Now that Shrubley had a small fortune in which to deck himself out with all the amazing weapons that were the hallmark of a true Hero, he could finally look like the Hero he always dreamed he was.

Shrubley could see himself in gleaming plate mail like that Paladin who had so kindly welcomed him to the city. I should like to get a flaming sword, and maybe some darksteel armor. Then with the rest I could get a flying mount, something regal. Like a hippogryph.

The little shrub nodded to himself. Yes, that will do nicely. And with the remainder of my vast riches, I will treat myself to a spa day. Root soaks, bark treatment, and some light hedge trimming into all sorts of whimsical shapes!

Many shops lined the street, containing fantastical new things he lacked proper names for. People watched him as he ambled down the street, looking from one opening shop to the other.

Adventurers were early risers and even the shops in a village at the edge of civilization like Taamra carried a wide assortment of equipment and goods that many adventurers would need.

After all, without their goods, adventurers couldn’t do their jobs and it was in the best interest of all people to make sure adventurers could take care of the sundry monsters, Dungeons, Towers, and evil Lairs that popped up from time to time.

His leaves trembled with excitement as Shrubley wondered where he would go first, and what his first adventuring equipment would turn out to be.

He stopped to watch an alchemy shop open for the day, its windows lighting up with multicolored displays of fancy glass bottles containing elixirs and potions.

Shrubley could only vaguely recognize what they were from the Druid’s teachings, and yet he instantly yearned to learn more.

What sort of magical effects do those potions have? What do the different colors mean? Oh, how are they made?

He had so many questions for the old witch and wizard stirring the big bubbling cauldrons within the shop.

But when he went into the shop, he found it suddenly empty. The witch and wizard were nowhere to be seen.

Faint voices behind a beaded curtain at the back of the curiously smelling shop reached him.

“Is it gone?”

“No, it’s looking at the [Shriving Potions]! Can’t we call the Guild to come deal with it?”

“Didn’t you hear? That thing is supposed to be a junior adventurer!” the voice hissed. “It’ll eventually give up and go away. Maybe it’ll try to steal something and we can get it kicked out of the Guild.”

Shrubley did not understand, but there were a great many things he did not understand. He figured that perhaps there was a new adventurer around these parts that the owners did not like.

Perhaps the poor adventurer smelled funny. Not that he expected people working in a shop like this to be able to tell.

With a shrug of his shrubby body, the would-be adventurer left to go find another shop. There were more than he would have thought. One of them had to be open.

It was still early in the day as well. That was one thing he liked about humanfolk. They enjoyed the sun too, and so tended to be out and about during the day.

At least, that’s what Shrubley observed so far. Perhaps there were other humanfolk who preferred to go about their lives during the darkness of night, and he just hadn’t met them yet.

I should like to, I think!

Something that Shrubley did not notice was that the townspeople went out of their way to avoid him. Humans and elves going about their day kept a wide berth.

People would cross the river of stones–no, Shrubley thought to himself, it is a street–whenever he appeared. The shops he entered were deserted by the time the little bell that told the shopkeeper there was a customer to serve stopped ringing.

Time and time again, Shrubley wasn’t exactly turned away, but he failed to be greeted at every shop in town. He even made sure to loop back around from the main thoroughfare where the buildings pressed and leaned against one another for support, just in case he had missed them when they went out for their morning tea.

Maybe… that adventurer that smells is me. What else could it be?

He had gone through that alchemy shop first. Maybe something from the shop clung to him. Humans and elves were both sensitive. Shrubley had the same senses, they were just a little different.

Though he had no ears and no nose, he could still smell and hear just fine. The Druid explained it in terms of morpho-something and Genesis Fields.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

He did not comprehend the particulars, but he did not need to in order for those things to affect him.

What was important, however, was that he possessed all the same five senses as the core races. Just to be sure, Shrubley lifted the twisted set of branches that made up his spindly arm and tried to sniff his underarm.

He’d seen many men do it in the morning, especially after being rejected by a female. He did not know why they did it, but the faces they made suggested that they detected something unpleasant.

Shrubley could only smell clean leaves and fresh growth. He did not have a hint of the alchemy shop’s scent lingering on him.

Taamra wasn’t a large town, but it had the wild organic stretches of streets and buildings of old towns everywhere that had grown in spurts over the decades. With a handful of cobblestone streets that rose to the flat-topped hill where the majority of the important-looking buildings resided, Shrubley could explore the town quite quickly.

The buildings on the hill were important government things that did not interest him aside from the Adventurers Guild. But he went up there in case there was a shop he missed.

There was not.

He turned around and went back the way he had come. More friendly people were filling the streets. Perhaps the shops were open now?

Small animals made threatening noises nearby, and a trio of cats chased an even smaller one.

The scared creature darted by, then huddled within the shelter of an alley, watching the others slowly approach it.

