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

by Alex Oakchest

  “Let’s rest here,” I said.

  “Finally!” said Eric, who was the first to slump against the wall. Shadow followed, sitting close next to him. Leaning on him. It was natural, like they were good friends. Tomlin sat alone, stewing on his thoughts.

  “Come, Ash Whiskers,” said Cynthia. “You will tell me the table of elements in order, and then in reverse.”

  “Now?” said Maginhart.

  “Oh, has your apprenticeship ended? I wasn’t aware.”

  Maginhart, well-drilled in master-apprentice discipline by now, sat down and cleared his throat and began. Watching Cynthia drill him, it was easy to see why he’d progressed so well in his studies. If she’d taught at the academy, I bet she’d have even made a good dungeon core out of Jahn.

  Only Warrane stayed on his feet. I was amazed at his energy. He’d already had to flee from town guards and then later escape from a dungeon filling with toxic gas. And he’d done it all while wearing his combat leathers. He should have been exhausted. Then again, Warrane’s drive and energy were part of the reasons he’d overcome his low status and risen to the rank of guard captain. He was a real asset to have with us.

  “Is it safe to stay here for long?” said Gulliver. He was sitting with his back to the wall, a quill in his hand, and a book in his lap.

  “Perfectly. The escape tunnel was hidden behind a false wall, remember? My creatures have lived in my dungeon for months without knowing about it. It was my ingenious plan, to have a secret fall back. A way out of the lair that only I knew about, for just such occasions as this.”

  “Err, I knew,” said Wylie. “So did Tarius. And Klok. And Jopvitz.”

  Shadow held up her hand. “Me too.”

  I sighed. “I can’t have a single secret for myself, can I?”

  I was trying to stay upbeat, but the truth was that I had a really strong urge to kill something. A hero, obviously. Not an innocent person. But I really wanted to extinguish the life out of someone. It might make me feel better.

  Oh, who was I trying to kid?

  As lovely as murder was, it wouldn’t help right now. How could it?

  I was a core, and I’d been driven out of my own dungeon. It made me so angry I felt sick. The only saving grace was that lacking a stomach or throat, I had nothing to vomit and no place for it to go.

  I guessed I had two choices.

  Keeping stewing on it. Become more irrational as anger took hold. Let Riston control my mind. Not directly, of course, since I was a core. But indirectly. The longer I stayed angry, the more control I gave him.

  My second option seemed best. Rethink, regroup, and kick his stupid arse out of my dungeon.

  “The way I see it,” I said. “We have three main problems. Firstly, Jahn and I are out of essence, which means we can’t do much. Secondly, while Riston’s spells are active, the townsfolk are against us. Thirdly, we can’t end his spell without getting close enough to kill or at least maim him. I vote for maiming since that hurts more. We can maim him first, and then kill him for dessert.”

  “Rip his skin from his bones and give it to a monster that eats skin like Gulliver eats apples,” said Tomlin.

  “That’s more like it, Tomlin! We should get you angry more often!”

  “The fly in the soup is that we can’t get close to Riston, on account of the townsfolk,” said Gulliver. “If he’s using kids as shields…”

  “Meat shields,” added Eric.

  Gulliver nodded. “Very poetic. If he’s using the children as shields, we can’t take any risks. I don’t think it will do your reputation any good to add ‘child killer’ to your list of achievements, Benny.”

  “What did we say about Benny?” I said.

  “That I should only call it you in private.”

  “Or never. Now, let’s hear some solutions,” I said. “Nothing is too stupid. Say the first thing that comes to mind.”

  “Horses!” said Wylie.

  We waited.

  He didn’t say anything else.

  “Was there more to that?” I asked.

  “You said first thing that comes to mind, Dark Lord. I was thinking about horses.”

  Gulliver looked at him curiously, quill raised. “What about a horse, specifically?”

  “If I train hard, could I ever run faster than horse?” said Wylie.

  “A very overweight, lame, three-legged horse perhaps. Right, that’s one brilliant observation out of the way. Anyone else?”

