[Shrubley, the Monster Adventurer] Chapter 112 – Count von Count

“Hold still maarthter!” Igor said, slathering on the burn cream.

“That cur stole my weapons! And my best suit!” The Count bellowed.

“Aren’t you forgetting somethting, maarthter?”

After a poignant pause, the vampyr added. “He stole my wife too!”

Igor continued to diligently apply the [Shadowmatter Burn Cream]. It did wonders for vampyrs afflicted by the sun’s blight. Though, the ointment’s effectiveness was greatest if applied rapidly after a recent burn.

Already, the Count’s hand was regenerating within the sheltering darkness of an underground cavern. He experimentally flexed his hand, his eyes glowing a fierce scarlet.

The damp place wasn’t the most illustrious area to recover in, which said volumes for the nature of the Count’s retreat.

Shrubley had defeated him without even lifting a twiggy finger. It infuriated the Count. A little weakling of a Copper Ranker should never be able to trounce a Mid Iron.

And while it was true, that wasn’t entirely the case, since the Count detected that the soul shrub had managed to achieve Low Bronze. It was the Count’s own fault he had been bested before they even crossed swords.

Once, the Count regarded Shrubley as a hero. He even felt grateful. Now he wanted nothing more than to beat him into the dirt and send him back to wherever he came so that his own life could return to normal.

“If I must kill him, I shall,” the vampyr muttered miserably, unable to let go of his rising anger.

Igor paused. He considered rivalries between Awakened monsters to be all well and good. However, threatening to kill Shrubley was going too far.

Shrubley had been polite to Igor when they first met, despite being enemies. And an Igor never forgets good manners.

The servant wasn’t sure what to do. The Count was his master. What was an Igor without a master? It was like lightning without thunder!

“Thir, do you truly mean that?”

The vampyr looked up at the ugly face of his hunchbacked servant. “What do you mean? What did I say?”

Igor blinked rapidly, quite surprised.

Falling back into his thoughts and ruminations, the Count continued to stew.

He had never compared to the Countess in neither elegance nor power, but he hadn’t been replaced by another before. Sure, they had something of an unusual relationship after she caught him with some maidens in the manor, but no one had truly stood in his way.

Besides, maidens in a vampyr’s castle were practically a prerequisite! He would have been laughed out of the Fang Monthly newsletter if it came out that he was wholly monogamous.

The Count wasn’t as foolish as he outwardly appeared. On some level, he knew that Shrubley and Miranda were not romantically involved. While he feared the possibility, that wasn’t the real issue.

The Count and Countess loved one another, in their own special way. She would go off on little adventures, and the Count would entertain at the manor. It was their arrangement.

Miranda’s departure represented something far more serious than any romantic fling. By leaving with Shrubley, a young monster who needed her guidance to find his way in the world, Miranda might never return.

The Count wasn’t the smartest, nor the strongest, but he was loyal (for a given value of “loyal”) and handsome. In that moment of self-reflection, he was less than honest with himself.

That loyalty, that attraction, couldn’t possibly hold Miranda’s attention when compared to the great unknown of adventure. She was meant for so much more than what Taamra had to offer.

Than what he had to offer.

He didn’t want to admit that, not to himself, and not to her. He desperately wanted to put off the inevitable.

Unlike Miranda, the Count was not an adventurer. He only gained Iron by focusing all of his power into his lair. Otherwise he would barely be Bronze. Much longer away from his manor, and he would fall from Iron entirely.

The adventuring life, with its deadly escapades, hazardous conditions, and various hardships was not the life he wanted. And what was wrong with that?

What was so wrong about wanting a comfortable immortality? He had money, he had land, even the sun only gave him a bad burn. Why wasn’t that enough for her?

It scared him that Shrubley gained so much power so startlingly fast. A soul shrub was one of the weakest kinds of monsters. It shouldn’t have been possible for him to reach Bronze rank so simply.

The Count breathed in deeply. “I know what to do,” he said. “Igor.”

