Dungeon Core Academy: Books 1-7 (A LitRPG Series)
Page 91
“All I could get out of him was that he seemed awfully interested in the core that went berserk in town.”
“Namantep? Does he have any idea that she’s in my dungeon?”
“I doubt it, or he’d be poking his snout around your lair, wouldn’t he? Why don’t you get rid of her?”
“Because I made a deal with Mage Hardere. He created a portal so I could murder Cael Pickering, and I agreed that I would keep his dormant dungeon core in my lair.”
“I know, but it’s been months. How long does he expect you to keep her for?”
“I don’t know, because I was so desperate for the portal that I didn’t make sure of the terms of our deal as well as I should have. Nobody’s perfect, however close some of us come.”
“Why not just have Razensen take Namantep out of the dungeon and throw her as far away as he can? She’s not your problem.”
“Throw her? We cores aren’t just pieces of rock, Gull, no matter how many people say it. Anyway, when you make a deal with a mage, you see it through. Breaking a deal with a mage tends to have consequences.”
“Ah. The unbreakable pact spell.”
“Pretty standard among wizards and the like.”
“Don’t let him hear you calling him a wizard,” said Gulliver. “The other day, he threw his new serving goblin from his tower for having the audacity. What are you going to do?”
“I’m not a part of the Dungeon Core Academy anymore,” I said. “And although Bolton is a dungeon overseer and has his ways of moving around dungeons undetected, I have no duty to make it easy for him. I know how to construct a hidden chamber. I suppose I’ll just keep Namantep in there. What else did Bolton say?”
“Not much. Halfway through our meeting, the stable boy pounded on Dullbright’s door. He was all red-faced, I think he had sprinted all the way up the slope. He started ranting about Bolton’s horse getting loose from the stables. Bolton left without a word.”
“Alright. Thank you, Gull. You did me a favor today.”
“Don’t mention it. When are you coming for a beer, anyway? Talking through your core shavings like this, it’s not the same.”
“Soon, my friend. Soon. I just have a few messes to clean up.”
CHAPTER 8
- Maginhart [Kobold] has progressed in studies!
Tinkering – Apprentice - [Progress to level 1: 87%]
Alchemy – Apprentice - [Progress to level 1: 72%]
Artificery – Apprentice - [Progress to level 1: 70%]
Death [Fire beetle, Warrior] has leveled up to 15 [Arena training]
Fight [Fire beetle, Warrior] has leveled up to 13 [Arena training]
Kill [Fire beetle, Warrior] has leveled up to 14 [Arena training]
Tactical bond increased: Death, Fight, Kill
“Well done, Beno,” said Reginal, joining me on Jahn’s Row.
Chief Galatee approached us, stopping only to clap her hands at a gaggle of workers who were staring at the distant sky, where the storm clouds had now dispersed. “Come on,” she said. “Back to work!”
Reaching me, she said, “The duke has turned back toward Fort Smiten. We’re 6000 old coins poorer, but it would seem worth it.”
“I don’t know. We’ve shored up the dam, but that hasn’t magically removed the water pushing against it.”
“Just like you to be thinking about the next problem, Beno. Why not savor it for a while?”
I used to savor things. When I first built my dungeon and began killing heroes, I did lots of savoring. But the larger my dungeon grew and the more monsters I was responsible for, the less I found myself gloating in victory. Nowadays, the losses of battle tended to weigh more heavily on my thoughts.
Perhaps Galatee and Reginal were right. What was becoming of me, if I couldn’t even bring myself to revel in a victory anymore? Was I just being sensible, or was I acting like Overseer Bolton and the rest of the academy who walked around with sticks wedged up their arses?
“We’ve pegged the duke back without provoking him,” I said, “But he’ll come back. We need to be proactive about this. Give him a reason to never set foot in the wasteland, without risking him attacking us.”
“We could appeal to his generous and noble nature,” said Galatee.
Reginal caught her eye, and the pair laughed.
