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

by Alex Oakchest

  What had happened here? If Dullbright had stopped Namantep’s rampage by killing her with his sword, then how was she still alive? There weren’t many possibilities.

  “Put yourself into a core slumber, did you?” I said. “That’s the only way to survive a blow by a scaleedge sword. I suppose if you did it just before the mayor struck you, then…”

  “Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.”

  “I don’t have the patience for games.”

  “Lie dormant for as long as I have, young core, and you would learn a thing or two about patience. Try spending decades living on a cushion in a damn mage’s tower, getting cooed over by an old man who wears nothing under his robes, and getting prodded and poked by a goblin with ridiculous studs in his ears. Suffer a few years of that, young core, and you will learn about patience.”

  “First of all, enough with the young core,” I said.

  “Why not? I would judge you to be barely out of the academy.”

  “It’s patronizing,” I said. “I won’t be patronized in my own dungeon.”

  “Fair enough. Fair enough. I don’t enjoy being spoken down to, either. Fine. Let’s start on an even footing, shall we?”

  “You could start by explaining how you are speaking to me and are not, in fact, dead.”

  “It’s quite a simple story, as many are. Your classic yarn of betrayal and murder. The sort one might find in most hokum adventure stories, of which I have a guilty pleasure.”

  “So do I!” I said, my enthusiasm for finding a fellow penny-yarn adventure story fan overruling my usual cool. “But that isn’t important right now. First things first, exactly how dead are you, Namantep?”

  “Worried that I might suddenly start draining essence from your essence vines and using it against you?”

  “I have some brunt-scale and esther-edge stored away. I could easily make sure of your death.”

  “Oooh nooo! Big, bad, Beno with his scary alchemy flames!”

  I sighed, deciding that each time I showed my frustration in front of her, it only seemed to make me appear stupider. I don’t know how she did it.

  “Calm yourself,” she said. “Look at me. I’m half a core! It took decades of dormancy for me to get strong enough to even speak again, let alone use essence. And besides, I am not a dungeon core.”

  “What?”

  “I’m a healer core. Can’t you tell? Don’t I give off an aura of tranquility?”

  “You perpetrated a mass slaughter in Hogsfeate,” I said. “If you’re a healer core, then you are very, very bad at your job.”

  “Yes, I know of those lies. Let me explain this to you, Beno. A long time ago, a man named Great Argden was mayor of Hogsfeate. He was a kind man by all accounts, not that I care about that sort of thing. His son became grievously ill with an affliction that no healers could fix. A disease that they believed came from ingesting a certain rare seed.”

  This was interesting. Devry, Chief Reginal’s son, had the same disease.

  “Do they know who fed it to him? The fruit is rare, and definitely can’t be found in the wasteland.”

  “You know of this?”

  “I have…read things. Go on.”

  “The mayor paid out of his own purse for healers from across Xynnar to visit, but none of them could fix his son. Finally, after exhausting most options, he purchased me from my old master. I was forged as a healer core, you see. I was able to cure his son.”

  “This tale is a lot tamer than the one being told about you in Hogsfeate. Where does the mass slaughter come into it? Did you get bored or something?”

  “A violent lie spreads easier than a boring truth. Sir Dullbright, back when his hair wasn’t grey and he didn’t walk around with his belly hanging over his belt, decided that he wanted to become the mayor of Hogsfeate and rule the town himself. Knowing that Great Argden was years from dying, and that even if he copped it there were other, more popular people in town than him, Dullbright had an idea. He needed to spin a narrative to boost his popularity.”

  I thought I was beginning to understand.

  “Ah. He decided to make himself the hero of Hogsfeate, and every hero needs a big, scary monster to vanquish. He told everyone that you were a dungeon core and that you had gone mad.”

  “Yes,” said Namantep. “He slaughtered some townsfolk himself and blamed it on me. Then he used a scaleedge sword to carve me in half. Being a healer core, I had no defense to this and thus had to resort to the rather humiliating tactic of playing dead so that he thought he’d ended me. For years. Decades, in fact. It was seriously boring until I learned how to completely clear my mind and let the seas of time wash over me.”

