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

by Alex Oakchest

  Kempton took a step forward. He was testing Warrane. Like how stupid people put their hand near a dog’s mouth to see if it wants to bite.

  Warrane, faced with the choice of having to kill a fellow townsperson, failed the test. I saw it in his eyes. Saw his confidence break. He wanted to do his duty and protect Galatee, but he couldn’t kill one of his own.

  That was when I knew we were utterly screwed. I couldn’t use essence, my monsters would take too long to get here, and Galatee’s soldiers were out playing war games in the desert.

  There was nothing I could do to keep them from Gary.

  “I’ve had enough of this,” said Kempton. “Come on!”

  Just before Kempton could lead them, the crowd parted at the back. People stepped aside, one after another.

  “Let’s calm this down,” said a man.

  He walked through the middle of them. A tall guy. He wore trousers and a shirt well-tailored and way more tasteful than anything someone from Yondersun would wear. His beard was immaculately groomed, his blond hair swept back and oiled.

  Riston. The stranger. The man who’d arrived in Yondersun one day, gone to the Scorched Scorpion for a drink, and had stayed in town ever since. Nobody knew who he was or where he’d come from. All they knew was that he’d decided to run in the chief elections. And beyond all rationality, people supported him. They supported him above me, even though I’d risked my gem arse time and time again for the good of the town.

  It wouldn’t be a stretch to say I was bitter. Another of my imperfections.

  The crowd hushed as if Riston was the king and every word that left his mouth materialized as gold coins for them to scoop up.

  “I’m sure whatever happened here,” he said, not the slightest bit bothered about the corpses, “the chief will resolve. Let’s not be hasty.”

  “The spider monster killed them!” shouted a gnome woman. “Kempton says he’s in the storeroom, covered in their blood!”

  Riston kneeled beside one of the corpses. It was an old man. I didn’t know his name. Seemed too late to bother learning it now. Riston planted a kiss on the dead man’s forehead.

  “Sleep well, old one,” he said.

  Uh, what? This guy was weird. Simple as that. How was I the only one to notice it?

  “I’m glad you’re here, Riston,” said Galatee.

  “I thought you might need my assistance. Is it true what they say about the monster?”

  “It seems that way.”

  “We don’t know that,” I said.

  “We have a room full of corpses and a monster nearby. It doesn’t look good,” said Galatee.

  “This one thinks you shouldn’t say until you know for sure!” said Warrane.

  I could have kissed him then. Warrane was a guard. He was supposed to shut up and protect Galatee, but he’d spoken up for Gary. Sometimes it takes a bakery full of corpses to know who your friends are.

  “They’re here! The monsters are here!” said a voice outside the shop.

  Sure enough, my dungeon creatures flooded onto Jahn’s row. Brecht, Shadow, all my kobold miners, my fire beetles. The numbers weren’t even, but we had something else on our side: fear. The crowd was scared of my monsters.

  Or… they would have been. Had I not allowed my monsters to go to town after work.

  Now, I realized that the townsfolks’ old fear was gone. They’d become too used to seeing my dungeon creatures. Instead of being scared of my dungeon mates, they were angry, and things were going to get ugly.

  The odds weren’t even. In the dungeon, sure. We’d pulverize them as easily as if they were…um…iced buns. And that metaphor hadn’t sprung to my mind because I was in a bakery.

  “Core Beno,” said Riston, speaking loud enough for everyone to hear. “Call off your creatures. Let’s not have more bloodshed.”

  Call off your creatures.

  That manipulative bastard.

  I’d only told my monsters to get here to save Galatee, Warrane, and Gary from the mob. Riston was making it sound like we were the ones causing the tension. As if I’d summoned my creatures here to cause trouble. He’d played me.

  The worst thing would be to argue. To try and explain myself. When you’re in a hole, excuses are like shovels digging away more of the dirt.

  Riston held up his hand. He faced the crowd, his face the picture of benevolence.

  “Return to your homes. I will speak to Chief Galatee. Whatever has happened here will be resolved. You have my word. And you know what it means when I give you my word.”

