Chapter Thirty: The Venomous Dagger (Part Two)

From then on, our exploration of the subterranean tomb went smoothly, though not without excitement. The language barrier persisted, and our companions would occasionally shout baffling battle cries like “*”, “damn it,” “idiot,” or “banana guava,” which inevitably left others in confusion. Yet as we spent more time together, a subtle understanding began to form among us. No longer did miscommunication lead to the senseless deaths of teammates.

Deep within a corner of the burial chamber, fortune favored us: we discovered the personal soldier sent by Colonel Pekra to gather intelligence. He was a mere level twenty-seven warrior, nothing remarkable. I couldn’t fathom how he’d managed to evade the vampires guarding the tomb and infiltrate so far alone—without the help of my own companions, I couldn’t even reach the tomb’s entrance by myself. His feat left me feeling woefully inadequate; it was disheartening.

But now, this valiant soldier was clearly unable to continue his mission. During his exploration, vampires had discovered him; though he escaped their pursuit, he suffered grievous wounds and could only hide here, awaiting rescue.

He explained that when he set out, he carried a pouch of magic powder that could teleport him back to Valen Fortress in an instant. However, during the fight, the vampires had stolen it, and it was likely now in the hands of a vampire count called Berkshire. He begged us to retrieve the magic powder and send him back to the city, informing us that Berkshire patrolled the tomb and would certainly pass through the next hall.

Following the soldier’s directions, we arrived at the hall. Not long after, the figure of “Vampire Count Berkshire” appeared in the corridor leading in.

In our minds, the word “vampire” conjured an image of a tall, gaunt figure with pallid skin, slender fingers, and crimson eyes—an impression confirmed by our encounters thus far. Yet the Berkshire Count walking towards us shattered that stereotype entirely, leaving us dumbfounded.

A bald head, a round belly, a neck almost entirely sunk into his chest, arms thicker than a normal person’s thighs, and thighs wider than most people’s waists—all tightly wrapped in an evening gown so massive it could serve as a curtain for the gates of Valen Fortress. Yet on him, it looked shrunken, akin to a corset worn by noblewomen.

“Hey, Triangle, isn’t that you? When did you become a vampire?” the dwarven priest raised his arm and patted the half-orc wanderer’s thigh, teasing him. His jest wasn’t entirely unwarranted; in fact, I found the comparison uncannily apt—this peculiar vampire count was simply a giant version of our half-orc companion.

“Nonsense! My physique is way better than his!” Triangle retorted indignantly.

“Physique?” I feigned astonishment, widening my eyes in mockery. “I fail to see what that word has to do with you.”

Triangle shot me a fierce glare, then pointed at the count’s belly and loudly reminded us, “Look closely! He only has one abdominal muscle, while I have two…”

He tightened his belt, already stretched to its limit and nearly snapping, and added with unshakable confidence under our astonished gazes:

“One above, one below…”

Our first battle with a vampire count began amidst laughter. As Berkshire charged at us, bellowing, “Turn the intruders into minced flesh!” I was still doubled over, laughing at Triangle’s terrible joke about abs, utterly unprepared when the count’s slap sent me sprawling to the ground, my health bar instantly dropping to less than four-fifths. Only then did my companions acknowledge the brute force of this fat adversary and launch our counterattack.

Krado came to my aid. Seeing me wounded, he immediately planted an “Anger Totem” on the ground before me. This totem neither harmed enemies nor granted magical effects to allies. Its sole purpose was to stir rage deep within the enemy’s heart, compelling them to target it first and drawing their attention. Because of this, shamans rarely used it in combat.

But this time, the totem was a lifesaver. Just as the vampire count was about to rush over and continue pummeling me, he suddenly became consumed by the totem’s influence, roaring as he turned to attack it. The fragile pillar could not withstand his fury; in a few blows, it was smashed to fragments. Yet the brief moment it bought was enough for me to recover and prepare to rejoin the fight.

Once the Anger Totem was destroyed, three more totems appeared at Krado’s feet: the “Life Totem” for healing, the “Guardian Totem” to strengthen our defenses, and the “Binding Totem” to slow the enemy’s movements.

I had never encountered a shaman before. To me, the name—tinged with cultish undertones—carried little prestige, often evoking “tradition,” “primitivism,” or “ignorance,” coloring my thoughts with prejudice.

Only now did I realize how fortunate it was to have a shaman at your side in battle.

Under the magic of his totems, we all felt our muscles grow powerful and resilient, the flow of invigorating blood coursing joyfully through our bodies, awakening vitality from deep within. While mages and priests could only cast support spells on one companion at a time, unable to provide immediate aid to all, and bards could enhance only one ability per spell, none could offer the simultaneous support we now received. Moreover, as the totems empowered us, our shaman also wielded his battle axe, relentlessly striking at our massive foe—something no other class could manage.

To be a mage, the primary requirement is mastery over the magic elements that surround you, bending them to your will.

A mage can only specialize in spells based on one element. The more frequently he connects with that element, the stronger his affinity, but his sensitivity to other elements inevitably diminishes.

Black Aurora was a fire mage, which meant he was entirely cut off from water magic and could only use a handful of low-level spells outside his specialty.

For example, the basic wind spell: Gale.

Gale manipulates wind elements into a cyclone to attack the enemy, but its damage is minimal, almost useless against a sturdy, heavily defended foe like the vampire count.

However, Black Aurora had invented a unique magical technique, blending his fire magic with Gale to create a new spell with far greater destructive force.

Now, his left hand cradled a small vortex of magic wind, and he chanted a convoluted incantation. A bright flame began to form in his right hand, coalescing into a blazing spear radiating intense heat.

In an instant, he brought his hands together, wrapping the fiery spear in the wind vortex, which spun rapidly as it shot toward the count’s enormous belly. The high-speed rotation greatly amplified the spear’s piercing power, and a huge burst of blood erupted above Berkshire’s head, draining nearly two hundred points of his health.

Triangle and Longbow Sunshot’s new weapons proved their worth as well: with their coordinated assault, blood flashed above the count’s head again and again. Sometimes Triangle’s attacks landed critical hits, inflicting no less than two hundred damage—considering his attack speed, such lethality was far from ordinary.

Despite being a vampire count, Berkshire stood no chance against us. Compared to the other vampires we’d faced, he was merely tougher, stronger, longer-lived, and larger—in fact, his corpulence was his greatest weakness. His massive frame gave us ample room to maneuver, while he was forced to contend with all our attacks at once.

Soon, the battle ended with little suspense. We searched the count’s corpse for the magic powder and found a ring that enhanced vitality and physical damage. As thanks for Krado’s aid during the fight, I gladly handed it over to our minotaur shaman.

The ring was so small that even my pinky could barely fit it, but the minotaur slipped it onto his thick finger with ease. I wondered if it felt too tight for him.

We returned the magic powder to the injured soldier and successfully completed the quest, earning a tidy sum, two potent healing potions, and some soul energy. Before we left, the soldier told us that the stairs in the third burial chamber ahead led down to the second level of the tomb, to the Death God’s altar—the headquarters of the vampires, where their leader lurked.

Staring at the pitch-black stairs, a ripple of anxiety and anticipation swept through me:

Who knew what awaited us at the end of this adventure?

(Seems I should advertise myself. My original name is Melodious String, allergic to alcohol, and I once wrote a little piece called “Reflections of the Stars.” If you have time, check it out. But if you have votes, be sure to come and cast them for me!)