  “You know, as surprised as I should be, this version of events makes more sense, having met Dullbright,” I said. “I take it that after believing he killed you, he also murdered the mayor, and used his new hero status to elevate himself to power?”

  “That is the tale I pieced together while lying dormant in the wizard’s tower. I tell you, Beno, the things I would do to Dullbright if I wasn’t a healer core. I would tear him apart. I would pluck out his beard hair by hair. Rip off his fingernails and press the exposed flesh into a pile of salt.”

  “I might have some good news for you,” I said.

  “Oh?”

  “Dullbright is dead.”

  “Did he die painfully?”

  “Not overly so. Not to your tastes, anyway, but he was murdered all the same.”

  “Murdered? That’s wonderful!” said Namantep.

  She began laughing. It was a marvelous sound. Full of amusement, yet wicked at the same time. As is the case when two cores are in the same chamber, when one starts cackling then the other is soon to follow. Before I knew it, I was laughing too, and the sound of our twin cackles became a din that spread far and wide through the dungeon.

  It was only when we laughed ourselves into exhaustion that I saw Redjack had returned and was standing in the tunnel archway, eyes wide, clearly disturbed.

  “I left my pickaxe, Lord Dark. I…er…will come back later,” he said, and scarpered off.

  Namantep cleared her throat. “I owe Dullbright’s killer a debt of gratitude.”

  “No need to thank me,” I said.

  “You?”

  “Well, I sent my rogue to do the job, but yes. Dullbright is dead, and my mimic has taken his place and is currently ruling Hogsfeate according to my wishes. The townsfolk don’t suspect a thing.”

  Namantep laughed. “Beno, that is glorious! I misjudged you, didn’t I? I owe you many thanks.”

  “Well, perhaps you could begin your thanks by telling me something. Why would Overseer Bolton be so interested in you?”

  “I do not know him. But if he is an overseer, then he is from the Dungeon Core Academy, no?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Interesting,” she said.

  “Do you have any idea why he might want to find you?” I asked.

  “Perhaps one reason. But I feel so weak, Beno. I fear I do not have the energy to talk. I’m fading. I’m faaading…”

  She was silent. There was no sound at all; we were too far underground for even the surface breeze to find us, and all of my creatures were on the level above us.

  “Namantep?” I said.

  Nothing.

  She must have used up all of her energy, or something. I had no clue. I’d heard of a core going dormant when in a state of mortal peril, but I’d never actually seen…

  “BENO!”

  The sudden sound shocked me. “Don’t do that, you absolute fool!”

  She laughed. “The answer to your question would seem obvious to me,” she said. “The Dungeon Core Academy repurposes old cores. Healer cores, construction cores, any core you can think of. They collect broken or dormant cores, reforge them, and teach them how to kill things. They don’t all end up in dungeons you know, Beno. You’d be surprised about who can get themselves a core. With enough gold and influence, a person can get anything.”


  “How do you feel about becoming a dungeon core if Bolton gets his hands on you?”

  “Truth be told,” she said, her voice taking on a new seriousness, “the idea fills my core with dread.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  “I am a healer core, Beno. We are forged differently. To act differently, to think differently. I do not relish the idea of my whole being getting reshaped without my say so, as would happen if your overseer found me.”

  “Yes. A core without an owner can be taken by the academy without reprisal.”

  “We are not seen as beings of our own, in the eyes of most Xynnar laws.”

  “I wasn’t asked if I wanted to become a dungeon core,” I said. “I was plucked from death, and my human soul was stripped of its past identity and stuffed into this gem. It was a choice the overseers denied me, and I won’t be the one to perpetuate that. If you do not want Bolton to find you, then I will do my best to make sure you are hidden.”

  “Thank you, Beno. Perhaps dungeon cores aren’t as bad as I was led to believe.”

