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

by Alex Oakchest

  “No!” he roared, and the feeling left him, and his mind felt clear as ice.

  “You dare to try to play with Razensen, son of Goralsen’s, mind?”

  The girl looked at the boy and gulped. “Suppose I’m not as good as I think I am, Utta. Give us a chance to escape.”

  “There’s no wind in here, Anna.”

  “Can’t you use anything?”

  The boy stared around the room, settling on the mana lanterns glowing from the walls. He raised his hands, and one by one they blinked out, the flames drifting to the boy’s hands and leaving the loot chamber in near darkness.

  It was then that Razensen felt heat sear over him as if he had been set aflame. He stomped around, roaring, the pain spreading over his fur, the smell of burning hair so cloying he could barely breathe.

  “Water! Wylie get water!” shouted a distant voice.

  Beautiful, freezing water splattered over him, drenching him from horn to foot and extinguishing the flames. Wylie the kobold stood there, an empty bucket in his hand.

  “Thank you, Wylie,” said Razensen.

  Two more kobolds ran in, buckets raised, water sloshing at the top.

  “The fires are out, little ones,” he said. “I do not need-”

  The water hit his face. First one bucket, then another. Razensen felt it seep deep into his fur.

  “Thank you,” he grunted.

  He heard the sound of footsteps fleeing the distant tunnel, and he knew that the boy and girl were gone.

  Across the wasteland, a convoy of wagons spearheaded Duke Smit’s forces, with his retinue of soldiers behind them. Foot soldiers were marching, while the officers rode on horseback. Sitting at the front of one wagon was a man dressed in simple clothing. He held the horses’ reins in one hand and wiped the sweat from his brow with the other.

  Beside him stomped a big, hulking beast that had no place in a wasteland like this. Its three eyes glowed yellow like the sun, and its blood-red horns seemed to shine.

  The wagon driver looked sidelong at his monstrous companion. “Remember what I said, Nazenfyord.”

  “I am no idiot, Smit.”

  “All the same, it bears repeating.”

  “I will crush any rebellion in this dust pile of a town,” said Nazenfyord, his three eyes flashing red for just a second. “And then you will help me capture my bastard of a brother. You will keep your promise to me, Duke.”

  “There haven’t been any sightings of him for a while. He may have left for colder climes.”

  “He knows I am here. I killed our parents and tried to murder him, and a bogan will never leave a debt unsettled.”

  “Then play your part, and I will commit some of my men to-”

  “I know my part, damn it!” bellowed Nazenfyord.

  He lashed out with his right fist, smashing into a horse that was pulling a wagon to his right. In one blow he killed the horse and tipped the wagon onto its side. The driver fell off and was crushed underneath.

  Duke Smit closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “We discussed your temper, Nazenfyord. You are no good to me if your mere presence results in net losses. Your little outburst just cost me 100 gold for the horse, 400 for the wagon, and 700 I shall have to pay to the man’s family for the fatality on the job. Not to mention that almost two hundred men and thirty beasts witnessed it. The material cost of what that would do to their morale is difficult to calculate, but a rough estimate would be 3000 gold.”

  “You will learn to suffer it or take the town on your own.”

  “I have enough soldiers to make this place mine, but I’d rather not have to use them. Combat means deaths. It means broken weapons. It means wounds that must be healed. These things cost gold, Nazenfyord, which you would do well to learn that if you are insistent on becoming the ruler of your own land. I will take Yondersun with the minimum of losses because every loss brings down the town’s value as an investment. I’m hoping your presence will be intimidating enough to make them become one of my vassals without loss of gold.”

  “If my presence is so important, you ice-brained oaf, then shut up about my temper.”

  “See?” said the duke. “You are learning. Bad-tempered words are fine because they cost nothing for you to say, and the material cost of their effect on me is zero.”

  “Duke!” shouted a voice. “The sky!”

  Above them, the meanest clouds that any of them had ever seen in their lives had gathered in the sky. Clouds so black they looked like little concentrations of the darkest night blotting an otherwise clear day.

