Dungeon Core Academy 2

by Alex Oakchest

  “Damn it. Who will go inform Jahn?”

  “I will,” said a voice.

  It was Shadow. She walked back into the loot room, head held high, shoulders straight. “I have decided that it would gain me more honor to help you, after all. Not through affection, but a sense of duty. I am a kobold of my word. A kobold of honor.”

  “You’re a serial escape artist,” I said.

  She nodded. “Yes, and, um, Seekers are approaching the surface door, so I couldn’t escape that way, anyhow.”

  “Seekers?” I said. My blood pressure went through the roof then. Or it would if had had blood, veins, or a heart.

  Luckily, cores are made to withstand pressure. Lots and lots of it.

  “Shadow, go warn Jahn about the Wrotun. Warrane, if you can get Gary and Wylie out of their cells, you’ll forever be known as First-Leaf Warrane in my dungeon.”

  Shadow gave a theatrical bow. I could feel the sarcasm emanating from it. Then she smiled at Tomlin, who scowled.

  “Something the matter?”

  “Tomlin is loyal. He hates disloyalty to the clan. He would like to announce that he is no longer romantically involved with kobold Shadow.”

  Without a word, Shadow left by the west tunnel. Warrane gave me a last look. “This leaf will deliver Gary to you.”

  This left me and my kobolds alone, and my mind was whirring in all different directions.

  “I need tunnels and traps,” I said. “Miners, I’ll need you to change the tunnels that lead here from the cavern. Carve out as many new openings, dead ends, false turns as you can in an hour. First sign of the Wrotun, get back here to the loot room. This is where we’ll hold out.”

  Maginhart, who was the de-facto miner supervisor without Warrane and Wylie here, stood at the head of the mining team. “An hour is barely enough time to dig a single tunnel opening, Dark Lord. We feel you are unrealistic in your expectations.”

  “I didn’t expect to be attacked on two fronts at once, with one of the attackers being the people who brought me here to defend them. If I’m a little too demanding, it's just a stress response. Just do what you can, Maginhart. Though I don’t think it’ll be enough.”

  “Tomlin can help.”

  “You’d help them dig?” I said. I was pleasantly surprised. Tomlin had always hated digging. He hated physical labor and had been all too happy to shirk it when I created a dedicated mining team.

  Was he doing this for the dungeon? For his clanmates? Pushing back his personal disliked of graft for the good of his…dare I say it...family?

  “No, Tomlin will not dig.”

  “Oh.”

  “But he has cultivated some red essence. Not much, Dark Lord must realize. But Tomlin knows what it does.”

  “That’s great! So tell me, Tomlin. This will be your chance to educate the dark lord for once.”

  “Red essence makes a creature stronger. If Tomlin ate it, he would become a better cultivator. If bard ate it, he may learn how to hold a tune.”

  Brecht glared at Tomlin now, while the rest of the anti-seeker kobold squad smirked.

  “I understand,” I said. “The red essence increases a creature’s class level. Fine, now I need to decide who gets it. How much is there?”

  “Tomlin thinks only four servings.”

  “And then it’d be used up, and I wouldn’t be able to cultivate more. The red essence will be gone for good. But if we don’t use it, we’re all dead. Decisions, decisions.”

  It was an easy decision, really. Logically, it was better to boost my chances of staying alive now, rather than saving the red essence for a future I may not get the chance to enjoy.

  The problem was, I’d be doing the exact thing that everyone looked down on Core Jahn for. I’d be eating all the red essence, instead of cultivating it. For a core, it was the ultimate show of ill-discipline.

  Still, what could I do?

  “If I might say so,” said Brecht. “My guys should get the essence. We’re your primary strike force. A sharpened sword slips easier into the gut.”

  “But if Tomlin eats red essence he becomes better cultivator, and can make more purple essence to regenerate Dark Lord’s powers.”

  At this point, I’d have been stroking my chin if I had one. “Then again, maybe neither of you should get it. Maginhart, you and the miners will eat the essence.”

