Possessing Shadow meant having to deal with her senses, since most mortals can’t shut them off. The smell was terrible; an intoxicating mix of poison silver and burning wolf fur that made me want to gag. This was a time where I didn’t envy mortals and their real eyes, ears, and noses.
I focused. I didn’t have long, and I might be yanked out of Shadow’s body at any time.
Gripping the silver sword and feeling its heft in my hand, I sprinted toward the nearest wolf, made sure of my target, and then raised my weapon.
Yelling, I stabbed the sword through its back.
Backstab damage!
The tip of the silver sword sizzled through fur and flesh, penetrating deep into the wolf. The damage would have been bad enough, but Shadow’s backstab skill magnified it, and the wolf let out such a wolf that even the moon would have plugged its ears.
It fell face first and was still.
Just like that. Gone.
There was no time to celebrate; I still had to save Shadow. I darted toward Rusty just as his totem pumped its last fireball and the light around it extinguished.
“Plant another one,” I told him.
“No mana!”
“Then get back!”
I crossed through the tunnel archway and then sprinted twenty yards away from the poison chamber, getting Shadow as far out of danger as I could before my core control energy depleted.
The lurch which carried me back to my core body was disorientating, and at first, it was like I was waking from a dream. I knew I was back on my pedestal in the core room, but at the same time, it took my mind a second to catch up to the fact.
“Impressive,” said Gulliver, staring at me while not taking his hand away from his book page, which was filed with writing. “Your kobold Shadow is quite the warrior.”
Of course – Gulliver wouldn’t have known that I used Core Control on Shadow. Now wasn’t the time to correctly adjust the aim of his praise.
“We’re not done yet. I have another two wolves to tame.”
Without the fire totem pinning them back, and having escaped significant injury from it, the other canines now had a free run at the tunnel that led out of the poison chamber, at which point they could run rampant.
The poison converter was pumping tainted silver into the air, but it was having hardly any effect due to the tunnel archway allowing it to vent out. Keeping the wolves confined was still my best bet. But how?
The beasts, with charred chests and odd patches of burned fur, saw their means of escape now.
I couldn’t allow that. As soon as they hit the tunnels, the advantage turned to their side despite me having killed one of them.
I needed to think. The next second might define my whole dungeon reign.
Got it!
Riddle door created.
110 essence points used [Total: 388/615]
An iron door appeared at the tunnel entry, sealing the poison chamber once again.
“Set riddle,” I said, plucking one of the thousands of riddles I memorized in the academy from my brain. “The more you take, the more you leave behind. What am I?”
The riddle door knocker, shaped like a chicken, clucked in a way that sounded like it was laughing. “Footsteps.”
With the riddle door locking the wolves in the chamber, I breathed a sigh of relief. Metaphorically, given my lack of lungs.
I looked at Gulliver. “The chamber is sealed, and the silver poison will accumulate until the werewolves meet the canine version of the Grim Reaper. The Grim Rover, you might say.”
He didn’t laugh.
“After the popular dog name, Rover.”
Gulliver scribbled something in his book.
“Anyway, in their bestial state, they aren’t capable of guessing the riddle and thus are trapped. One of the drawbacks of the werewolf transformation, I’m afraid. Core Beno wins again,” I said.
“Core Beno might want to check his dungeon before he bakes himself a party cake.”
“Arses. Big, hairy troll arses. Is this never going to end?” I said.
One of the werewolves must have leaped out of the room in the split-second I created the riddle door, and now it was tearing through the tunnel and heading deeper into my dungeon, leaving its comrade behind to suffocate in the chamber.
“Marvelous creatures, really,” said Gulliver. “I won’t like to meet one, but to see one like this…an experience few can boast.”
The beast ran with its head ducked and its arms out wide, claws ready, its thigh muscles twitching with each meter it progressed.
“Wylie,” I said. “A hell pooch is heading down the tunnel toward you. Stick to the shadows, let it pass, then stick your silver sword in its rump.”