It crossed my mind that I could have the duke secretly killed and replace him with a mimic. But then, it was one thing doing that to the mayor of a ramshackle town in the wasteland, and another doing it to a duke who lived in a stronghold and had at least two hundred men – minus the ones killed by lightning – and a bogan to his name.
As well as that, Shadow was my only rogue. I had nobody else who could do the assassination. Alas, it really did seem like I couldn’t solve every problem with murder and a mimic.
“Let’s break it down,” I said. “Why does Duke Smit want Yondersun as a vassal town anyway? What does the duke get from us?”
“It's simple. The man smells gold in the air,” said Reginal.
Galatee shook her head. “It’s not about the gold we have, but the gold that owning our town would mean to him. Yondersun is the only settlement in the wasteland. Even our closest neighbor, Hogsfeate, is on the outskirts. There are plenty of settlements in the far north that the merchants of Xynnar want to set up trading routes with, and yet have not thus far, due to the dangers involved in making the journey.”
“That’s right,” I said. “Whereas Yondersun could serve as a resting point. It would cut the danger of such trade journeys tremendously, allowing merchant caravans to have a break in the middle of the wasteland. If the duke controlled Yondersun, he could charge levies for passers-by. Actually, it occurs to me that you could start doing that.”
“No. Unconscionable,” said Reginal. “This is the homeland of my people, not a gold mine. I will never make it so.”
“It goes against our credo, Beno. Everything we agreed upon when we started building Yondersun,” said Galatee. “We struggled to live in the wasteland for decades, and we want to turn it into a welcoming place.”
“We’re just going to have to think of something else to deter the duke, then.”
“I have building work to oversee. I’ll see you at the next meeting,” said Galatee.
I was about to float to my dungeon when I realized Reginal hadn’t left. He looked around to make sure nobody was close enough to listen and then leaned toward me conspiratorially.
“Can I ask for your advice, core?”
“Ask away, goblin.”
“Beno, I meant, of course. I have a…delicate problem I would like to talk to you about.”
“Isn’t that what your wife is for?”
“There are things a man can’t share with his wife, and that she can’t share with her husband.”
“And yet you can share it with a dungeon core?”
“Oh, forget it.”
“Wait, wait,” I said. “I understand that my response wasn’t what you would describe as empathetic. I am working hard on that skill, Reginal, but it is like trying to turn a shark onto a diet of seaweed. What I meant was, why would you trust me with whatever…this…is?”
“I always thought you were cold-blooded, Beno. An evil, no-souled lump of rock with no conscience and who takes delight in causing pain and suffering.”
“Are you about to ask me for a favor? I see no other reason for being so nice.”
“I have told you before, Beno. I misjudged you. And as a leader, it is difficult for me to find people to discuss things with. Laying bare my troubles in front of people I command would lose some of my gravitas.”
“What about your son?”
“Devry is clever than me, to be sure, but he is too young. He would understand my troubles, of course, but I do not want him to. I want him to be a child. Little bugger is too intelligent for his own good. Look, you seem like you are trying to excuse yourself from this, Beno, and I am not so ignorant that I do not notice. Forget about it.”
“Come o
n, Reginal. I’m sorry if it seemed that way. Lay your burdens down on good old Beno.”
Reginal looked around once more, then leaned close. “It’s the most peculiar thing, Beno. All my life, I’ve been a warrior. First under Chief Dergino, my father, and then when I first became chief, and we were fighting to win this place back. And then after, with the troubles that we have had making this place grow, turning it into a place where our people can live. That was a war, of sorts. Every morning, without fail, I have woken up with a tightness in my chest, like some little imp is squeezing my ribs together. Sometimes it makes it hard to breathe, and the only antidote is to spring out of bed and get to it.”
“It sounds like you should consult with your healer.”
“That’s just it. Lately, the feeling has gone. I find that I can stay in bed without my chest aching. I feel no need to get up straight away, to get into action. I sometimes…I sometimes even stand at our lodge window and just watch the town as it wakes up.”