Shrubley felt a sort of kinship with this animal, though he did not know why. He went over to the cornered black cat and turned towards the angry calico trio.

He adopted as serious a look as he could manage, narrowing his lamplight eyes into tilted triangular shapes. Shrubley shook his leaves, making himself look bigger and more threatening than he truly was.

Surprisingly, they backed away and then ran off.

Returning to his friendly demeanor, Shrubley turned his attention back to the lone cat and gently rustled his leaves in greeting.

The cat quite liked this and proceeded to bat at his branches, then brush against him in what felt like a friendly way. That made Shrubley feel good. Accepted, even.

“You are a nice cat,” he decided.

The black cat meowed affectionately in response, and then sauntered off, going deeper into the alley. Wondering where it was going, Shrubley followed, going down alley after alley.

Whenever the cat got too far, it sat and washed itself, waiting for Shrubley to catch up.

Toward the outskirts of Taamra, keeping his little lamplight yellow eyes peeled for the cat, Shrubley found a shop. Or rather, the shop found him.

“Pssst! Hey, bush boy! Yeah, you. C’mere!”

Shrubley looked around until he found the speaker. He bristled with excitement. The old man with wild hair and more creases in his face than a year-old-apple was waving at him.

The black cat curled up contently beside him. Apparently the two of them were friends, which instantly made Shrubley trust the old man.

The little shrub thought that the old man looked a bit like a Druid, albeit malnourished and thin. He had the rolled-in-dirt look that his Druid was fond of, but his body was small and emaciated. He wore drab clothes that looked like old bedsheets, and now that Shrubley was closer to the man, he smelled quite bad.

However, he had a small grubby sheet spread out before him with several little knick knacks. Tiny half-crumpled cards identified the items and their prices.

The shrub looked from them up to the man who grinned with fewer teeth than he had fingers. “Your mane of hair is very wild and impressive,” Shrubley said kindly. “You look like a dandelion.”

The shopkeeper, which he couldn’t legally be called owing to this-and-that, stared at him. With his dirty palms pressed to his knobbly knees, Winmore peered into the shrub’s glowing yellow eyes. If there was any cruelty or mirth there at his expense, Winmore couldn’t tell.

He put on his most brilliant smile. Which wasn’t much given his lack of teeth, but he made up for beauty and presentation with sheer grit. “What could old Winmore get the fine young sir?”

It was clear to the permanently down-on-his-luck Winmore that the shrub was new, not just to the area, but to all things. With a name like Winmore, and his pitiful performance throughout life, the old man was used to the casual cruelty of others for the sin of being different.

He didn’t have much to sell, and what he did have was marked up for foolish adventurers coming from the Inner Ring, who thought they were too good for country folk.

“Ho, boy, would you look at that?” Winmore said excitedly, pointing a gnarled finger at the stained brick wall behind the shrub.

Shrubley looked around.

Faster than lightning, the old man switched out the items on display and the cards for something more useful and better priced. Enough people had kicked him down the stairs of life that he had a perpetual gutter-view. He couldn’t be a party to this little darling’s ostracization.

Shrubley looked back and furrowed his leafy brow. He was sure that the cards and items both had been different. What had looked like beautiful gems, cards, shining tools, and glowing bottles of wondrous potions were now something very different.

In case the man had some disorder that made his shop rearrange itself, Shrubley kept his thoughts to himself. It would not do to insult such a kind person.

With supple wooden fingers, he picked up a carved wooden sword. It was worn and well-used, but it was beautiful all the same.

[Practice Sword]

(Weapon, Magic Focus)

(Mundane Rank) (★★★ Rare)

A simple wooden practice sword that has uncountable notches and chips, but has somehow managed to survive largely intact. A small portion of each wielder’s mana has been imparted to this weapon, making it suitable as a magic focus. An incredible rarity among Mundane Ranked items.

Imprint: Serves as a focus for spellcasting, enhancing magic potency and range. Deals mixed physical slashing and magical neutral damage. Gives a minuscule boost to the Willpower attribute when using this item.

“For you, young sir,” the man said, “I’ll knock 10 coppers off the price. It’s a steal at 25 copper, but for 15 copper I’m robbin’ meself blind!”

Shrubley could feel a core of magic within the weapon. It was weak, but so was Shrubley, so that made it okay.

Carefully, he counted out the coins and handed them over. Things were far more expensive than he thought. With only 35 coppers left, Shrubley’s vast wealth was shrinking like morning dew on a leaf under the summer sun.

The next item that caught his eye, however, was too good to pass up. Shrubley would rather go without a root soak or a hedge trim if he could have it. Besides, he was going to get another 50 [Copper Coins] when he finished his quest.

If you really thought about it, buying equipment was an investment. Or so the old man told him, and Shrubley had no reason to doubt his toothless grin.