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

by Alex Oakchest

  Warrane, already pale from his wound, went even paler. He backed out of the chamber. Stumbled. Retched. Luckily the paste on his neck had completely sealed his wound. It wasn’t healed, since the paste was alchemic, not magical, but the bleeding was completely stopped.

  Cynthia patted him on the back. “Get it out. Get it all out, that’s it.”

  The longer I stared at the corpses, the more a sense of dread crept up on me. I floated into the center of the room, above the bodies. I looked at their skin. Their faces. Their eyes.

  “They’re wraiths,” I said. “Just like the girl. Only, these are fully changed. They aren’t dead bodies. They aren’t just piled up. They’re wraiths.”

  Eric shook his head. “Nope. Wraiths would attack us. Trust me. I’ve got a scar that-”

  “Do you,” said Warrane, wiping his mouth, “have a scar for everything?”

  “Pretty much, lad. Now, you have a rest for a second. Have some water.”

  “I drank it all.”

  “Then have some of mine. Only, be slow with it. Watch your neck.”

  Gulliver, resting against the wall, looked at Eric. “Wraiths wouldn’t necessarily attack,” he said.

  Eric went to speak, then stopped. Ever since he’d learned about the book, he’d treated Gulliver with a little more respect. Instead of just dismissing him, he said, “How so?”

  “Wraiths kill anything they’re commanded to, yes. And I don’t doubt that the core in this dungeon would have commanded them to attack intruders. That’s if Beno is anything to go by when it comes to cores. But wraiths famously have a weakness.”

  “Ah,” said Eric. “Yes. Being underground so long, I forgot that not everything is dark.”

  “What?” said Anna spinning around. “What? Someone tell me! Utta, tell me!”

  Utta shrugged. “I dunno.”

  Eric, who knew what Anna had done to Shadow, ignored her. I supposed we were lucky that’s all he did. Given that Shadow was his friend, he was actually showing a hell of a lot of restraint, for a barbarian.

  “Tell me, you lump!” said Anna.

  “It goes against my barbarian code of ethics to kill an unarmed teen,” said Eric. “But everyone is allowed to break the rules occasionally.”

  “Touch her, and you’ll be dead before your next breath,” said Bolton.

  “Yeah!” added Utta.

  Anna sauntered over to Eric. “Don’t worry. If he doesn’t want to tell me, I’ll just find out for myself…”

  She closed her eyes, no doubt to use her powers.

  “Enough!” I boomed.

  Anna’s eyelids shot open.

  “Grow up, the lot of you. Eric, Anna, Bolton, Utta. We’re stuck with each other until we sort this out and leave this poor excuse for a dungeon. So for demons’ sake, shut up. All of you.”

  None of them spoke. Even Bolton kept his mouth shut. He had a look in his eyes. A sort of glare, I thought at first, but the longer I looked, the more it seemed like something else. Admiration, maybe? No, it couldn’t be.

  I carried on. “These are wraiths, and they’re incredibly dangerous. They’re undead, feel no pain, and attack with a single-minded determination. They have no desires other than to kill what they’re ordered to, and they’ll never stop. Cut their legs off, and they’ll crawl. Stab them in the belly, and they’ll come at you with a sword in their guts.”

  “This one suddenly feels full of confidence,” groaned Warrane.

  Cynthia patted his shoulder and handed him a water flask. “Shh. Don’t push yourself.”

  “Point taken, Warrane,” I said, “but they’re not attacking us. They aren’t even moving right now. That’s because, as Gulliver said, wraiths have a significant weakness: they are completely inactive during the daytime once they have fully turned into wraiths. It doesn’t matter if they’re underground where it’s always dark. As long as it’s daylight hours on the surface, they sleep. If you can call it sleeping.”

  “Why would anyone build an army of wraiths in a place like the wasteland?” said Jahn. “It’s always sunny here! We get a few hours of nighttime at most. I was the worst core in the academy, and even I can figure out that.”