I cast my core vision into the room, displaying an image of the tunnel in question.
The werewolf’s speed was frightening. I didn’t think Wylie was quick enough to strike it as it passed him, but his sword was the best chance to end this before it got worse.
The beast was just ten meters from Wylie and Gary now, who waited on the corner, where the werewolf would have to turn.
“Get ready…” I said. “Stay calm.”
“Telling people to stay calm has been proven to induce anxiety,” said Gulliver.
The wolf got closer.
“It’s almost there…” I said.
Wylie turned to Gary. “You kill.”.
“Wylie, what are you doing? It’s almost on you!” I said.
Gary grabbed the silver sword with one of his leech legs, wrapping his sinew around it and wielding it in the same way I’d imagine an octopus would hold a baguette.
The wolf, sprinting at a speed only an intense fury could allow, turned the corner…
…and planted itself directly into the tip of a silver sword wielded by a spider-troll-leech monstrosity.
It gave a howl so great that my dungeon passageways echoed with it. The sound reverberated through every tunnel, every chamber, every room, until I heard it even in the core room. With its canine timbre, it was like a ballad sung by the leader of a wolf pack the eve after a battle, lamenting on all it had lost.
“Beautiful, in a sad kind of way,” said Gulliver.
“Sorry, chap,” said Gary, and thrust the sword deeper until the werewolf’s legs collapsed under it, and its arms hung at its side. He withdrew the sword and let the werewolf fall to the ground.
The dungeon was silent then, save for the sound of a duck quacking.
CHAPTER 17
I activated my carefully-designed poison chamber venting system. In practice, this meant that I mentally commanded a mouse-sized hatch leading to the surface to open, allowing the gas to escape.
“Rusty, go get the duck out of the poison chamber. No sense having poultry murder on my conscience.”
“Are ducks poultry? I always thought that was chickens,” said Gulliver. “Ducks are fowl.”
As Rusty went to retrieve the fortunate fowl, my dungeon filled with more cheering and whooping than at a jousting contest where a knight falls off his horse and lands face-first in dung.
The tunnels filled with the victory cries of kobolds who were lost for words at the fact that they’d come through this barely scathed. It echoed with the squelch of Gary’s leech legs slapping Wylie on the back. It resonated with the noise of fire beetles scampering down the passageways chanting “Fight!” “Death!” “Kill!”
What a day. What an intense, frightening, but absolutely amazing day. I could hardly believe what we’d done. A hero fight had turned into an impossible contest, yet we’d pulled ourselves through it.
As with any battle, the first thing I saw when my enemies were finally dead was a wave of information. I liked to think of this as less a boring notification, and more a confirmation of my brilliance.
[5] heroes defeated!
- 2x humans
- 3x werewolves
You have leveled up to from 7 to 10!
- Total essence increased to 909
; - Existing crafting categories expanded
- Dungeon capacity increased: 21 rooms, 25 traps, 14 puzzles, 26 monsters, 2 boss monsters
- Core Control duration increased
Well, oil my backside and call me the emperor of dungeon cores…I had just leveled up three times from a single fight! I knew Gulliver had been joking when he mentioned a celebratory cake, but now I really felt like baking one.
After defeating a party of five heroes I knew I would level up once, but I hadn’t expected a triple-level up. I supposed that was the benefit of taking on three werewolves, even if I hadn’t initially known I was dragging myself into such a fight.
This improvement meant that I had a bigger essence capacity to deal with, and as well as expanding my crafting categories. And to top it all off…I could now afford to create a drownjack!
Of course, I’d have to make a pool of water for it to live in, but that wasn’t a bad thing. With pools of water came added difficulties for would-be heroes. Swimming through a pond of fetid dungeon water is hard enough when you’re weighed down by weapons and armor, but it becomes a real pain with a drownjack swimming beneath the surface. This could be an excellent addition to my lair.
