented the High Ogre Maids with Reward Medals for their success.