“Maathter?”

“Assemble the cousins. We’re going hunting and I will require their aid. I have decided that facing Shrubley alone is… beneath me. Yes. Beneath my notice. I will send the cousins after him. They haven’t had a good snack in a while, what with all the recent bad business. Recall them from the marshes.”

Igor wrung his hands, desperately trying to follow that leap of logic. He did, however, have to admit that it was far more sporting. Much more like a proper Count.

By Igor’s reckoning, the cousins would be pretty easily trounced by Shrubley, but at least it would be Bronze on Bronze. Punching down was very unbecoming, even if the Count clearly desired to fight Shrubley himself.

“Oh, and Igor?” The Count leaned back against the wall of the cave and steepled his fingers, wincing slightly at the stinging pain. “Fetch me my… black book.”

“Thir, that ith cruel!” Igor said with a mad gleam in his eye.

While he loved the Count and Countess as only an Igor could, he found it much more interesting and above all entertaining, when the Count and Countess fought amongst themselves.

After all, there was little the Count could do to harm the Countess, and yet he never ceased in trying. It was endearing to Igor, and he greatly wished to see the Countess’ face when she realized what he had done.

Most importantly, he desperately wanted to see what her reply would be.

While the Count was petty and mean, the Countess was evil.

Igor wrung his six-fingered hands together. This was shaping up to be some prime time vampyr drama. I’ll have to call my cousins up in Semael. They’ll want to scry on this!

***

Sitting around the campfire that night, Shrubley pulled up his status and reveled in the changes he was undergoing. Not only did he gain a surfeit of attributes from leveling up, but also from increasing both his rank and the rank of his Life essence. Resulting in surprisingly large gains.

[Shrubley]

Race: Soul Shrub

Class: Sage Knight

Rank: Low Bronze

Adventurer: E-Grade (2-Star)

Level: 27

[Attributes]

Strength: 64

Skill: 58

Hardiness: 93

Willpower: 133

Arcane: 93

Restoration: 121

[Essences]

[Life (Prime)] (Bronze Rank)

• [Transference]

• [Embrava]

[Curiosity (Black)] (Copper VI Rank)

• [Lifelong Student]

• [Recycle]

[Nature (Green)] (Copper V Rank)

• [Bark Armor]

• [Budding Barrage]

• [Graft]

[Light (White)] (Bronze Rank)

• [Recovery]

• [Counteract]

While Shrubley enjoyed seeing the numerical representation of his strength go up, he didn’t obsess over it. Sometimes he hardly noticed when he leveled up, other than the gradual increase in his capabilities.

It seemed to be a monster thing.

Nobody else obsessed over their attributes or levels either, but Shrubley had heard the adventurers in the Guild talk about it at length as if it was the only important thing in the world.

Shrubley didn’t get it.

His new essence powers were far more interesting. Since every essence was tied to its own rank, and each rank gave a new imprint for a given essence ability, attaining a new rank meant gaining new powers.

And those were very fascinating indeed.

While he had already gone over his [Embrava] power, his older essence abilities, [Recovery], [Counteract], and [Transference] had also gained a new imprint with his latest rank.

[Recovery (Light)]

Cost: Moderate Mana

Cooldown: 10 seconds

Duration: 70 seconds

All things strive.

Imprint (Copper): Once you touch a wounded creature, you are able to tell the severity of their wounds and apply a non-stacking instance of healing magic that will gradually restore all damage equally.

Imprint (Bronze): The use of Recovery now stacks.

The change to [Recovery] now granting stacks of itself, was one of the most exciting things that happened to Shrubley. However, even with the slightly increased duration, it meant at best he could have between 7 and 8 stacks on a single person.

While a lot, it didn’t mean he could infinitely stack them and then turn his attention elsewhere. As much as he enjoyed the loss of [Recovery’s] restriction, he preferred the change to [Transference] most of all.