Unfortunately, I needed to turn my attention to the narkleer and defeating its master so that I could have the creature on my side. I had to do that before the clan up top got wind of it and I lost my advantage. I still had scheming to win my freedom to worry about, after all, so I couldn’t spend all my essence yet. Sadly, the drownjack would have to wait.
As well as my own level-ups, I received a notification of my clanmates’ improvements, too. It made for interesting reading.
“So how does a dungeon core celebrate victory?” asked Gulliver. “A song from your bard, perhaps? Is there a party room hidden away down here, filled with decorations like rotting corpses and…I don’t know…big, stinking piles of hero flesh?”
“A lovely thought, but we don’t have parties. I do need to address my people, however.” I cast my core voice throughout the whole dungeon now. “Brave kobolds, bugs, shamans, bards. I’d like you all to meet me in the loot room.”
And with that, I traveled to a pedestal north of the core room, where I found myself in the biggest chamber in the whole dungeon. This was the loot room, which would normally host the bulk of a core’s battles against heroes.
Today, it was free from blood, guts, and all the delightful things that fall out of people’s bodies. Instead, there was just a loot chest sitting in the center of it. The only other thing of note was a tiny crack in the ceiling, through which daylight from the surface filtered. It was the result of a mining mishap, and it was so low on my list of priorities that we hadn’t fixed it yet.
One by one my creatures joined me. Karson and Tarius were first, joined by Wylie who was bragging to them about his part in the fight.
“And then Wylie pass sword to Gary and say ‘Gary, kill!’ Wylie was like war general!” he said.
Next were the bugs, scampering in on their cute little legs, chirping about death and killing. You’d think they would get bored of the same conversation over and over again.
Rusty entered with a ‘Yip yip!’, while Gary and Brecht strolled in together, locked in what looked to be a thoughtful chat.
“Music is food for the soul,” said Gary. “A sandwich for the self, an egg for the ego. I would so love to hear you play when we get a break, dear chap.”
Brecht, idly tapping his tambourine, smiled. “I do have a new ballad I’m working on, as it happens.”
“Oh? My beetles and I would love to play you one of our musical creations, too. We call it ‘Fight, Death, Kill.’ I am useless with lyrics, I’m afraid, so I let the beetles compose them.”
“Sounds interesting.”
Gary put a leech leg across Brecht’s shoulder. “Thank you, my bard friend.”
The next to enter were my jellies, Peach and…the other one. I hadn’t named him yet. I thought about calling him Cream, but Peaches and Cream was something a ten-year-old girl might name her pet mice. I needed something more dungeon-like.
“Jelly,” I said. “I’ve had other things on my mind lately, so I haven’t given you a name. I apologize for the oversight. Your moniker is Gore.”
“Thank you, good core,” said Gore, wobbling with every word.
Peaches, swaying in midair beside his jelly brethren, frowned. “Thank you, good core,” he said, in a mocking voice. “Give me a break.”
“Don’t be like that, my friend,” said Gore to his jelly compatriot.
“Don’t be like that. Pathetic!”
I sighed. “Now now, Peaches. None of your negativity today, thank you. This is a special occasion; we have slaughter to celebrate. Where’s Shadow?”
“Saw her heading to the surface,” said a voice. It was Gulliver, who had just entered the room. “I said hello, and she told me to go sit naked on a porcupine.”
I thought about Shadow and her close-call in the poison chamber, and how she hadn’t responded to my orders.
“Leave her be for a while,” I said.
Finally, Tomlin joined us. He wore his cultivator gloves, which he had insisted that I buy him. They looked like oven mitts.
“And here’s our essence cultivator,” I said. “You missed the battle, Tomlin. I bet you’re so disappointed.”
“Devasted, Dark Lord,” he answered with a grin.
My entire clan was gathered before me, minus my hivemind shroom boss monster who was currently taking residence on the ceiling of the essence growing room, where it liked to get some peace and quiet.