  “That’s what I’m wondering, too. Fifty wraiths would be a devastating army in most places. It’s why a lot of towns and cities in Xynnar put wards in their graveyards, and have counter-mages on hand to block dark spells like this.”

  “Maybe the core who owns this dungeon is stupid.”

  “Cores are never stupid,” I said.

  “I am,” said Jahn.

  “No, you aren’t! Never say that. Everything people used to say about you in the academy is pure crap.”

  “I agree,” added Bolton. “We chose you to become a core for a reason, Jahn. Perhaps we misjudged the type of core you would become. But our reasons for forging you have been proven right, given your work in Yondersun.”

  I could feel the pride beaming off my core friend now. To get such praise from Bolton, one of the most esteemed overseers in the academy, always felt good. Jahn had never had such praise when he was a student, but it was better late than never. He deserved it.

  “Let’s forget the whys for now,” I said. “We have fifty people here. Fifty wraiths who we need to turn back. If we can make just one of them human again, they can tell the townsfolk what happened. That Gary had nothing to do with the murders. That everyone in the dungeon only ever looked out for the town’s interests. Most importantly, that Riston is responsible for everything.”

  “This one doesn’t see what the wraiths have to do with Gary,” said Warrane. “His victims…the murdered people…did not become wraiths.”

  “It has everything to do with it. It has to,” I said.

  They all stared at me.

  I knew what they were thinking.

  Is that just what you want to believe, Beno? That Gary is innocent?

  Maybe it really was a matter of belief. When it came to it, I wanted to have faith in my friend over logic. I didn’t need an overseer to tell me how uncore-like that was.

  “What about Riston?” said Eric. “You could turn all these folks back, get them talking, but Riston still has the rest of the town dullards under his control.”

  “Well, we have Anna with us. She can reverse it.”

  “Oh, how funny,” said Anna. “Suddenly I’m your best friend.”

  “No, I hate you. But you’re useful to me.”

  “Why should I help?”

  Good question. Why should she?

  I had been watching Anna, and I thought I knew her weak spot.

  “Because Overseer Bolton wants you to. He knows I’m talking sense, and he wants you to help.”

  Anna looked at Bolton as if asking him the question. Hells, for all I knew she really was asking it, telepathically.

  “Remember what we said about the school, Anna,” said Bolton. “You wasted your chance, but you were still chosen. No matter how you left the school, you were a Chosen One for a reason.”

  Anna looked at Utta now. She had her hands on her hips, and she arched her eyebrows. She expected him to back her up.

  I always got the sense that Utta followed Anna everywhere. That he did everything she said. That he idolized her. Maybe even loved her. I doubted he’d be on my side.

  “I agree with the overseer,” said Utta. “There has to be more to us, Anna. We were chosen. When we get the chance to help, we should help.”

  “You never cared about being a Chosen One before.”

  “I did. You just never asked me. It was always about going where you said. About trying to find a bunch of pirates to join. About coming up with ways to kill Beno. No offense, core.”

  “People try to kill me all the time,” I said. “No skin off my non-existent nose. So, Anna, are you going to do the decent thing? If we somehow turn these wraiths human again, will you help remove Riston’s spell from the rest of the townsfolk?”

  Everyone was quiet as they waited for Anna to answer.
>
  “No,” she said.

  And she casually sauntered out of the chamber, whistling to herself.

  Bolton looked like a disappointed father. “Let me speak to her. You concentrate on changing the wraiths.”

  That was easier said than done. I searched my memory to think of anything we had learned in the academy related to wraiths. I knew how they were made. I knew their strengths and weaknesses. Nothing about reversing the wraith process.

  Jahn and I discussed it. Eric told us stories about any wraith-like things he’d encountered on his travels. Gulliver opened his artificed satchel and pulled out a bunch of notebooks. These were full of entries he’d written in shorthand while on his various travels over the years. He flicked through them. He had a code for how he organized and labeled entries, and it didn’t take him long.

  “Nothing,” he said.

  “We aren’t going to be able to change them back, are we?” said Eric.