  Know what it means? They hardly knew him!

  I kept my thoughts to myself.

  The crowd left the shop. Their anger began to ebb. I dismissed my monsters, and soon, we were alone.

  Galatee was about to speak when Riston cut in.

  “Do you have somewhere you can keep the monster?” he said.

  “Gary is coming back to the dungeon,” I said.

  “I think not. Four people are dead. Not just dead. Slaughtered.”

  “We don’t know that it was Gary. I’d bet my arse that it wasn’t. It isn’t in his nature.”

  “No? It isn’t in this monster’s nature to kill?”

  He had me there. Every monster in my dungeon was created to kill heroes. Except for Tomlin, who was a coward through and through.

  Galatee nodded. “I am sorry, Beno, but Riston is right. Until we know what happened, the monster must be kept where we can see him.”

  “The monster? You know his name, Galatee. You’ve talked with him dozens of times. He sang at your birthday party.”

  “The monster will remain in our cell, Beno. I would suggest that you keep the rest of your creatures in your dungeon. The town won’t be a welcoming place for them at the moment.”

  CHAPTER 4

  I floated around my core chamber, circling it again and again. It was my version of pacing. Gulliver, sitting on a chair I’d bought especially for when he joined me in the chamber, rubbed his forehead.

  “We have to be honest with ourselves about how this looks,” he said. “Gary was blind drunk. He was found in the bakery, feet away from where four people had been murdered.”

  “Gary wouldn’t do this,” I said.

  “Okay. Pretend it wasn’t Gary. Imagine if you woke up to find four kobold corpses. Not far away from them, there was a drunk hero covered in blood. Would you give a damn about the hero’s personality? Would you overlook facts and say it wasn’t in this particular hero’s nature to kill kobolds?”

  “You’re awfully quick to condemn him.”

  “Damn it, Beno! Gary is my friend. He read the first draft of my new book and said glowing things about it! It isn’t even my best work! That should show you how nice he is, and how much I think of him. It isn’t like I want him to be guilty. That’s not fair of you to say.”

  “I know. I know. I’m not thinking logically, am I?”

  “You’re thinking like a human, Beno. Wracked with emotion. You’re a bloody core! Isn’t a cold, hard logic supposed to be one of your redeeming features?”

  “I’m not sure of the redeeming part, but you’re right.” I stopped floating in circles. “I’m sorry, Gull. You’re right to think of this logically.”

  “Do we know what happened?”

  “We can find out.”

  “I’ll be right back,” said Gulliver. “Need to go to the little boy’s room. Or little kobold’s room, I suppose you’d call it around here.”

  Gulliver left the core chamber. I used my core voice.

  “Jopvitz?” I said.

  Soon, there was a knock on the door. A kobold entered.

  “Jopvitz!” I said. “You’re looking dashing.”

  He was wearing a dark tunic topped with a hood that covered most of his face. He’d paid for it using his dungeon wages. Ever since I’d tasked him with using my core visions to spy on people, he’d taken to wearing it. He’d also started talking in a hushed voice. So quiet it was sometimes hard to hear w
hat he was saying.

  He carried a ledger almost as big as he was. This was where he wrote down all his observations. “You need me, Dark Lord?”

  Checking my core information, I saw that while Jopvitz was improving as a spy, he hadn’t really earned the right to act like he was the greatest snoop in Xynnar. He still had a long way to go.

  Jopvitz

  Race: Kobold

  Class: Spymaster

  Level: 3

  Skills:

  Eye for Detail [The spymaster can see seemingly inconspicuous details that others may miss.]

  “Come in,” I said. “So you’ve been watching core visions all morning, as I asked?”

  “Yes, Dark Lord. We know who was in the Scorched Scorpion that night. The innkeeper, obviously. Ditsy, the barmaid. A pot boy. A few other drunks. There was also an old bard, but nobody has been able to find him.”