I couldn’t help but feel proud of my clan.
“Gentlemen, kobolds, jellies, leech-troll-spider hybrids with delightful personalities. I once started this dungeon with nothing, and now my brood is growing. Not just in number, but skill. Look at yourselves. Look at each other. I want to pat yourselves on the back.”
The loot room filled with a cacophony of sounds; kobolds slapping jelly, leech legs squelching on kobolds’ backs, beetles struggling vainly to reach their pincers high enough for their actions to count as a slap on the back.
“Okay, okay,” I said when the noise became grating.
The sounds died down.
“I am proud of you all,” I continued. “Together, we murdered some heroes today. And not just any old heroes, but werewolves. Yes, there were some mistakes. Some mishaps. And even a rogue shaman putting himself in danger, but nevertheless, I wanted to express to you all how great a job you did. Let’s have a round of applause. I have no hands and cannot participate in it, but I will be giving you applause of the mind.”
Almost immediately I regretted it, since the sound of leeches and kobolds and beetles trying to clap is exactly the same as them patting each other’s backs.
I watched them as they all applauded each other. I enjoyed the smiles on their faces, the way their eyes lit up. Just to think that killing heroes could have that effect! It was as wholesome a moment as I have ever experienced.
“Now,” I said. “Let’s discuss your improvements. Feast your collective eyes – and that includes any four-eyed west-sands crustaceans listening – on this.”
I projected my post-combat notifications so that the herd could see them.
Gary [Troll-Leech-Spider Melded-Monster] has leveled up to 6!
- Leech teeth strengthened
- Stone skin thickened
- Spider eyesight increased
Rusty [Kobold, Shaman] has leveled up to 6!
- Mana increased
- Totem learned: Ooze: Fires armor-eating goo at nearby opponents, chewing through their defenses.
Shadow [Kobold, Scout] has leveled up to 8!
- Tippy-toes sneak skill upgraded to Feather Toes
[An advanced form of sneaking available to a scout. Allows them to pass by people, animals, mana-sentries, and totems. Less effective against higher-level enemy rogues and scouts.]
The loot room crowd broke into a medley of c
hatter and questions and congratulations. Wylie leaped into the air, punching his fist as high as he could.
“Well done Rusty, Gary, Shadow! Dungeon is stronger now!”
Gary bowed as low as his stone spider torso would allow him to. “It was really nothing. A trifling matter. When you stick a sword in flesh, there really is no other outcome than death. Besides, our friend Rusty saved Shadow and pinned the wolves back with his totem.”
“Yip yip,” said Rusty. “Much appreciated. But I didn’t kill anything.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I told him. “Your totems damaged the wolves, which gave you involvement in the battle. That means you earned a share of experience. But please, Rusty, don’t endanger yourself again. This is my dungeon, and I have your safety to think about.”
“Shadow was so brave,” said Tomlin. “Killing a werewolf by herself.”
“Brave,” agreed Wylie.
I pictured Shadow, pressed against the wall and scared. I decided not to tell the others that I had used core control to kill the werewolf, wielding Shadow’s body like a weapon. It would be better for morale if she received the praise.
“Speaking of Shadow,” I said, “I have an announcement to make. It didn’t escape my notice that in the poison room, part of the stone ceiling dislodged for no apparent reason, drawing the wolves’ attention to Shadow and endangering her. As much as I do think you all whine a little too much, I concede that conditions need to be improved. We can’t keep mining in a way that makes the place unstructurally sound. This is a dungeon, not a death trap.”
“Structurally unsound, I think you wanted to say,” said Gulliver. “Unstructurally sound doesn’t mean anything.”
“Scribes should be seen and not heard. You know that by entering my dungeon voluntarily, you technically satisfy the definition requirements of a hero?” I said.
Gulliver puffed his chest. “Never been called a hero before.”
Dungeon Core Academy: Books 1-7 (A LitRPG Series) Page 49