  It was a tragedy. So many townsfolk. Families. Travelers. Some had just wanted to live a peaceful life in Yondersun. Others had been wandering through the wasteland to trade, to make a living. They’d ended up turned into undead monsters, their corpses piled up like trash in a dungeon chamber.

  I wanted to tell everyone that we could fix this, but I wouldn’t lie to them.

  “The process of becoming a wraith involves death,” I said. “I don’t think we can reverse it.”

  “But even in undeath, there is a sort of life, isn’t there?” said Gulliver. “Their brains work, in a fashion. There must be something.”

  “What about the girl?” said Eric. “What if she can…uh…clear the bad wraith stuff from their heads?”

  “They’d still be wraiths.”

  “Physically. But if they could think and talk like people…”

  “That doesn’t seem likely,” I said.

  Bolton caught up to Anna. He put his hand on her shoulder. She flinched and turned away so his hand fell off her.

  “You could have backed me up,” she said. “Everyone starin’ at me. A nice word wouldn’t have been hard. Would it, huh?”

  “This isn’t about going against you. This is about a whole town under a mage’s spell. This Riston fella wants to fight Beno.”

  “He’s got the right idea.”

  “Beno will fight back. It’s in his nature as a core. And Riston will use the townspeople in that fight. Some of them will die.”

  “So? If you fight, you might die. It doesn’t take a genius to understand that.”

  “These folks are under a spell. They aren’t choosing to do anything. Whereas you, Anna, do have a choice. Just like you did at the Chosen One school. You chose to leave.”

  “They threw me out!”

  “No, you broke their most sacred rule. If we’re talking about choices, then understand this: you gave the school no choice. You chose to help your friend, use your magic on a teacher, and everything that happened afterward is a result of your choice.”

  “Choice? Ha. I’m a Chosen One, remember? The name implies that someone else already did a whole bunch of choosing for me.”

  Bolton was struck with understanding. It was so simple that he couldn’t believe he’d missed it in all the time he’d been traveling with the girl. It was so straight forward that he laughed.

  “That’s it, isn’t it? You were unhappy that your destiny was mapped out even when you were a baby. That before you could talk, someone had made a plan for you, and you were designated as a Chosen One. So that’s why you got yourself kicked out of the school.”

  “Who gave you brains all of a sudden?”

  “I’m told you acquire them with age. Wisdom, they call it. You’d think that after three lives, I’d have more of it by now. I’ve made poor choices too, Anna.”

  “I’ll say. I didn’t want to mention it, but your new boots…”

  “When I was a dungeon core and I earned the right to be resurrected as a man again, I had so many options. I could have lived a normal life. Found my soul mate. Had children. Enjoyed a happy, peaceful existence. But I was vain. I had learned so much as a dungeon core, that I wanted to show off my immense knowledge to everyone. That was why I started teaching at the academy. To show young cores like Beno how great I was. In doing so, I made a choice. I decided to forfeit having a family. Throw away the chance of making real, last connections. You see the result of that before you; just a lonely old man.”

  Anna said nothing for a while.

  Bolton stayed silent, too. He’d said all there was to say. Said things he’d been thinking for a while, but hadn’t imagined ever uttering out loud. He’d probably never have said it to anyone else, but this girl was so obstinate about speaking her thoughts, that it had rubbed off on him.

  Finally, she spoke. “You’re not just a lonely old man.”

  “Trust me, Anna. I am.”

  “No, you’re not just a lonely old man. You’re a lonely old man with terrible, terrible boots.”

  He sighed, turning away from her. “Why do I even bother?”

  He began to walk away.

  She caught up to him. Grabbed his hand.

  “Thank you for all the stuff you showed me, Bolton. All the skills you taught me. I mean it.”

  He was floored. That was the first time he’d heard her express gratitude for anything.

  “I’ll try and help the stupid townspeople,” she said. “But if it works, I want a reward. A statue, maybe. If it doesn’t work, I’m not sticking around. I hate this stupid wasteland place.”

  “Me too, Anna. Me too.”