  Gulliver, flicking back and forth through the pages of his book, scratched his goatee beard. “We know that people started disappearing around the time Riston came to town. It’s worth exploring the idea that he’s responsible.”

  “I already considered that,” I said. “For that to be true, he’d need control over those insects things. They’re the ones taking people.”

  “You still don’t know what they are?”

  “No idea. A giant mosquito that makes a copy of itself when you hurt it? We never learned about them in the dungeon. And I’ll be honest with you; I want one. Jahn, do you remember learning about them in the academy?”

  “I’m the wrong core to ask, Beno. Sorry.”

  “Gulliver is right, though. The insects seemed to have been guarding the girl in the caverns. She managed to get free, which is when the other children heard her asking for help. By the time I got there, the insects showed up.”

  “So where the bloody hell they taking her?” said Eric.

  “That’s the question. If Riston is involved, then we need to know two things. Why is he making these insects kidnap people, and what’s he getting out of it?”

  “Perhaps you should try asking him,” said Gulliver.

  “As good an idea as that is, I have a better one. We go back into the caverns and find the insects’ nest. Find where they’re taking people. Where the girl escaped from. There might be answers there.”

  “It’s better than anything else we’ve got,” said Gulliver.

  Eric, who was using a whetstone on his axe, said, “I still say we fight. Before you say it, I know, I know. You don’t want to hurt the townsfolk. But you can’t make an omelet without cracking a few skulls, my grandmother used to say. Lovely woman, but not much of a cook. Let’s fight our way through to Riston and beat the answers out of him.”

  “A great plan,” said Gull, “If the dungeon wasn’t full of gas, Beno out of essence, and if every single person in town wasn’t under Riston’s control.”

  “Let’s hear your solution, then. What will you do, Gulliver, write it to death? Compose a brutal poem?”

  “You’re not as much a man of the world as you like to think, are you, Eric? You’d be surprised what a master scribe can do.”

  “I’m more scared of master baiters than master scribes.”

  “Enough!” I boomed. “Stop pecking at each other, you two. We’ll wait until nighttime, and then a few of us will go to the crater and get into the caverns below. If we’re quiet, we can find our way through to the insect’s nest and see what the hell Riston is playing at.”

  “Or if he’s even involved,” said Eric. “Seems to me you’re making assumptions. Much easier to beat the truth outta someone than just assume. But oh well, what do I know? I’m only a barbarian with years of travel and fighting experience, and hair that would make a mermaid’s gills fill with envy.”

  We waited until nighttime. Shadow and I left the tunnels and emerged into the wasteland, where we found it covered in darkness. The moon was a pearl in the sky, bright enough to cast a white glare. I felt betrayed; the sun was an annoying, shiny prat, but the moon had always been much more discreet. To see it lit up like this? I felt like a friend had just stolen my last biscuit and eaten it in front of me.

  “Why you, moon? Why you? I trusted you!”

  “What?” asked Shadow.

  “Never mind. Let’s get moving.”

  It had been harder than I expected, convincing Shadow to come with me. She seemed to be worried about it. N
ot her usual self.

  “Who’ll look after my hounds?” she’d said.

  “I think they can look after themselves.”

  “Someone needs to keep an eye on them.”

  “Tomlin?” I said.

  Tomlin eyed the dogs. They loved Tomlin. They loved to run at him and jump up excitedly, almost always knocking him over.

  “I…err…have things to do, Dark Lord.”

  “Do? What things? We aren’t in the dungeon. You’re on a forced vacation.”

  “Things, Dark Lord.”

  “You’re an absolute chump, Tomlin. And I say that as a friend.”

  Gulliver raised a hand. “I’ll watch them. I had a pup when I was a young boy. I called him Lester. My best friend for years, especially when my older brothers left home. The first story I ever wrote was about Lester, actually. Dad said it was a load of sentimental tripe.”

  “I thought the first story you ever wrote was about your first girlfriend?” I said.

