Dungeon Core Academy: Books 1-7 (A LitRPG Series)

by Alex Oakchest

  “You might have told me that. I’m walking around with a weapon of madness in my satchel!”

  “You also have a mimic capable of stealing memories and then embodying them,” I said, “but you weren’t being such a baby about carrying Dolos. Besides, I told you; Namantep isn’t conscious. She will never be conscious unless I go through a ridiculous effort to make it so. Relax, and focus on finding the monster.”

  “What is it that we’re looking for, anyway?” said Gulliver. “You said you only wanted to catch a monster better than the ones you have. A monster that can kill Cael. It must be quite something. So what is it?”

  “What is it?” I said. “Well…it’s over there. That, Gulliver, is a bogan.”

  It was a beast that had no business living in the sun-drenched wasteland. Twice as tall as a man, bulky, and wearing a coat of fur that made me sweat just to look at. Its face was dark, and the fur covering it seemed almost like a hood. Three pink eyes glowed from within the darkness. On its head were two horns, one much bigger than the other. Its arms and legs were tree trunks, easily muscled enough to serve as battering rams or skullcrushers, whatever its needs were.

  It was about what I expected, of course, having read about bogans in the Dungeon Core Academy. But seeing diagrams in a book and coming face to face with such a beast were two different things.

  Cael Pickering, you’re going to really regret me killing your brothers and forcing you to vow revenge.

  “That thing can’t be native to these parts,” said Gulliver. “Not a chance.”

  “It isn’t. They live in much colder places. The question is, why is it here?”

  “Escaped from a hunter’s wagon, perhaps. Caught in the south, hauled all the way here to be sold for meat. Or as a pet, maybe.”

  “It’s hardly a lapdog.”

  “That’s the thing about the rich; they buy all sorts of stupid things. Something about having money makes the world boring to you. Take me, for instance. Every time one of my stories earns a substantial amount of gold, I find that the ales I used to drink taste now like tap water, and only the best brews will quench my first.”

  “If a hunter bought it here, then where are they? Why aren’t they trying to recapture it? It’s not as if it is hard to miss.”

  “Our horned friend either killed its captor, or fled far enough away from them. Either way, are you sure you want this thing in your dungeon, Beno? A kobold is one thing. They’re reasonable creatures. This is a wild animal!”

  “That’s the thing about wild animals, yes. They tend to be wild, and be animals. But there’s a reason that nobody has claimed the job of killing it from the board yet.”

  “What are we supposed to do if even mercenaries can’t deal with the bloody thing? It looks like it could crush a house.”

  “We’ll reason with it,” I said.

  “Beno, I normally defer to you on monster matters, but…”

  “Gulliver. You’re a scribe – use your eyes. See how it’s cowering beside that giant rock? It doesn’t want to leave the shade. However it found itself all the way out here, it isn’t enjoying its new scenery.”

  “I’ll stay here and…uh…keep our rear flank guarded from a distance.”

  “Very wise,” I said.

  Leaving Gulliver behind, I floated across the wasteland and toward the creature. The closer I got, the warier the creature became. From this proximity, I could see how thick its fur really was, and how unbearable the heat must have been.

  Seeing me, it stood tall on two legs. Its trio of eyes glowed a deep, reproachful red. Despite its fur coat, it was impossible to miss that its body rippled with muscle, and that one swipe of a paw could send me flying back across the wastes. Its horns, meanwhile, looked sharp enough to punch through steel.

  This was one of those moments where I was glad to have been reborn as a core, and to no longer be trapped in the useless flesh sack that they call a body. Not only did I have little fear of a creature that would have sent many heroes crying for their mothers, but I knew I could talk to it.

  All cores in the Dungeon Core academy were required to use our advanced memories to learn an immense variety of languages spoken by man and beast. Despite the fact that creatures created by a core could speak the common tongue, there were other ways to recruit a creature to a dungeon. Finding a bogan in the wasteland being one of them. We needed to be able to communicate with monsters borne not of our own essence.