  “Bards usually leave town after a show,” I said. “I don’t think he had anything to do with this unless he sang them to death. Which I admit is possible, depending on how you feel about love ballads. What else do we know?”

  The kobold tugged on a string, drawing his hood a little snugger around his face. “I have watched the core visions, Dark Lord, and I…”

  His voice trailed off, so hushed it sounded like he was just breathing.

  “Cut it out, Jopvitz!” I said. “Stop with the mysterious voice stuff. Being a spy doesn’t mean talking so quiet nobody can hear you!”

  “I would ask that you do not use my name, Dark Lord.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “If I am to be effective in my role, I must assume a new name. A new identity.”

  “I don’t have time for this.”

  “You have asked me to be spymaster, Dark Lord. I do not plan on doing it half-heartedly.”

  “Fine. What’s your spy name?”

  “Anvil.”

  “I’m not calling you that. Now, get on with it. What have you learned?”

  Just then, Gulliver entered the core chamber again. He saw Jopvitz and spread his arms out wide and gave a beaming smile.

  “Anvil!” he said. “How’s it going, buddy? Been busy spying?”

  Just like with the rest of my kobolds, Jopvitz was incredibly happy to see Gulliver. “Very busy, Gulliver.”

  “Come on then, Anvil,” said Gulliver, smiling in his ridiculously good-natured way. I sometimes envied the way he had with people. “What did you learn?”

  Jopvitz opened his spy ledger. “I have observed the private conversations of the people who were in the Scorched Scorpion last night. They say Gary lost his temper. Smashed his harp against the wall, stole a barrel of beer, and left.”

  “That doesn’t sound like him at all.”

  “You said he was blind drunk,” said Gulliver. “This fits. A full bloody barrel of beer! Wow. The beer in the Scorpion is strong enough as it is. Two pints is enough to get me singing.”

  “Why would Gary lose his temper? He’s the most amiable person I ever met,” I said.

  “Everyone has their string. If someone finds it and gives it a pull…” said Gull, imitating pulling a piece of string.

  “What made him get so mad? Jopvitz?”

  “I didn’t hear anything about that, Dark Lord. People were too busy discussing the murder itself, and not the events before it.”

  “And most of them think he did it?”

  “Everyone seems to.”

  “Great. Right now, Riston is probably meeting with Galatee. Whispering in her ear. By the end of the day, I’ll be so far at the bottom of the polls that I’ll have to start kissing babies and promising to give every townsperson 5000 gold coins if I’m to have any chance of being chief.”

  “Is that really what worries you?” asked Gulliver.

  “Well, I don’t really like babies. They’re annoying.”

  “Not that. Are you only bothered about this bloody election?”

  “Of course not. I’m worried about Gary. But it doesn’t mean I can’t be concerned about myself, too. This chief vote affects the whole dungeon.”

  “Whether we believe Gary or not,” said Gulliver, “It doesn’t change what the masses think. When an idea gets ingrained in so many people, it gets stronger. It’s like chainmail, and every person who believes it is another link being added. Reinforcing it.”

  “There’s something they haven’t realized yet,” I did. “While I was in the bakery, I had a chance to look at the bodies. The way they died isn’t consistent with how Gary usually murders heroes.”

  “I wouldn’t open with that line when you try to protest his innocence, Beno. Leave out the murder part.”

  “I’ve watched Gary fight countless times. He wraps his legs around people, and his leech teeth bite into them. Tear them apart chomp by chomp. If Gary had killed them, they’d be full of little marks. Hundreds of them. To me, their wounds looked more like long gouges. Too big for Gary’s teeth.”

  “Again, if they decide to put on a trial, I’m begging that you don’t represent him.”

  “A trial. Pah.”

  “All well and good saying that those people were murdered the wrong way for it to be Gary, but the townsfolk are scared. Someone killed four of their own, and they want to put a face to the killer. If they can’t, then it means they don’t know who is doing it, and then that person may still be among them. They won’t want to listen to the subtlety between gouges and bites.”

  “Unfortunately, people never do,” I said.