  “Rain? Out here? The wasteland sees rain barely once every year, and it chooses the day we cross it?”

  The clouds rumbled. For a split second, the duke was convinced that one of the gods was roaring at them, screaming something down in a deital language he was too mortal to understand.

  Light flashed in the sky.

  A great bolt smashed into a cart and set it aflame, instantly cooking the driver, his beasts, and the people inside the wagon.

  Another great roar came from the heavens.

  Three bolts came down from the sky, this time smashing into the bulk of his foot soldiers and cavalry, flinging soldiers off their horses.

  “Turn back!” shouted the duke. “Back to Fort Smiten!”

  “Back?” growled Nazenfyord. “You would scurry home?”

  “Think about it, bogan, for gods’ sakes. After the battles with the Red Jackal and her band of oafs, I only have a few hundred men in my whole host. I brought them here to intimidate the Yondersun chiefs; I can’t actually afford to use them to fight. Every time that damn lightning flashes I lose gold! Too much to mention! No, we’ll have to do this another day. Back, everyone! Back!”

  CHAPTER 7

  I left my meeting with Reginal and Galatee and floated out into Yondersun and was immediately flooded with messages in my core.

  Razensen has slain 6 heroes!

  - Razensen’s Unit:

  Kobolds [x4] have leveled up to 10! [Heroes jointly slain:4]

  Bone guys [x3] have leveled up to 9! [Heroes jointly slain:4]

  Shrub Bandits [x4] have leveled up to 14! [Heroes jointly slain:4]

  Leveled up to 19!

  - Total essence increased to 2001

  - New dungeon chambers available for construction

  - New monsters available for creation

  - New trap and puzzle options

  Ah, what a relief! The heroes were dead, and I had one less thing to worry about. What a strange turn of events, that killing heroes was now a relief and not a pleasure. This was a sure sign that maybe I needed to rethink my priorities in my second life. Even so, it was good to know that he’d dealt with it.

  Emerging into the middle of Jahn’s Row, I saw that all the merchants and shoppers and passers-by had stopped and were staring into the distance, some pointing, some whispering to each other, others so awed they could hardly close their mouths let alone form words.

  “A storm,” said a gnome. “By the gods, never thought I’d see it.”

  “Doesn’t look like it's coming over ‘ere, though.”

  “Woah! Did you see that flash? Holy hells!”

  As much as things like magic didn’t amaze me – I could use essence to conjure creatures out of nothing, after all – I had to admit that I was impressed with the weathermage’s work. The storm looked meaner than an underworld demon, and the lightning striking down looked just as powerful as one. Was that a sign of gold well spent? Well, if it forced the duke back then it had to be.

  I supposed we wouldn’t know for certain until I was able to send my ravens to scout the wasteland, but there was no chance I’d send them out until the storm had cleared.

  In the meantime, I needed to check on the situation with the heroes, and I was also waiting for either Gulliver or Morphant to contact me and tell me how it had gone with Overseer Bolton.

  The strangest thing was that even though the heroes wanted to kill my dungeon creatures and stea
l my loot, even though the duke wanted to bully his way into controlling Yondersun, it was the prospect of dealing with Overseer Bolton that made me the most nervous.

  He always had, I supposed. When I was resurrected from death and forged as a dungeon core, Bolton had been the first face I had seen. He had been an ever-present figure in the early years of my second life. My favorite overseer, my mentor, a man with boundless knowledge of dungeons and heroes.

  And now?

  Well, our relationship had soured since I left the academy. A shame that it had to be so, and an even bigger shame that I was the one who soured it most. Then again, Bolton had started it all. He’d failed me from the academy on a technicality, showing me that our bond had meant nothing to him.

  “Core Beno?” said a voice.

  My anxiety peaked for a second until I realized that the voice hadn’t come from my inner core and so couldn’t be Morphant or Gulliver.