  By the time we heard footsteps coming from the tunnel outside the chambers, I was exasperated. We’d discussed everything we knew about wraiths, and none of us had ever heard of a way of reversing the wraith process.

  Anna and Bolton appeared in the chamber archway.

  “I’ll help with the town morons,” she said. “But don’t make a thing of it. Don’t go saying I’m the best person ever, or a hero, or something.”

  “A hero? I wouldn’t even give a wretch like you that kind of insult,” I said.

  Something occurred to me then. “Anna, can you try something?”

  “See, I knew this would happen. I’m nice just once, and then the favors start.”

  “Try to access the wraiths’ minds. See if you can do your mind-towel thing and…how do I put this…no, there’s no smart way of wording it. Just see if you can remove the wraith stuff from their brains.”

  “Mind-blankets, actually,” said Anna. “How many more times do I have to say? I realize that sounds just as stupid, but at least get things right.”

  Anna closed her eyes.

  Nobody said a word. Even Death, Kill, and the hounds were silent. The tension was the worst I’d ever felt in a dungeon.

  Come on, Anna. Do this…

  She opened her eyes.

  We waited for her to speak.

  None of the wraiths moved.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t do anything.”

  “So that’s it, then,” I said. “We have fifty wraiths. As soon as it’s nighttime, they’ll become active again.”

  “At least this is the wasteland, Beno,” said Gulliver. “As I said, it could be worse. There’s never much nighttime here. Only a few hours per day for the wraiths to run free. They can only do so much damage.”

  “I still don’t want to give them the chance. We better find this core.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Gary

  Gary’s lips were dry. His cell was dark, but not the kind of darkness you found in a dungeon. Dungeon darkness was nice and familiar. Even thinking about the place made him so nostalgic that his stomach hurt. He thought about Wylie and his blood paintings. Brecht and the exquisite lyrics he wrote to accompany Gary’s lute tunes.

  They’d all be in the dungeon now. They would be at home, doing dungeon things. Mining, killing heroes, eating, killing heroes, sleeping, killing heroes. They were living their normal dungeon life, while Gary
was up here.

  And not a single one of them had come to visit.

  Sure, it was possible the townsfolk wouldn't allow them too, but Beno was part of the town council! He could have pulled strings.

  Perhaps Beno wasn’t the delightful chap that Gary had always thought he was. Perhaps none of his dungeon mates were. Maybe Gary didn’t have a place in the dungeon at all. If that was true, then where did he belong? He’d already found out that there was no life for him with the townsfolk.

  He heard footsteps outside the cell. Then he heard metal clanging on the bars of the adjacent cells. That meant Muckstremp was coming. Muckstremp was the meanest of the town guards, and he seemed to hate Gary.

  If this were the dungeon, Gary would tear the git’s head off and eat it. But this wasn’t the dungeon. Or it was…but it was the townsfolk’s dungeon. Their territory. The guards were like the cores, and their job was to keep Gary here.

  “Up, you miserable, eight-eyed freak!” said Muckstremp.

  He was leaning toward the cell bars. Getting way too close. Stupid guard.

  Gary took his chance.

  He slipped his leech legs through the bars and tightened them around Muckstremp’s neck before he could even react.

  “I assume you meant that as an insult,” said Gary. “But it’s more a statement of fact. Yes, I’m miserable. Who wouldn’t be, having to see your stinking mug every day? And yes, I have eight eyes and some might call me a freak. But you, Ruckstremp? You’re worse. You have two eyes, and they only see the world around you. Mine show me the differences between us.”

  “Help…” croaked Muckstremp.

  “My eyes show me that horrible pile of ooze you call a soul. They show me what you’re like inside. What you really are.”

  “Please…G…G…Gary.”

  Gary squeezed tighter. Stared at Muckstremp. His face was turning purple. He’d die soon.

  If Gary let that happen, then he’d prove them all right. He’d confirm that he was a killer. He couldn’t say whether or not he’d murdered his townsfolk friends. He couldn’t remember. But he’d always remember killing Muckstremp.