  “Oh, we are. We just have our nice days.”

  CHAPTER 9

  The sound was like a hammer striking an anvil. Bang-bang-bang.

  “Wake up, damn you! Stop acting like snow-brained fools!” shouted Razensen, clapping his great hands together again.

  “That’s enough,” I said. “What happened to my monsters?”

  “As you can see, there was a witch of some sort. She beguiled them, blizzard take her!”

  Razensen’s unit, which had consisted of four kobolds, three bone guys, and four shrub bandits, were acting peculiar. They were each tied up by thick coils of rope, an effort that owed most of its thanks to enforcer Wylie. Struggling unsuccessfully against the bonds, the creatures looked at me and Razensen with stares of pure hate. And not the good kind of hate, either. Not the kind of hate directed at heroes, but instead at me. I couldn’t believe it.

  “And this witch…she did this to them?”

  “With barely a word. She completely destroyed their minds and turned monsters of my own unit against me! She tried doing it to me, Beno. I do not know what to do with them.”

  Half of the dungeon had gathered to watch the spectacle, and I was so fraught with various problems that I didn’t even have the energy to rebuke them. It was a sign that I was tired when I couldn’t even manage a half-decent rebuke, something that I used to enjoy immensely.

  “Rusty?” I said.

  My kobold raised his shaman staff. “Yip?”

  “Can you place a shamanic totem of some sort to snap them out of this?”

  “Nip,” he said, shaking his head. “Sorry, Dark Lord.”

  “Demons’ arses. Brecht? Do you know any spells that might reverse this?”

  My bard, sitting cross-legged and idly tapping his tambourine, shook his head. “Apologies, Dark Magnificence. None of my ballads would work.”

  “Then what in all hells am I to do with them?”

  The current situation couldn’t last, that was for certain. Although Razensen had dealt with the hero raid as well as he could, he wasn’t a dungeon core and he didn’t have any training in fighting a witch. I should have been here. And because I hadn’t been, some of my monsters had been beguiled against me, and now I was faced with a horrible choice.

  “I take it that without the ropes binding them, they’re attacking their fellow dungeon mates?”

  Razensen grunted and nodded. He lifted his arm and showed a deep, red gash. “A bone guy tried to sever my damned arm off. See it? Pah. The weakling couldn’t get through my muscle.”

  My choice was unthinkable. If we couldn’t remove this beguilement from the creatures, then they would have to be destroyed. After all, if we cut their bonds, they would attack the other creatures in my dungeon. And if I released them on the surface and made them someone else’s problem, they would attack the people of Yondersun.

  Demons below, what a decision! I had never thought that I would have to consider destroying a whole group of my own creations.

  “Any idea where this witch went?” I said.

  “She and her little friend fled your lair. But we must talk, Stone. I heard the heroes say something that makes me think they have Shadow. They avoided some of your traps. At first, I assumed your devices were too pathetic to stop them, but then I heard the heroes talk. They have captured a kobold and have learned information about your little grotto from them.”

  “It has to be Shadow. Nobody else is missing.”

  “They will be far away now, Stone. Too far to give chase. If you try and jump and catch a snow cloud, all you get is tired legs.”

  “You bogans are full of wisdom.”

  “You mock me?”

  “Sorry, I’m getting a little stressed out. I need to think.”

  “Aye. Well, I know too well the ills of frustration. You have seen what happens to me when my anger levels reach their peak. Back home, if I ever got frustrated, I would swim in the Bogonis sea until my arms were exhausted. When I came out, my eyes would be their natural blue and I would feel at peace once again.”

  “Natural blue? I’ve never seen your eyes that color.”

  “Because in all my time in this hellish desert, I have never felt calm. This is no place for a bogan. The sooner I kill my brother, the better.”

  “An understandable feeling.”

  “You have been fair to me, Stone. You had your little frog-dog miners make a pool for me. In return, I will teach you a breathing exercise, if you wish. It helps me retain my calm when I am away from home.”