  Instead, the voice came from a man approaching me warily. Behind him were a woman and two children waiting beside a bulging burlap sack tied at the top by a piece of string. The man was short and muscled, more than just athletic but stopping short of stocky. He had two scars on his right hand and one on his left.

  “Sorry,” he said, when he reached me. “I didn’t mean to be so familiar by using your name. Mr. Core, I meant to say. Is that the right way to address a core?”

  “Beno is fine,” I caught myself saying.

  It took me by surprise. From a stranger, I would normally accept nothing less than being called Dark Lord, Evil Eminence, or Diabolical Diamante. But something about this man had disarmed me instantly. It was the honest nature of his face. His expression seemed like earnestness itself.

  “Core Beno,” he said. He held himself well, his stance like that of a soldier, but lacking a weapon. “I’ve been in Yondersun for two days. I’ve offered my services everywhere, and all I’m getting is shut doors and empty stares. And that’s from the nice folks. Now, I’m asking you, and I hope you can take it as a sign of desperation that I’d do so, meaning no offense. But…I want to know if you have any work?”

  “Work?”

  “Digging tunnels. Sweeping the floors of your dungeon, I don’t mind. I’m not too proud as long as I get gold for my family.”

  “You…a human…want to work in a dungeon?”

  The man jerked his thumb to his wife and children. “For them, I’d clean the latrines in an orcish beer house. Not saying I don’t have skills that’d be useful for more than that, but this is the size of it. I need work.”

  Hmm. There was something strange going on here. Why had he brought his family all the way to the wasteland when any other town in the Xynnar mainland would offer better opportunities?

  “I know what you’re thinking. I see no point in lying to you, Core Beno.” He held up his palm to me, and I saw a branding on his skin.

  “Ah, you’re a criminal. Does nobody in Xynnar have work for a criminal?”

  “Oh, there’s work for criminals. There’s always a lord or a duke who wants something doing that nobody else will. Collecting materials from sulfur pits, getting rid of the wild bears on his estate. But my crime branding isn’t the usual type.”

  “What’s special about yours?”

  “They only give it to a man who’s turned on his lord.”

  “I’m surprised you’re alive.”

  “I had to pull a few strings. Ropes, in fact. And I did more than pull on them, I yanked them so hard I got friction burns. Bargained for my life, which I succeed in as you can no doubt tell, but I got the branding, and now nobody will touch me.”

  “What are your skills? Are you a fighting man?”

  “A blacksmith, primarily,” he said.

  “I don’t have work for you. Sorry.”

  To his credit, the man smiled and nodded. “Thanks for your time. If you hear of anything, my name’s Salt Ogden. If you hear of any work, Mr. Core, I’d be obliged.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind. Good luck to you, Salt.”

  Salt walked back to his family. I saw his wife arch her eyebrow expectantly. Salt shook his head, and she looked at the ground. The children, oblivious, continued with a game they were playing.

  He’d taken that well, and he seemed like an honest man with an honest family.

  “Salt?” I said.

  “Yeah?”

  “I might be able to offer you some manual labor from time to time.”

  “Whatever you have, I’m not picky. Thank you.”

  “Beno?”

  “Gulliver?”

  “Beno, my pal!” said a voice, speaking to me through my core.

  It was my best friend – best human friend – Gulliver, using my core shavings to talk to me all the way from Hogsfeate. I wasn’t a high enough level core to see anything from so far away, but I could imagine him. No doubt he was reclining on one of Mimic Dullbright’s couches with his legs spread out, winkle pickers resting on the chair arm, his frilly-sleeves arms relaxed behind his head.

  “Good to hear from you, Gull! How’s life as Hogsfeate’s master of spin?”

  “I’m shocked. Is that how you see my role, Beno? That the head of public communications should spend all day lying to the people? I’d say that your lack of a conscience shocked me, but I have actually never met a being with less of conscience than you.”

  “No, really, Gull. How’s it going?”

  “Not particularly taxing so far. The Hogsfeate populace isn’t overly academic, and Sir Dullbright already utilized a lot of propaganda. He’s conditioned many of them into gullibility.”