It was all I could do not to laugh.
“This absence of pain. This lack of urgency. Did it begin to ease when our crops started growing and the survival of the town wasn’t so precarious?”
“It’s hard to say.”
“I would guess that it got better when I procured the ingredients to ensure Devry could get his treatments, and you didn’t need to worry about him as much. And then it improved even more once you married Galatee and had someone to truly share your chiefly troubles with. Am I right?”
“It would seem that way. I’m at a loss,” said Reginal.
“Reginal, my friend, I don’t need to be a healer to diagnose your malady. You are content.”
“What?”
“You havening nothing left to fight. No struggles to come up against. For the first time in your long, goblin life, you are content.”
Deep within my dungeon, on the second level below my main tunnels, I floated around a newly created chamber. It was no larger than a standard tomb and had no decoration except a single mana lantern on the wall. Floating there in the deepest part of my lair, I could feel the darkness around me, I could sense the weight of the soil and rocks and mud and iron ores above and all around. The chamber was as silent as a grave, more so because it came without the accompanying whispers from corpse spirits, the ones that prompted the whole trend of people burying their dead. It was the coziest I had felt in a while.
“Dark Lord happy?” said a kobold.
Wylie, Tarius, Jopvitz, Redjack, Klok, and three new kobold miners were standing to attention, their faces tired but eager for my approval.
“Excellent. Just the right size. And the walls?”
Tarius, wearing a shirt with the words Hed of Dungeon Yunion written on the front, stepped forward. “Coated in solution purchased from Cynthia. Maginhart brought it. He helped make it himself.”
“Himssself, you mean,” said Klok, and tittered.
Wylie cracked his whip, and Klok yelped in pain and rubbed his rump. “No make fun of Maginhart’s talk!” he said.
Klok stared at the ground. “Sorry, enforcer Wylie.”
“Will be, if Wylie hears again! Maginhart would not make fun of Klok, so you will not make fun of him. Now stop crying, Wylie only nipped you with whip. He didn’t do it hard.”
I couldn’t help but be proud of the little rump-whipping kobold. I had recently promoted Wylie from mining supervisor to dungeon enforcer, and he had taken to it like a drunk to a barrel full of ale. Barely a day went by when I didn’t hear the sound of his whip, usually just lashing a wall in warning. It instilled some much-needed discipline, and the dungeon had never been so focused.
I had, of course, had a talk with him about using the whip on others, and I made him promise to only lightly whip his dungeon mates’ arses, and never enough to really hurt. The whip was supposed to be symbolic, more than anything. This might have been a dungeon, but corporal punishment was not acceptable.
“Good,” I said. “The alchemical solution on the inner walls should stop Overseer Bolton from being able to sense this chamber, as long as he stays on the first level of the dungeon.”
“Overseer is coming to visit?” said Wylie, hopefully. It always amazed me how much my kobolds all liked the old trout.
“I hope not, but perhaps. I would regret it if I didn’t get ready for it either way.”
“Yes! Wylie show him new whip.”
Wylie brandished his favorite toy, while Klok winced and stepped back.
“Good work today, boys,” I said. “Let’s see how you’re all getting on.”
I checked my inner core for information about their mining exploits.
Wylie [Kobold, Enforcer] has leveled up to 19 [Enforcer duties: motivation, rebukes, shouts]
*Wylie has learned proficiency: Whip*
Tarius [Kobold, Miner] has leveled up to 24 [Tunnel construction, chamber excavation]
Jopvitz [Kobold, Miner] has leveled up to 10 [Tunnel construction, chamber excavation]
Redjack [Kobold, Miner] has leveled up to 16 [Tunnel construction, chamber excavation]
Klok [Kobold, Miner] has leveled up to 7 [Tunnel construction, chamber excavation]
Hmm. This was interesting. Firstly, through his duties as the dungeon enforcer, which made him responsible for making sure everyone was working when they should be, Wylie had learned a proficiency with his whip. That meant he might be useful in a fight.
