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

by Alex Oakchest

  Tavercraig city was famous for being the home to the Satisfactory College of Bureaucrats, where the Empire sent its best would-be gatekeepers and paper-pushers. As such, whenever a person needed to get a license of some sort, they had to come here. Need a license for flyfishing? To Tavercraig you go. Want to set up an archery guild? You know where to visit.

  Contrasting the rather dull nature of its education system and commerce, Tavercraig was a remarkably beautiful city. Centered around a rectangular pool of water that fed into the sea, it was a place of white stone buildings capped with bulbous blue domes, some of which glistened with gems.

  Bolton walked around like a child, craning his neck to stare at everything in a manner quite unbecoming of an ex-overseer. I floated ahead, very much wanting to get this done, and then get on with the business of setting up my academy. The problem was that before I could set anything up, I needed a license to open an academy. Only licensed academies could sponsor a core in the tournament.

  There were 506 permit offices in Tavercraig. They issued permits for all kinds of things imaginable. One of these was even an office that issued permits for permit offices to be registered as permit offices. Winding my way through the maze of streets and trying to find the one that dealt with academies, I thought I would lose my mind, but eventually, we found it.

  Inside the small office, a rather studious -looking goblin sat behind a desk. His black hair was slicked back, and he wore hoops through both ears. He didn’t even acknowledge us as I floated right in front of his desk, and as Bolton drunkenly stumbled towards him. Instead, he flicked through the pages of a book, stamping each one with ink.

  Already tired of this bureaucratic city, I floated above his desk and then slammed down onto it, rattling his cup and shaking his papers.

  “Yes?” he said.

  “I want to get a license to open a dungeon core academy.”

  He looked me up and down. “You’re a dungeon core.”

  “You’re very astute.”

  He sighed. “A dungeon core cannot open a dungeon core academy.”

  “And why not?”

  “Well, let’s see. Tell me this. Can a flea open a flea circus? Can a sheepdog train other dogs to herd sheep? Can a…uh…”

  “Running out of stupid examples?” I asked.

  “Not at all. Can a lion tame other lions?”

  “I don’t give a damn about whether you think I’m capable of opening a dungeon core academy. If you want a test of my skills, you’re welcome to come to my dungeon anytime you like. Make sure to bring a sword, shield, and a fresh set of pants for when you run away screaming. But while I’m here in your grubby office, all I want you to do is open a book of yours to a fresh page, write me a license to open a dungeon core academy, and then stamp it.”

  Bolton sipped from his metal whiskey flask, and then pulled out his pipe and lit it.

  “You can’t smoke in here,” said the goblin.

  Bolton muttered to himself, and then stumbled outside. I couldn’t help but stare. He used to be so dignified as an academy overseer. He commanded the respect of every core in his classes. And yet, I couldn’t help but notice that he seemed much happier in his new life, with his new motto of trying everything once. Who was I to judge?

  The goblin folded his long green fingers in front of him and stretched his arms out across the desk. “I suppose that you can be granted a license just like anyone. Providing you meet the requirements of a dungeon core academy, of course.”

  He reached into a drawer in his desk and pulled out a small card. He passed it to me. Lacking arms, I couldn’t take the card from him, so I waited until he realized as much and placed it on the desk. From there, I read it.

  The requirements to open a tier 10 basic dungeon core academy are as follows:

  1) One enrolled core student, who has not previously attended an academy.

  2) Essence vines overseen by an F-class cultivator.

  3) One overseer trained at the Overseers’ Academy, with a valid overseer license.

  This presented me with quite a few problems. Namely, I didn’t know any cores who hadn’t been to an academy already, so I didn’t know who I could recruit as a student.

  I also didn’t have any F-class cultivators working for me, and the only overseer I had any dealings with was currently waiting outside the office, drunk, and smoking on a pipe. Bolton had given up his overseer license, and I doubted he was in any fit state to pass a test to get a new one.