  Knowing I could talk to it and knowing the right thing to say, however, were two different things. If I set my mouth flapping in the wrong direction, I was likely to provoke this beast into trying to destroy me and Gulliver.

  I dredged my memory, searching through my memorized tomes on beasts, critters, creatures and monsters that I had read in the Dungeon Core Academy library.

  What do I know about bogans? Where can I find some common ground?

  Ah.

  “You are a long way from home,” I said.

  Its eyes glowed an even deeper red. Now that I knew exactly what this thing was, I remembered the entry I had read on it in Creatures of the Colder Climes.

  If I wanted to gauge how well my persuasive skills were faring, I need only look at the color of its eyes. Judging by their blood-red glow, I wasn’t doing very well.

  I needed to take another tack. Use logic? Flattery? Offer a bargain of some sort?

  “You look too warm, friend. What are you doing all the way out here?”

  Its eyes glowed like hot coals and its voice the timbre of two icebergs sliding against each other. “I will send you to the ice, little stone.”

  “I’m not here to hurt you. I may be able to help you find a cooler place. Somewhere not so warm.”

  Its eyes glowed redder still. “Hurt me? Your jokes are amusing, if ill-timed. I will send you to the ice!”

  Flattery and friendliness weren’t working at all. I decided to settle on one of my more familiar paths; honesty.

  “I am a dungeon core,” I said. “I don’t actually care much for you or your wellbeing at all, but I have a use for you. Perhaps we can come to an arrangement.”

  “We have nothing in common, floating stone.”

  “As it happens, we have a mutual enemy.”

  “Who?”

  “The sun. I hate it as much as you do. I hate the way it sits so proudly in the sky, as though butter wouldn’t melt. I hate how bright it is. How it spits its horrible rays of disgustingness everywhere.”

  “So we do have the same enemy. Congratulations, stone. Now leave me be, or I swear by the ice I will grind you into gravel.”

  “It’s your ability to grind things into smaller pieces that makes you valuable to me. What if I could offer you a place underground where the sun couldn’t reach? Somewhere cool, somewhere safe from the disgusting yellow sphere.”

  Its eyes glowed amber. “Is there ice?”

  “No ice, I’m afraid. I do have a pool of water, and I’m sure my miners could excavate a chamber suitable for your needs.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “Simple. I need you to grind a hero into gravel.”

  The monster stared at me for a while, before lowering itself to the ground and sitting on its arse and letting out a deflated sigh. Its eyes faded from orange to yellow, before settling on white.

  “Name, stone?”

  “Core Beno. The Dark Lord. His Evil Eminence, The Ruler of Rot.”

  “I will call you Stone.”

  Most cores wouldn’t have liked getting nicknamed, but I was beyond needing to have my ego stroked. The fact was, I wasn’t this monster’s creator. I would never have the kind of control over it that I had with creatures like Tomlin, Gary, or Brecht. The dynamics of our relationship would always be different.

  “I’ve had worse names,” I said. “And yours?”

  “My father named me Razensen when I came out of the ice. I will be Razensen when I return to it. Very well, Stone. I will serve your needs, as long as they benefit me
. Lead me to your dungeon.”

  Razensen added to dungeon monster roster!

  The sun had gone to rest and night had descended over the wasteland when Gulliver, Razensen, and I headed toward Hogsfeate. The walls were still a quarter of a mile away, and from this distance, the houses and shops were covered in a sheet of black, broken only by the night lamps glowing from windows and the streetlamps towering high above.

  While the retreat of the sun had little effect on me save sparing me from its annoying brightness, Razensen seemed greatly restored, and he walked with much more of a strut. Gulliver, meanwhile, blew into his hands and tried to cover his fingers with his frilly shirt cuffs.

  Gulliver walked on one side of me, Razensen on the other. Gull whistled as we walked, and he babbled on and on about lots of places he’d been over the years, telling story after story without caring how deeply we listened. His manner was so relaxed that it became obvious how forced it was, and it didn’t escape my attention that he flinched whenever Razensen spoke.