  “Good, so how are the core messages getting across?”

  “Feed someone too much too soon, and they’ll get belly ache and vomit. I have to be careful with my messages. Don’t forget, Beno, that Dullbright made his name and came into power by destroying a core gem that had gone insane and attacked the town. Getting the townsfolk to suddenly start accepting cores, let alone liking them, is a slow process.”

  “It’s not just about me, Gull.”

  “True. People seem more receptive to my pro-kobold rhetoric. I believe your monsters will be accepted in town before you are.”

  “That’s something, at least. Keep working on it. I don’t expect a parade in my name, but if we could get to the point where I can visit Mimic Dullbright without causing a scandal, we’d be getting somewhere. Now, tell me about Overseer Bolton.”

  “I have something to talk to you about first,” said Gulliver.

  “Why do I sense trepidation in your voice?”

  “It’s about Morphant.”

  “What about him?”

  “I’m beginning to have my concerns, Beno. He…uh…seems to enjoy playing his role a little too much.”

  “That’s his whole point. He’s to appear in public as Sir Dullbright so that the townsfolk believe he is still alive. That way, we control the whole town.”

  “Yes, Beno, but there’s something strange about this mimic. Your other mimics, like poor old Dolos…they are lacking in personality, yes? They are neutral.”

  “That’s the point of a mimic. They have little personality of their own so that they can inhabit their mimic forms better.”

  “Well, Morphant is acting strange. Sir Dullbright had…uh…lady friends. He had several, in fact.”

  “So? He was rich, powerful, and he wasn’t married.”

  “Well, the ladies are still coming to Dullbright’s palace.”

  “What?”

  “I’m telling you! Mimic Dullbright is allowing them to visit.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “He’s a mimic! He only uses Dullbright’s form to carry out my orders. He wouldn’t have any…desires. Ugh, the whole idea makes me feel ill.”

  “Think about how I feel, having to spend so much time here! But I don’t think there is any romance there, Beno. I think he just enjoys their company. Even so, it is dangerous for the mimic to spend so much time alone with someone because it inc
reases the chance of him being rumbled. I also feel bad for the lovely ladies. I see one of them around town from time to time. Part of me feels like giving a warning.”

  “For demons’ sake, Gull, you can’t do that! We’re trying to get the public to gradually accept Dullbright changing his whole world view on cores and monsters. We can’t afford to make him act any more suspicious. If someone realized what was happening, this whole thing is over.”

  “The ladies aren’t all, Beno. Morphant is getting a little too big for his mayor pants. He was in a meeting with Pvat from the heroes’ guild last week, and a servant spilled his wine. Morphant ordered him to be whipped! It was the poor lad’s first day on the job, and he was terrified. Luckily, I was on my way to visit, and I was able to stop the lad getting his arse lashed.”

  “I’ll have to think about this,” I said. “Just keep an eye on him.”

  “I have my own job, Beno. What about the barbarian, isn’t he supposed to be watching over him?”

  “Eric? I gave him leave to look for Shadow. The bloke was obsessed with finding her, and truth be told, the longer she stays missing, the worse it is for dungeon morale. For some reason, people in my lair love her.”

  “As you say, then. I’ll try and watch out for anything untoward.”

  “Thanks, Gull. Now, about Bolton. What did the owl-faced overseer want? Was he surprised that you were meeting him?”

  “Why should he be?” said Gulliver. “I told him that after I finished writing a book about your exploits - which Bolton had already read and hated, by the way - a more powerful, richer, and altogether kinder paymaster had offered me a job. I then insulted your sense of morals. Bolton seemed perfectly happy with that reasoning.”

  “So, what did he want?”

  “I got the impression he wasn’t too pleased to be speaking to me, Beno. I told him that Dullbright was ill and that he was currently resting his plump rump in his chamber. Bolton didn’t pry too much, but he didn’t let loose with his lips, either.”

  “I wasn’t asking you to seduce the poor man, Gull.”