[Transference (Life)]

Cost: Variable health, mana, or stamina

Cooldown: 80 seconds

Not all sacrifices need to be evil.

Imprint (Copper): Transfer a portion of your own health, mana, or stamina to any creature you can touch.

Imprint (Bronze): Transfer afflictions and negative status effects from any creature you can touch to yourself. The duration of the status effect (if not resisted) is halved.

Not only was the cooldown 10 seconds less, but the new imprint would make Shrubley’s life a lot easier.

[Counteract (Light)]

Cost: Very High Mana

Cooldown: 1 hour

What doesn’t kill you, only serves to make you stronger.

Imprint (Copper): Once you gain an affliction, you can utilize your natural ability to cultivate materials to create a counteracting agent.

Imprint (Bronze): You can now immediately nullify up to (3) afflictions. The time to producing a counteracting agent is halved.

Up until that point, if he wanted to use [Counteract], he would need to be personally afflicted. Now, he could draw out the poison or negative status condition into himself, healing the person and triggering [Counteract] at the same time. In Shrubley’s opinion, the two essence abilities synergized very well.

Shrubley was eager to try it out. He had asked the Countess if they could detour to any of the surrounding farms, but the first 3 they stopped at were already visited by the Adventurers Guild.

Lord Hammar was more effective than Shrubley had given him credit. Even though Shrubley had been there when the Countess suggested–rather strongly–that the Guild send out potions and antidotes that she had made to the surrounding homesteads, Shrubley did not think they would have reacted so swiftly.

“Lord Hammar is a good man,” Shrubley said, watching the crackling flames of the hearth and feeling their warmth.

Like every other night, the Countess seemed to come alive in the darkness. Her ruby eyes glittered with vitality. “Indeed, he is. Much too good for this backwater town, but we can’t all be perfect.”

In some ways, the vampyr seemed to be Shrubley’s opposite. He was not sure why it took him so long to see that. He appreciated that despite their differences, she still took on the role of his teacher.

It would have been easier for her to train other vampyrs and night dwelling creatures.

“You stayed in Taamra,” Shrubley pointed out. “Is that not the same?”

“No. I…” Realizing she was about to say something heartfelt for once, Miranda cleared her throat and switched gears. “This is not about me. Have you completed your training task, Shrubley?”

“Yes, ma’am, 100 cycles of my mana from my roots to each leaf.”

“Then do it again and no more talking!”

“Yes, Countess.”

Konko looked up from her area by the fire. She was also under the Countess’ tutelage, but for a very different reason. Unlike the others who were constantly training every hour of the day when they were under her sight, Konko only had to train when they stopped to eat or rest.

In between she was given pop quizzes about which herbs did what and what preparation methods worked best for which concoction.

It was much more than she would have ever thought she’d have to endure, and truthfully, she enjoyed every moment of it. The few times they were ambushed by feral monsters, she didn’t even have a breakdown!

Shrubley and his party knew friend from foe and were quick to dispatch justice to those creatures who were no different from feral beasts.

Cal was holding his hand out over the flames, water dripping from his slightly charred bones. With a look of extreme concentration on his face, he rattled off a list of numbers the Countess had given him a few minutes earlier.

The ice that formed on Cal’s finger bones melted completely and he pulled his hand back with a yelp.

“You need to keep your concentration,” the Countess chided. “In battle you will be distracted, but you still need to be able to maintain your spells and your essence abilities. Again.”

“But I’m no good with numbers!” Cal told her.

“Fine, then we’ll try words: Alfalfa, Tomb, Book, Solar, Aqueous…” On and on, the Countess listed out a total of a dozen words, none of them related in any way that Shrubley could connect.

Shrubley watched as he channeled mana throughout his body, into every tiny capillary in his leaves, and then back again. It gave his normally emerald-colored leaves a shimmering Bronze edge much like his adventurers badge.

Cal stuck his hand back into the flames, now encased in ice. Shrubley leaned forward, focusing on Cal’s brow. Was he… sweating milk?