  “What?” shouted Brecht. “You cannot be serious. You-”

  “Enough!” I boomed. I decided that this was a time when the tyrannical side of me was best shown. Maybe that was the trick; finding a balance. “The next kobold to question me will find himself nailed to the dungeon ceiling near the surface door as a little welcoming gift to the seekers. Maginhart, miners, eat the red essence. It will improve your mining abilities. Dig as many false turns as you can; make it difficult to find the core room.”

  “Yesss, hisss dark magnificence.”

  “Brecht, I want the anti-seeker squad stationed near the surface doors. There’s a puzzle floor loaded with pressure plates, and stepping on them fires vampiric darts from the walls. They won’t hurt you, but if any Seekers take damage, it will heal you. Give them the bloodiest welcome they’ve ever had in this dungeon.”

  “Yes, Dark Lord.”

  “Fungi-thing, send one of your ooze forms to the surface door, another to west to where the Wrotun will emerge. Get your intel, feed it to your hivemind, and then create as many elemental undead ooze as you can. Even if you eventually get so small you’re creating fly-sized ones. I want this loot room heaving with jelly.”

  This left just Tomlin. Dear, cowardly Tomlin. He was avoiding eye contact with me now. I knew he was dreading getting an order to fight. At the same time, he wouldn’t want to be shown up in front of the rest of them, and I didn’t want to humiliate him.

  “Tomlin,” I said. “Take a sword from the inventory room. Then, stay in the core room. Guard the spring. If any Seekers make it there, I want you to show them the sword and convince them that it is artificed, and that it holds the power to destroy the spring entirely. That might make them pause. Hopefully, they won’t make it that far.”

  “Tomlin will do so.”

  “Then let’s get busy, my friends.”

  CHAPTER 25

  It was five minutes when that messages appeared in the air in front of me.

  Maginhart is now a level 20 [Miner]

  Unnamed Kobold 1 is now a level 16 [Miner]

  Unnamed Kobold 2 is now a level 19 [Miner]

  Unnamed Kobold 3 is now a level 15 [Miner]

  Ah, they must have eaten the red essence. As welcome and impressive as it was to see their mining levels increase so much, it bothered me that there were still kobolds in my dungeon who didn’t have names.

  It didn’t seem right. Some of them might die today. No, some would certainly die. I wouldn’t let them meet their end without a name.

  Let’s see. The Soul Bard’s other names. Ah, yes.

  Unnamed Kobold 1 is now named Dylan

  Unnamed Kobold 2 is now named Karson

  Unnamed Kobold 3 is now named Tarius

  Now that was done, there was only one more thing a dungeon core could do at a time like this; create monsters, puzzles, and traps.

  With Shadow having used her scout skills to sense the Seekers approaching the northern surface door, and with the Wrotun sure to attack soon, I didn’t have much time. And time is an ally to a dungeon core.

  The absence of it meant that once I used all my essence, I wouldn’t have the luxury of waiting for it to regenerate. I had to be economical about this.

  So, I had 450 essence points to spend. What would give me the maximum carnage for the lowest cost?

  After thinking about it, my first action was to visit the room near the surface door. I hopped to the pedestal point there, and I faced the riddle door. The kobold-language riddle was still in effect, and I was confident the Seekers wouldn’t guess it, since none of the last party had made it out of here alive.

 
; Here was the thing. The riddle door presented an obstacle, and once a seeker solved it, they would feel a sense of relief.

  Therefore, the best place to put a hidden pitfall was right behind it.

  At a cost of 100 essence points, I created a thirty-feet deep pitfall directly behind the door.

  Next, I had a couple of Brecht’s kobolds fetch a little surprise that I had been saving. Well, surprises, I guess. There was more than one.

  See, when I had deconstructed the goblin party, I hadn’t used all their bodies. No, I had ordered Brecht to sever their heads. And now, I had him place these heads all around the room, so that the seekers would see them when they entered the dungeon. It might not affect their more seasoned warriors, but it would scare the crap out of their rookies.