But more intriguing to me was the different rates of Redjack’s, Jopvitz’s, and Klok’s mining progress.
“Redjack,” I said.
Redjack, whose wolfish snout was shocked with ginger whiskers and whose eyes glowed crimson, saluted me. “Yes, Lord Dark?”
“Dark Lord. Redjack, you joined the dungeon at the same time as Klok and Jopvitz, yes?”
“Correct.”
Interesting. They had joined the dungeon at the same time, and they always worked together in mining duties, yet Redjack was a full 9 mining levels above Klok. That suggested a natural talent for the work, and I was always excited to discover flair in my people.
Wylie had always been my best miner, which was why he’d progressed from a miner, to a supervisor, and then to dungeon enforcer. But the suddenness of Redjack’s rise in skill dwarfed even him. Handled correctly, Redjack could be invaluable in our mining efforts.
“Redjack, you will be the mining supervisor when Wylie is off enforcing discipline elsewhere in the dungeon. Consider it a supervisor apprenticeship. Wylie, I’d like you to take Redjack under your fur and show him how to kick a few arses.”
Redjack’s snout twitched, his red eyes gleamed, and he saluted me. “Yes, Dark Lord!”
Redjack has been promoted to [Miner supervisor-in-training]!
Tarius’s face twisted a little, clearly unhappy.
“Something wrong, Tarius?” I asked.
“I have been in the dungeon longer than Redjack, Dark Lord. I have worked dutifully and without question.”
“Without question?” I said. If I had eyebrows, I would have been arching them while nodding at his Hed of Dungeon Yunion shirt.
“Without many questions.”
“Tarius, I made you the head of the dungeon union. It is a prestigious post that you campaigned for tirelessly. Do you really want to give it up to become a supervisor?”
“I suppose not.”
“Good. Go on, scamps,” I said. “Off with you. Leave me alone with our friend.”
The kobolds left the chamber, and I took a moment to enjoy the sound of their jokes and chatter as they headed down the tunnel. When their banter was replaced by silence, I turned my attention to the center of the room.
There, resting on a stone pedestal, was a dungeon core. Red and shaped like a tooth, but with half of her core body broken away and missing. This destruction was a reminder of what could happen if a core’s mind was corrupted. She had gone insane in Hogsfeate, wreaked havoc upon the town, and had only been stopped by Sir Dullbright and his core-killing sword.
No, perhaps that was the difference here. A dungeon core should only kill heroes, and the Dungeon Core Academy defines a hero as ‘One who is not a core or monster and finds their way into the core’s dungeon by their own means, for their own motives.’ Namantep clearly had heard of a different definition when she decided to murder a bunch of merchants, drinkers, and peasants in Hogsfeate.
Then again, how different was I, really? Dullbright had never entered my dungeon but I had, via Shadow, killed him. I supposed that the man had tried to murder me first, so perhaps that made it okay.
Oh, this was all too complicated. Better to focus on more practical matters.
“Ah, Namantep,” I said. “If only you weren’t completely dormant. I would love to know why Overseer Bolton is so interested in you.”
“Perhaps you should ask him.”
“Ha, perhaps I should. I’m sure he would give me a straight answer.”
I felt peculiar then. As if someone was staring at me.
“Wait. Did you just speak to me?”
Silence.
I was losing my bloody mind!
With Namantep secured in a chamber that would hopefully stay hidden from Bolton, should he decide to visit, it was time to…
“Benooooooo,” said a ghostly voice. “Benoooooo...I am the spirit of fallen heroes, and I am here to avenge…”
The voice descended into a laugh. A laugh that, despite all contrary possibilities, came from the dead core resting on the pedestal in front of me.
Namantep clearly wasn’t as dead as she had led everyone to believe. The thing was, I didn’t want to betray my surprise and start asking questions. Showing surprise would imply she had caught me off guard, and that, in turn, implied weakness. I wouldn’t begin our first meeting in a position of weakness.