  “As you can see,” said the goblin, “the requirements for opening a dungeon core academy are quite strict. As they should be. The education of young minds is an important task. The education of young core minds is also a dangerous one. You would be advised to give up on any silly notions of opening a new academy, especially when there are already established and well-respected ones all across the land.”

  If there was one thing I hated more than people doubting me, it was when they had good reason to. Throw the goblin’s condescension into the mix, and the only thing I would enjoy more than proving this chump wrong was allowing him to experience the various traps in my dungeon. And none of them would involve an iron rod with a shovel on the end. I would show him some of my more lethal inventions.

  “If I satisfy these requirements, can I come back and get a license?” I said.

  The goblin rolled his eyes but nodded. “Registrations for dungeon core academies are only available for one month per year. That happens to be this month, so you appear to have luck on your side.”

  “There are only two weeks left in this month.”

  “As I said, you have luck on your side. But I’m not sure which kind it is.”

  When I left the office, I was surprised to find Overseer Bolton in conversation with someone I recognized. Someone - the second person today – who I would quite gladly have led into a trap. Preferably one involving a pool of water, a blood bag, and a dozen hungry sharks.

  Bolton noticed me and spread his arms out. “Look who it is, Beno! It’s Reg Tarnbuckle.”

  “So it is,” I said. “If you were missing me, overseer, you only had to say. You didn’t have to follow us out here.”

  Tarnbuckle looked like he was chewing on a nettle made of glass. “Just taking care of some academy business. I find it strange to see you here. As far as I know, this permit office only deals with…bloody hell. You cannot be serious, Failed Graduate Beno.”

  I saw no reason to hide anything from him. “After touring the Dungeon Core Academy, I figured that this whole academy business is easier than you make it seem. I thought, why not open my own academy? Maybe I’ll get some stupid robes and a ridiculously heavy necklace.”

  “You’re making a big mistake, core.”

  “Whoever became great without doing so?”

  Tarnbuckle glared at me. “Your core has the purity of muck. To even talk of greatness is ridiculous, and an insult to anyone great. If you ever, from years of hard work, achieve even mild competence, there will be parties thrown all over Xynnar.”

  “Pleased to see so many people are following my career.”

  Tarnbuckle huffed and then went into the office, leaving Bolton and me alone. As we walked away, Bolton chuckled. “You made an enemy there, Beno. Tarnbuckle was always the most pathetic of overseers. Only now, he has the power to back it up. They say elephants never forget. Well, Tarnbuckle is like an elephant with a grudge, backed up by the Dungeon Core Academy.”

  “He already got his way. Aethos is being sponsored for the Battle of the Five Stars, not me. Why would he care if I open an academy?”

  “Think about it, Beno. It isn’t just the Dungeon Core Academy who are using the core quality tests. Apparently every Academy is. It’s all the rage. If you open your own academy, word will get out. Along with that, word will get out that not only did you used to attend the Dungeon Core Academy, but your core quality was the lowest it is possible to be without being a mollusk. You will shame them by association. That wouldn’t be much of a
problem if you were just in a dungeon underground, where nobody but heroes ever meet you. But if you open academy…and if we managed to get to the tournament…”

  “This could reflect badly on poor old Tarnbuckle and the academy.”

  Bolton nodded. “And there’s nothing Tarnbuckle values more than respect and status.”

  “All the more reason to go ahead,” I said.

  Chapter 8

  Finding a qualified Dungeon Core Academy overseer who would be willing to commit to a new academy - one that wasn’t even licensed yet - would be the toughest thing.

  Luckily for me, I had an academy overseer hanging around my dungeon twenty-four hours a day. Sure, he had a new penchant for getting drunk and wearing horrible shirts, but he was still one of the most esteemed overseers around.

  So, that evening, I sent my kobolds, Wylie and Klok, to Hogsfeate with a big bag of gold. There, I instructed them to find the best restaurant in town. When they returned, I lit the best mana lamps in my core chamber, the ones I saved for special occasions, and I treated Bolton to a lovely meal.