  Finally, I employed a little trap that was known around the academy as The Heroes’ Temptation. For this, I needed to be in my loot room, the largest room in the whole dungeon.

  Here, I had already crafted a loot chest, but there was nothing in it. I now crafted a Trick Lever puzzle right next to it. This was just three long levers set into the ground.

  Normally, pulling the right lever would open a door or something like that, and using the wrong lever would summon a demon or some bloodthirsty dungeon creature.

  By placing the levers next to an empty loot chest, I was implying that pulling the right lever would fill the chest with loot. Now, I knew that the Seekers weren’t here for that, but the underlying psychology would work.

  This was the Heroes’ Temptation; when a person finds a loot chest underground, they want the treasure. Doesn’t matter what they were originally there for. If they see a lever, they want to pull it. People are stupid.

  After creating the levers I had 225 essence points left. Since my full dungeon capacity meant I couldn’t create any new creatures, I had to settle for more pitfalls. I made two of them, both right next to the loot chest and hidden, but linked to the levers. When the greedy Seekers pulled the levers, they’d have an unpleasant surprise.

  That was as much as I could do on short notice. Fake tunnels, an anti-seeker squad with health replenishing vampiric dust, and a whole load of ooze-sprouting fungi. I just had to hope it would be enough.

  CHAPTER 26

  Reginal’s bowels always felt loose right before a raid. He hadn’t been here on the last one, trusting Jagorga the bard to lead a team into the caverns. Jagorga hadn’t come back, and everyone knew what that meant.

  But they were the Eternals, and they wouldn’t give up trying to claim back their home. The clue was in their name.

  Now, he and a dozen of their best warriors assembled by the surface door, and they had a secret weapon. Tavia, the Wrotun trap maker, a girl who knew the tunnels better than even Reginal himself because she had seen the new passageways they had made. She knew where the traps were, except the ones that the damned core would have created.

  It also meant he could abandon his barbaric practice of sending human slaves into traps. Reginal had never liked doing it, but it had been a necessity.

  So he tried to ignore the pressing urge to make toilet for the fifth time that morning, and he addressed his people.

  “I can feel it in my gut today, my friends,” he told his warriors.

  “You always feel it in your gut, chief.”

  “No, not that. I feel this is our time. Tavia will guide us to the heart of our home, through the deceiving tunnels they have made, past the traps they have sprung for us. We will take back what is ours. No mercy, for they would show us none. Spare nobody who raises a blade to you.”

  “Er, chief,” said Tavia.

  “Ah, yes. Our agreement. Men, women, proud Eternals warriors. You will spare any Wrotun who surrender. Any who willingly leaves our home will not taste our steel.”

  One goblin warrior nudged the archer beside him. “He always gets like this before a raid. Speaks like he’s a general in the king's army, or something. Big words, and using that loud chief voice.”

  A few of them laughed, and Reginal didn’t rebuke them. Let them have whatever good humor they can muster. They’ll need their spirits today.

  He placed his hand on the ground. Energy coursed through him, and he felt a faint trembling of mana. Reginal was no mage, but he was the chief of the Eternals, and this was their rightful home, and the only spell he knew was that which would open the doors to his ancestral land.

  Light spread out on the ground, thin lines of it that formed a rectangle. And there it was. The door.

  No time for words now. No more rousing speeches. Only blood and battle awaited, and by the end, Reginal will have claimed back their home.

  Deep underground, far west of the Eternals, First-Leaf Godwin led a procession of Wrotuns through the cavern and toward the tunnels. He could already smell the spring, even so far away. His body ached for it, and this ache tore at him. He gritted his teeth and forced the pain back.

  “Remember,” he said, without turning back to look at his people. “The core is a trickster. Galatee has given the order to disarm his traps, but he is still dangerous. He will find a way to surprise us, mark my words. Stay strong. Remember, this is your home you are fighting for.”