  “Ask him where he lives,” Gulliver said to me.

  I repeated this to Razensen, who answered in his native tongue.

  “Razensen says his home is in the ice,” I said.

  “And what does he do there? What are his hobbies?”

  “He says he enjoys sending things to the ice.”

  “Right.”

  The monster’s feet pounded on the ground and made it sound like we were traveling with half a dozen stallions all clomping at the same time. When I used him to fight Cael, there would be no pretense of stealth. He was so loud that I worried he might draw the attention of the Hogsfeate guards, even so far away. They might have been lazy and incompetent, but I didn’t need the annoyance.

  “This is it then, Gull,” I said. “Razensen and I will wait here and make sure you don’t run into any problems. Once you’ve found a wagon that will give you passage back to Yondersun and we see you set off, Razensen and I will head back.”

  Gulliver glanced at the monster, then at me. He spoke in a quieter voice, even though Razensen would have no idea what he was saying.

  “I don’t like the idea of leaving you here with him, Beno.”

  “Worried about me?”

  “This thing could smash you into dust.”

  “It takes more than brute force to smash a gem, Gull. Besides, we have a deal, and it isn’t as if we will find a wagon willing to transport poor old Razensen, is it?”

  “Still, you could always come on the wagon with me, and the beast can meet us there.”

  “He doesn’t know the way.”

  “I don’t trust him,” said Gull.

  Razensen laughed. It was the strangest laugh I had ever heard, like the squeak of snow when it is squeezed into a ball.

  “Well-dressed human thinks I will send his stone friend to the ice?” he said.

  Gulliver clinched in surprise. “You speak common tongue?”

  “I wasn’t born with snow for brains, little fleshy one.”

  I laughed then. It was hard not too, seeing the look of both humiliation and shock on Gull’s features.

  “I suppose I owe you an apology,” Gulliver said. “I was a touch rude.”

  “If little things like words hurt Razensen son of Goralsen, he would long ago have gone to the ice. Do not be suspicious. I have given my word. If I desired to send Stone or Little Fleshy One to the ice, I would have done so.”

  “I suppose I should leave you to it, then.”

  “Razensen thinks he can travel faster than a wagon,” I said. “As much as I loathe it, he’ll carry me. I just don’t have the time to argue. Though, I think he might be bragging about his speed. Is that right, Razensen? Are you blowing smoke up your own arse a little?”

  “I do not brag, Stone. I have no need.”

  “Right,” said Gulliver, somewhat awkward. “I s’pose I’ll see you both soon.”

  We watched him head toward Hogsfeate until soon the darkness had completely swamped him and we couldn’t see more than his vague outline.

  “Tell me something, Razensen,” I said. “When we saw you cowering by that rock-”

  “I do not cower, Stone. I was shielding myself from the sun.”

  “When you were shielding yourself, I thought that perhaps you had been captured and brought here, and you found yourself stranded. But something tells me that you aren’t the type to be captured.”

  “I heard tell that my brother had come this way.”

  “Ah, you’re looking for your brother?”

  “Yes.”

  “You must really need to find him, coming all the way up here.”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it save him from poachers or something?”

  “To send him to the ice.”

  “Right.”

  I was about to pursue this line of inquiry, when I saw light across the wasteland, near Hogsfeate. There were two dozen little balls of light moving away from the town walls and then forming a circle.

  At first, I was confused, until I realized that they were torches. People carrying torches, who had formed a circle around something.

  That something could only have been a someone – Gulliver.

  There were nine town guards, all boasting an oddity of body shapes from obese to skinny, with none looking athletic. Their uniforms were as spotty as their physiques, with some adorned in leathers, other wearing chainmail.

  Three other people were with them. I had the displeasure of meeting two of them already, and while I had never personally met the other, I recognized him all too well.

  The man before me was Sir Dullbright. While his town statue was the epitome of heroism, the real Dullbright looked like he had swallowed a beer barrel. His clothes were so fancy that they made Gulliver, who was stranded in the middle of the circle of guards, look like a beggar. He had a sword lazying in a sheath on his waist, though I guessed it had been so long since it had been drawn that the rust alone would take years to chip away.