  He sat at the table, adorned this evening in a smoking jacket with his pajamas underneath, completed by fluffy slippers.

  “Is there any reason you didn’t bother to get dressed today?” I asked.

  “Try everything once. I never spent all day wearing pajamas. I have to say, I’ve quite enjoyed it.”

  “Well, I’m sure you’ll enjoy the lovely cuisine I have provided even more. I’m told it’s a delicacy.”

  “A cynical man might say you wanted something from me, Beno.”

  “Let’s not pretend. You’re too old for games, and the only ones I enjoy involved wanton hero slaughter. The first requirement of getting my academy license is that I have one at least overseer employed.”

  “No, no, no. I told you, I’m done with all of that. I’ve had a lifetime’s worth of teaching bratty dungeon cores. No offense.”

  “Not even for the good of the dungeon? For Jahn’s cause? The rewards for winning the tournament are said to be immense. Even placing in the semi-finals can bring lots of powerful trinkets.”

  Bolton shoved a forkful of some kind of honeyed fish into his mouth. “Even if I wanted to become an overseer again, my license is expired. It isn’t as if I can just apply for a new one. They would make me repeat the tiresome entrance exams, which last for two weeks straight. I’m an old man approaching the end of my third life, Beno. I don’t wish to waste two weeks of it brushing up on my knowledge of traps and monsters.”

  “Is that your final answer?” I said.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  I used my core voice. “Wylie? Can I see you for a moment?”

  Soon, a short, squat kobold darted into the room. “Yes, Dark Lord? You need Wylie?”

  “Take the plate away from the overseer, Wylie. He’s done with it. You and Klok and the others can eat it instead. It will do Bolton no harm to lose a bit of weight, anyway.”

  There weren’t many places to find academy overseers. The overseers were trained in an academy of their own, cleverly named the Dungeon Core Academy Overseer’s Academy. As Bolton said, their education was grueling, their evaluations rigorous. Given what it took to become an overseer, they commanded hefty wages and expected status. No newly qualified overseer would even consider joining my fledgling academy.

  This left me with little option but to forget newly-qualified overseers, and concentrate on old ones. Bolton begrudgingly wrote a list of all the overseers who had retired from the Dungeon Core Academy, both during his tenure there and recently. Despite his reluctance to get involved in overseer life, he still kept his old contacts.

  I worked my way through the list, spending the next few days taking mana carriages all over Xynnar. I met retired overseer after retired overseer. Old men, women, goblins, and all kinds of races who had once held overseer licenses.

  Unfortunately, none of them would have anything to do with me. Somehow, word had gotten around that I would be calling on them. They had been told that the academy I was trying to tempt them to join wasn’t even licensed yet. Also, they had already been told that as a core, my core quality was as low as it can get. Not only that, but that I was very hard to work with.

  Where did anyone get that impression? I was a joy! Each one of my monsters would say so. Yes, they would say so under duress, the threat of having to test my new traps dangling over them. But they would still say that I was a great core to be around.

  Nevertheless, word had spread to almost every retired overseer. Some expressed sympathy with what I was trying to do. Some of them were excited by the idea of a core opening an academy, but none of them would work with me.

  “Seems to me that our friend Tarnbuckle is behind this,” I told Gulliver. “He must have called in favors or threatened them. I almost admire him for it. There’s nothing better than a good threat.”

  “Well, I have some news, Beno. I used to know an overseer. His name is Gill, and he retired fifteen years ago.”

  “He must be bloody ancient.”

  “He’s not dead, so he has that going for him. It doesn’t seem like you have many options. I ghost-wrote Gill’s biography for him, and I did it at a very low rate. He owes me a favor. Why don’t I set up a meeting?”

  We met ex-overseer Gill in a tavern in Hogsfeate, named the Saucy Piglet. His insistence on us paying for a first-class mana-carriage stocked with all condiments should have been my first clue that Gill would be difficult. My second should have been his insistence on meeting a tavern.