  “It’ll take an awful lot to convince them, Beno, because if they admit that Gary is innocent, then it means the killer is still out there. It gives them a reason to stay scared.”

  “You’re right. Jopvitz? Did you hear anything else useful?”

  “No, Dark Lord.”

  “Then I’d like you to carry on observing. I’ll cast more core visions for you. Thanks for your work so far.”

  “Thanks, Anvil,” said Gulliver, giving him a wave.

  Jopvitz headed off. When he was gone, my confidence left me and I let myself feel vulnerable. I hadn’t wanted to do it in front of a dungeon creature. Morale was low enough as it was. But I knew I could let my guard down around Gulliver.

  “I’m worried about Gary,” I said. “Everything you said is true. They need someone to blame, and they couldn’t have a more perfect someone than the drunk monster who was found in the same building.”

  “You’re sure about the teeth and gouge-wound thing?” said Gulliver.

  “Slaughter is sort of my area, Gull. I know the subtleties.”

  “Then we know it couldn’t be him. We have to do whatever we can to show them that.”

  I resumed floating in circles. It helped me think. I went around and around the loot chamber. Past the bookcase, the mana lamps, the mana spring, the satchel one of the traders had left behind. I still needed to return it. It would have given me an excuse to meet with them again. Another attempt to try to influence them.

  Looking at the satchel, I forgot all about meeting them. It reminded me of something else. Of our conversation about the missing people.

  “Gull,” I said. “Does it strike you as at all coincidental that people are going missing in the wasteland, and that at the same time, four people are murdered in town?”

  “You think they’re connected?”

  “It’s as good an explanation as any.”

  “People say the simplest explanation is usually the best. What’s more logical? That whatever is responsible for the missing people came into town, killed a bunch of folks, and then pinned the blame on a drunk monster? Or is it simpler that the drunk monster is the one responsible?”

  “You’re doubting him?”

  “I told you, Beno. He’s my friend. I trust him, and I trust what you’ve said. But I’d be doing you a disservice if I didn’t play the skeptic. I’ve never had blind faith in anything. It’s not how I work. I weigh the facts.”

  “Are the facts are telling you that Gary did it even aft
er what I said?”

  “They’re telling me that you’ve done enough for me to earn my trust. And that I better listen to you for a while before I make any judgments.”

  “So that’s it, then. We find out why people are going missing, who’s doing it, and see if that leads us to whoever killed the baker and his chums.”

  CHAPTER 5

  “Gary?” I said.

  There was no answer. My core voice should have reached him wherever he was. I had created him, and that meant we’d always be linked. His lack of response meant one thing: they were keeping him in one of the new town cells. One lined with an alchemic paste that dulled anything telepathic and stopped my core voice getting through.

  And it was my fault they had a cell like that in the first place.

  On my advice, they constructed such a cell after we’d had a bunch of trouble with a telepathic witch called Anna. Anna could read thoughts and toy with emotions, and that made her dangerous to anyone with half a brain. That meant that many of the Yondersun folks were safe, but it still seemed like a sensible precaution.

  If the girl ever came back to town, I wanted a place we could keep her prisoner, and stop her using her powers. The last time she’d had free reign, she’d controlled Shadow’s mind and made her kill one of her fellow kobolds. Shadow still hadn’t gotten over what Anna made her do.

  I’d never expected that one of my own dungeon monsters would be in the new cell. After all, town-dungeon relations had been good. We’d reached a symbiosis.

  Now, things were going to hell. One of the hells, anyway. There were so many it was hard to judge exactly which underworld we were hurtling toward.

  It made me feel bad that I couldn’t talk to Gary. I just wanted to reassure him that I believed him and that I was going to sort this out. He’d be in the cell, alone, probably doubting himself. Wondering if he’d done it. It would hurt. Gary was good at killing heroes, but he wasn’t cold-hearted. The idea of hurting a normal, non-hero person would upset him.

  I pushed my own feelings to one side. I needed to get on with things.

  I used my core voice.

  “Shadow?” I said. “Are you there?”