  Tomlin put his hand up. “Gulliver told Tomlin his first story was about sharing, and that was why Tomlin should give him his last piece of gingerbread.”

  “Seems to me like Gull’s first story changes depending on what he needs at the time. But thanks, Gull. It would be great if you can watch the hounds. Shadow, let’s get moving.”

  And so, lacking a reason not to, she came with me. I could have just ordered her to, of course. As her master, I could give a command she could not refuse. But I was trying to do things differently.

  It felt counter-intuitive to leave everyone else behind. Especially when we were going into a nest filled with giant insects. My reasoning was that if it came to a fight, we couldn’t hurt the insects anyway. All we’d do was just swell their numbers if we hurt them.

  Whereas Shadow was the stealthiest of us all. If anyone had a chance of sneaking through a nest, it was her. And I was a core, and thus had a natural navigational instinct in underground tunnels and tombs. Once I had spent enough time trying to find the nest, they would kick in. I was the best-placed of all of us to discover it.

  Under the cover of what little darkness the treacherous moon allowed us, we crossed the wasteland. Yondersun was way in the distance, only visible because of the mana lamps glowing at the top of their posts. I couldn’t see any movement, but we were too far away. I had to assume Riston was looking for us, but he was probably doing it below ground.

  He’d be in my dungeon right now. Smashing everything up. Strutting around like some jumped-up bloody…ostrich. Thinking he’d beaten me.

  Focus. He’ll get what’s coming to him.

  “I feel bad for him,” said Shadow, staring at Yondersun.

  “Don’t. I know every bad person has a sob story they’ll share if you give them the time, but Riston doesn’t deserve your empathy.”

  “Not him. Gary. We might be away from the dungeon. Outnumbered. But at least we’re free, and we’re together. Gary’s trapped in the cell all alone. Wondering if he killed those people or not…”

  “Let’s say Riston used his powers to control Gary,” I said. “Would he remember it?”

  “Ah. You’re asking me because I’m the only person you know who committed murder under a psychic influence.”

  “I know how troubled you are by it.”

  “Troubled? Nothing troubles me.”

  “Nightmares tend to be quite loud in a dungeon, Shadow.”

  She said nothing for a moment.

  I knew enough to stay quiet.

  Finally, she spoke. “Gary will have spent all his confinement wondering what he has done. Trying to wrench memories from his mind, and getting frustrated when he can’t. Your mind is supposed to be the one thing that always belongs to you.”

  I sensed she had more to say, so I still said nothing. It was a trick that had taken me a while to learn, given how much I like to hear my own voice. But sometimes a leader had to be quiet.

  I was right.

  “You created us, Beno,” Shadow said. “You made us so we could serve the dungeon. Your bond as our master means we cannot refuse your orders…well, unless someone has the power to override that. I know that you try to treat us fairly. That you say the dungeon is ours and not just yours. Even so, you created us to serve you. In doing so, you made sure we do not have a will of our own. Not with the big decisions. But our personal thoughts are supposed to be the one thing that belongs to us. So when someone seizes control and stomps over your desires and makes you do things you do not want to do…”

  She trailed off then, and I sensed she was done.

  She’d given me something to think about.

  I was a core. I killed heroes, and I created monsters to do it. It was in my nature.

  But what about their nature?

  They served me, they helped me fight, but how much of that was because they had to, and how much because they wanted to?

  It wasn’t as if they didn’t have other interests.

  Gary had his music. Wylie liked to paint using hero blood. Tomlin was so scared of violence that even the word made him break out in hives, but he loved cultivating essence vines.

  “Let me ask you something,” I said. “What do you think would happen if, hypothetically, I let everyone choose what they wanted to do?”

  “What do you mean, ‘do’?”

  “If I gave them the choice to serve me, or leave and do what they want.”

  She thought about it.

  “The dungeon would not be as full, Beno.”

  Damn.

  That wasn’t exactly the answer I needed.

  I was just hoping to make an insincere gesture that didn’t cost me anything, yet kept everyone happy.