  Gulliver and I headed in. The tavern wasn’t the nicest of establishments, full of shadowy figures smoking pipes and playing cards, their faces almost hidden behind hoods that billowed over their heads. Barmaids and barmen sauntered in and out of the kitchen, carrying trays of what passed as the food here. Jellied eels, giant pies dripping with gravy, that sort of thing.

  “Something I should have mentioned about Gill,” said Gulliver.

  “You’re worrying me...”

  “Just don’t stare too much when you see him.”

  Ominous words. I wondered what could be the matter with the man. What could be so hideous about him that I would need to stare?

  I soon found out.

  In many ways, old Gill was a normal person. He had arms and legs. Two of each. And a body, which I’m told is quite normal.

  He didn’t have a face, however.

  Oh, he had a head. A normal-sized and normal shaped head, with wrinkled skin that befitted his age. However, his face was completely blank. I don’t mean that he was docile. He simply didn’t have eyes, a nose, or a mouth.

  But Gulliver needn’t have warned me not to stare. As a dungeon core, I was used to meeting all sorts of misfits and monsters. Not that this man was a monster, of course. The fact that someone was a little different didn’t bother me at all.

  When Gill saw us, he raised his hand and beckoned us over to his table. When he spoke, his voice was muffled.

  “Over here, young Gulliver! Oh, and this is your pet core, is it?”

  “Beno isn’t my pet Gill. But it’s good to see you all the same. Gill, meet Beno. The Dark Lord. His Dark Magnificence. The Prince of Pain. Beno, meet Gill. The Old Git, they call him.”

  Gill lifted a pint of beer from the table. I wondered how he was going to drink it, but I didn’t have long to wait. He parted his shirt at the middle, to reveal his chest. On his chest, were two eyes, a nose, and a mouth where his belly button should have been.

  I understood what Gill was now. I knew about people like Gill from a book in the academy library. Shapers could alter the face on their blank head, allowing them to disguise themselves. As such, many were employed as assassins and thus looked upon with suspicion.

  This was why many of them kept their heads blank and spoke through their real mouths, on their bellies. As strange a sight as it was, their blank faces were supposed to reassure others that they were not assassins and were not assuming a disguise.

/>   Mainly, though, it was because making a face appear on their heads caused them great pain, and it would be impossible for them to keep it up long enough to trick the rest of society for regular periods.

  Gill tipped the beer into his belly mouth. His stomach fat wobbled as he glugged.

  “Seen something interesting?” said Gill, talking through his stomach while his featureless face stayed perfectly placid, like a mannequin.

  “Of course not,” I said. “Only a talking stomach. A yapping gut. A conversational tummy.”

  Gulliver elbowed me. Or, he tried to. I floated out of the way, making him elbow thin air. “I told you not to stare. I thought that not mentioning…his condition… was implied,” he hissed.

  Gill laughed. That was an extremely disconcerting sight, seeing his belly mouth ripple as he guffawed, and hearing the chortle coming from his gut.

  “I like this core already,” he slurred, unmistakably drunk. “Come on then. Get your questions out of the way. I’ve heard ‘em all, and I don’t mind answering.”

  “Err, okay. What happens when you go to the dentist?”

  “Same as everyone else,” replied Gill’s belly. “They make me wait for an hour, sit me down in a chair and poke and prod at my teeth, then charge me a fortune.”

  “And when you drink, where does it go?”

  “Out of my bloody pecker, same as most blokes. Anything else?” he said, in perfectly good cheer.

  “I think that’s everything,” I said, though it wasn’t. I had about a thousand questions.

  “You said you had a proposition for me. As it happens, I need beer money.”

  For the next ten minutes, I outlined my plan of opening a Dungeon Core Academy to Gill. To his credit, he didn’t show me any of the condescension I had received from the permit office goblin and Overseer Tarnbuckle. He didn’t make it seem like it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.