  Sir Dullbright eyed me with a look of pure venom, a glare so full of hate that it would have disconcerting, if I cared. I wasn’t used to such an expression; even when heroes came to my dungeon, there was no hate between us. It was a business transaction, after all. They wanted loot and glory, I wanted to murder them. Everybody was happy, and there was nothing personal. But Dullbright…you’d have thought that I had killed his cat or something.

  Next to him were two loathsome creatures named Pvat, leader of the Hogsfeate heroes’ guild, and Claus, the cotton merchant with a perversion for whipping horses’ bottoms.

  “Sir Dullbright, I presume?” I said.

  He ignored me and spoke to Pvat. “This is the core you mentioned?”

  “That’s him. Floating around town like he belongs here. Disgusting.”

  “Disgusting indeed,” agreed Dullbright. “And dangerous. I would say like an animal that cannot be tamed, but animals at least behave according to their instincts. Cores have no such excuse for their evil. Did we not see as much in our fair town, before I saved us?”

  “Exactly that, sir,” said Pvat.

  “Then it appears it is time for me to rid our home of evil again.”

  Dullbright drew his sword with much more fluidity than I had expected. The blade itself shined bright, as though it was a light source in itself. It glowed in the darkness like no sword should, bringing one image to my mind.

  A tooth-shaped core split down the middle.

  The weapons that could destroy a core were few, but they existed. And I already knew that Dullbright, however much he’d let himself go, had once destroyed a demented core.

  Until then, I hadn’t been too worried about our odds here. Razensen was capable of handling a bunch of the guards on his own. Once the guards had seen a few of their friends impaled on Razensen’s horns or pulverized by his great fists, they’d probably decide that their wages didn’t justify such a gruesome end.

  Besides which, the little trinkets they called swords wouldn’t have
posed any threat to me. Not even Pvat, head of the heroes’ guild, would be much danger.

  But now? Dullbright’s sword made me itch to be back in my dungeon, secure in my core chamber.

  “Now fellas,” said Gulliver, from within his circle of guards. “I was merely heading to town to secure passage on a wagon. Beno here was going home. There’s no need for anything more than that. All of us can turn around and go back to our own beds to rest, rather than being laid to another kind of rest.”

  “To the ice,” said Razensen.

  The guards muttered to each other. One, who I recognized as one of the guards manning the gates that morning, spoke. “What is that thing?”

  “A bogan,” said Pvat. “Dangerous, to be sure, but easily dealt with if you keep your wits. When you fight it, watch its eyes. The redder they turn, the worse things will get. When they turn a deep, blood red, it will unleash a quite unpleasant fit of berserker energy.”

  “We should…” began the guard, while glancing at the town gates over his shoulder.

  “You will do nothing except follow my instructions!” barked Dullbright. “You hear me, guard? You hear me, Prat?”

  “Pvat, Sir.”

  “I know your name, I was belittling you, damn it! You’re a hero, so act like one. Use your bloody brain. When the beast’s eyes glow blood red, back off. Avoid its clumsy strikes until the color dulls. Is that difficult to understand?”

  Damn it. So Pvat and Dullbright knew what a bogan was, and they knew how to fight one. Given Pvat was the head of the heroes’ guild here, I should have expected as much.

  There was no way out of this. Dullbright was set on a fight, set on destroying me. With him, Pvat, Claus, and the nine guards, we were heavily outnumbered. I didn’t have my dungeon creatures with me, and I couldn’t use my essence out here.

  Not great.

  Using my core voice, I spoke to Dolos. “Drain the fat one, Dolos. The one with the biggest sword.”

  “As you wish, master.”

  Gulliver’s satchel bulged, and a blob poked its head out from it and slithered down the scribe’s leg. Gulliver glanced at him, then the ground. Dolos slithered to Dullbright, crawled up his back, and leeched onto his naked neck.