  He had only been able to muster ten men and women worthy of a blade. They were not fighting people, not anymore. Maybe they had been once, back when they had first taken this land, but now they were older than they had any right to be, and though the springs extended their life, it didn’t make them stronger.

  It didn’t matter. Godwin was their only mage, and he was powerful enough. He already knew his staff and spells could destroy the core, and now it was only a case of finding their way to him and ridding the world of his gem foulness.

  Yet, a small part of him was sad. Or perhaps not sad, but guilty. He knew that the core was a conscious being, and he knew that he had brought the core here, just so he could destroy it and convince his people there was no hope in staying.

  He was a liar, yes. But a liar with his people’s interests at heart. That is what he needed to focus on.

  “Here we are,” he said, as he approached the opening that led to the tunnels. He didn’t dare turn around, because he knew the rest of the Wrotun, those who couldn’t fight and instead had placed their faith in him, were watching. Their hope would only weigh him down now.

  And so, Godwin stepped into the tunnels.

  Reginal was the first to reach the bottom of the slope. He emerged into a much wider space than he had expected. Until recently, the surface door had led to only a series of tunnels, but now there was a room.

  A room with decapitated goblin heads strewn around it. Reginal felt sick, but he couldn’t let his fear show in front of his people.

  “The core has been busy,” he said.

  “They generally are,” answered Tavia.

  It was a strange room. Dominating it was a series of multi-colored floor tiles. Some blue, others red, yellow, green.

  “He’s been decorating the place,” he said, forcing good humor.

  “A trap,” answered Tavia. “Let me go first.”

  The rest of the Eternals filed in now, but they all stayed by the wall nearest the slope opening, and they watched as the Wrotun girl walked cautiously forward.

  She kneeled beside the first tile. This was colored crimson, with no markings.

  “There will be a pattern,” she said. “And false tiles, I’m guessing. Ones that produced a pretty bad effect when you step on them.”

  “Pretty bad? Please, Wrotun trapper, define pretty bad.”

  “You know. A gruesome death.”

  It was then that Reginal heard something.

  It sounded like water dripping from the cavern ceiling. Soon, he realized that not only were the sounds too rhymical to be just dewdrops, but they were getting louder and louder.

  Within seconds he realized that it was a drumbeat. The volume rose until it became a furious pounding.

  A stench reached his nostrils. Spent mana. A spell had been cast
!

  Before he could react, an overwhelming sense of fear shook him. A feeling of hopelessness that rushed through his body, filling him, creeping into his soul where it rested as a darkness.

  His men murmured. One of them gasped, and he heard them all talk now, and the fear in Reginal grew stronger.

  He heard a kobold voice speak in his head.

  You should leave. This is no place for you.

  And he almost follow their advice. His terror was so strong that he wanted to drop his sword and run.

  What was happening? He was a goblin chief. A warrior by blood and training. Reginal hadn’t become chief through running from battle, so why did every part of his mind scream at him to flee?

  It was then that a figure stepped out of the shadows from the far side of the room. A kobold with a tambourine strapped around his chest.

  “Don’t you like my song?” it said.

  “A bard!” shouted one of Reginal’s men.

  The chief understood it then. The bard had used his magic, playing a song of fear.

  Luckily, the goblins had brought their own bard. He stepped forward now, a portly goblin with a lute in his hands.

  “I know music of my own. We could have a duet.”

  The twang of his lute met with the pounding of a tambourine, filling the deathly cavern with a ridiculous song, jarring lute notes and beating drums, the noises echoing off every wall.

  A new energy filled Reginal. A sense of hope. Courage. Now, this was a bard song he liked.

  It filled him with just enough bravery to raise his sword again. “Kill the little drummer!”

  Tavia shot to her feet. “The tiles! Stop, you idiots.”

  Reginal saw sense and was about to order his men to halt, when more kobolds stepped out from the shadows.

  Warriors with iron swords. A much larger kobold with a warhammer, a hammer that Reginal recognized used to belong to one of his men. A ranger kobold with mice scurrying across his shoulders.