  Right now, I didn’t have a dungeon to fill, and that was what I needed to fix. Destroy Riston so I could get my home back.

  Shadow and I silently crossed the wasteland until we drew nearer to the crater. I saw lights. Dozens of them. At first, I wondered if the giant insects’ arses lit up at night, or something.

  But then I began to realize what was going on.

  I saw guards. Lots of them. Some carrying torches, others gathered around fires to keep warm in the bitter wasteland evening. All of them were in the crater, and they could only be there for one reason: to guard the hole into the cavern.

  Shadow could have been the greatest rogue in Xynnar, and she’d still have no hope of getting past them.

  We were going to have to turn back.

  Hours later, expectant faces watched us re-enter the tunnel.

  “We didn’t expect you back so soon,” said Gulliver.

  “When a plan ends early, it means trouble, as far as I reckon,” said Eric.

  “Not necessarily. It might have gone really well…”

  “Eric’s right,” I said.

  I explained about the guards, and how there was no way we could get into the caves. It seemed to me that their spirits deflated with my every word. I didn’t like having so many people depend on me, and then disappointing them. That was the thing about leadership. After a successful hero battle, when hero innards were smeared all over the loot chamber walls, things were great. I basked in their complete adulation. But when things went wrong, I had to take the hit for that, too. I couldn’t have it both ways.

  “Damn it,” said Gulliver. “Riston thinks of everything.”

  “I’m hungry!” said Wylie.

  Gulliver shrugged. “You’re a while away from starving to death…porky,” he said, with a friendly grin.

  That was the thing with Gulliver. He always knew what to say when it mattered, and few things ruffled him. Though he was a scribe and had little fighting experience, nobody could criticize his worldly knowledge. He’d traveled everywhere. Been in all kinds of horrible places. He might dress like he was always heading out to a nobleman’s ball, but he was tougher than he looked. He knew how to weather discomfort.

  Wylie and my other dungeon creatures were strangely they opposite. It was funny to think that, given that they l
ived in a dungeon. But really, they’d lived in relative comfort. Back in the dungeon, we had multiple grow rooms where we bred worms and other insects for them to eat. They never wanted for food.

  I could see how bad things were not just by looking at them. At the expression on Wylie’s face. Tomlin’s. Shadow’s. Poor Death and Kill, who were so upset at losing Fight that their feelers drooped like wilted flower stalks.

  I was their leader, and I was failing them. I’d created them all for the purpose of protecting the dungeon, but I hadn’t done enough to protect it myself.

  Gulliver reached into his satchel and took out apple after apple. Must have been a dozen of them. The little red ones. I don’t know what they’re called. Granny’s Arses, or something stupid.

  He passed them around. Wylie took a bite out of his.

  “Eurgh!” he said and spat it out. “Tastes sweet and nourishing! Disgusting!”

  Tomlin patted his kobold friend’s shoulders. “Here, Wylie,” he said. He began scraping at the wall until he reached mud. “Might find worms.”

  Jahn and I watched as the rest of them chomped on their apples.

  “Music, anyone?” said Brecht.

  Nobody answered.

  I felt bad for Brecht, but I understood why they weren’t in the mood for his music today. All he had was a tambourine. Without Gary’s lute and his sweet voice, the tambourine just sounded like a heartbeat pounding faster and faster.

  “So we can’t get into the caverns through the crater,” I said. “But this is actually a good thing. I’ve been thinking. Even if we got into the caverns, there are miles and miles of twists and turns down there. I have a good nose for direction underground…metaphorically of course…but even so, it might take me days to find the nest.”

  “It leaves us without a plan,” said Gulliver.

  “Fail to plan, plan to fail,” said Eric. “My grandpa told me that. Course, he spent all his life’s worth of barbarian earnings on ale and amulets and had nothing to retire on. So not the best person for advice.”

  “We do have a plan,” I said. “Listen to this. The insects obviously know how to get back to their nest. And we can assume that when they kidnap people, they’re taking them there. I’m guessing the nest is where Riston is turning people into wraiths.”