  I didn’t really need to learn breathing exercises. It was rare that I ever felt what could be described as a feeling or an emotion, though occurrences seemed to be increasing. Even so, it was easy for me to dismiss the little twinges of feelings I sometimes had.

  Then again, I had learned one thing. Sometimes, when a person wants to do you a kindness, it is not to help you. It is instead to help themselves, because the act of being kind makes the kind person feel better. It was an opportunity to tighten my bond with Razensen.

  “That would be excellent, Razensen. Thank you.”

  “Okay,” said the giant monster. He settled to the ground, making an almighty thump when his rump hit the stone. He crossed his legs and placed his big paws on his thighs.

  “First, Stone, take a deep breath through your nostrils.”

  I didn’t bother to point out that I didn’t breathe or have nostrils.

  Thirty minutes later, Razensen let out a sigh. I had barely felt any change in my mind…or so I thought. Then, I realized that the last thirty minutes had passed by without recognition. Razensen had helped me settle my mind utterly and completely.

  Skill gained: Bogan Mind-Settle

  [With focused contemplation, you can settle your mind and stop thoughts racing through it.]

  All around us, cross-legged kobolds yawned and stretched out their arms. Gary, over in the corner of the chamber, stretched out all seven leech legs.

  “Ah,” he said, his voice sleepy. “I haven’t felt as relaxed in years.”

  “Razensen make Wylie sleep!” said my enforcer.

  The only activity came from the demented bone guys and kobolds who struggled against their ropes to no avail.

  “Alright,” I said. “Come on, back to work. Thank you, Razensen.”

  “Did it help, Stone?”

  “It did. It gave me some focus, and I think I know what to do about our afflicted friends. Wait here.”

  Deciding not to introduce her to my dungeon mates yet, I visited Namantep in her chamber on the second level.

  “Couldn’t get enough of me?” she said. “Or are you just as bored as I am?”

  “I have a question, Namantep. If a person was afflicted with a mind spell and were attacking their friends, could you heal them somehow?”

  “I could.”

  Relief washed through me. “Then I would like to ask a favor of you.”

  �
��I could, Beno,” she said. “once upon a day. But as you can see, I am not even half the core I used to be. I was within a fraction of destruction. I had to lie dormant for decades to even restore myself to consciousness and be able to speak. To recover my powers…it would take the same number of years, and then some.”

  “There must be something we can do. An alchemical paste we can buy, an artificed solution of some kind…”

  “Beno, I suspect that even the Dungeon Core Academy forgers would struggle to re-forge me. That wouldn’t stop them trying, and perhaps by combining me with another damaged core they would manage it. But even so, it would take resources and expertise only the academy forgers possess. Dullbright used a scaleedge sword on me, Beno.”

  A scaleedge sword. Words nasty enough to send a shiver through any core, if we were actually capable of shivering.

  “Damn it.”

  “There’s really nothing that can be done to restore me. In fact…”

  “Yes?”

  Her voice sounded a little weaker now. “I know you said you would help me hide, but it did occur to me that there’s no reason for you to keep me here. That perhaps, thinking of it from your point of view, the temptation might be there to sell me to the academy and claim a reward of some sort.”

  The thought had occurred to me too. It would certainly rid me of my Overseer Bolton problem since he’d have no reason to sniff around Hogsfeate. I guessed that Bolton would even have a way of breaking whatever spell mage Hardere had cast to make sure I stuck to the deal.

  But as I had thought about it, the strangest thing happened. Pictures began rearranging themselves in my mind. Instead of seeing myself handing Namantep to the academy for them to take her apart and reforge her with some other, poor dead core, I imagined that it was me. That I had lost my powers, and that the first core I had seen in decades had betrayed me instantly.

  It occurred to me that I would not like that at all. Something else occurred to me, too. That such a chain of thoughts might be described as empathy. Not the pretend kind I tried to show when people whined about their problems to me, but something real.