The Guild Core: The Complete Saga Boxset: A LitRPG Dungeon Adventure

by TJ Reynolds

  Ban absorbed the scroll and then resummoned it in the study next to the skill books Kai had yet to read. Then he returned to his work with a renewed focus.

  He could finish his excavations later. Now that he had an isolated place to experiment, Ban needed to get to work on his minions.

  Thus far, Ban had made several hideous amalgamations that he simply could not unleash upon the world. A certain level of grace and dignity is due to any beast that walks the earth, he thought, and when considering such abominable amalgamations as the Chitterling Hound or the Slime Rat, the Earth Core knew he had yet to happen upon a truly beneficial combination.

  The problem was not that he lacked imagination. Far from it, Ban easily drummed up ideas of creature combinations that would strike terror in the bravest adventurer’s soul or fill a maiden’s heart with awe.

  The Chitterling Hound was his latest failure. Adding the sheer strength and ferocity of the Sludge Hound to the precision of the Small Chitterling—which was by no means small—Ban expected the result would be a monster of incomparable power and grace. Instead, the ponderous weight of the hound made the chitterling’s legs unstable. A few of them had snapped outright and he was forced to watch the monster writhe on the ground in distress.

  His next trial proved only slightly more successful. He had selected Monstrous Rat and watched that minion populate the first box. Then, he had selected Amethyst Viper and it formed in the second box. Below these inputs, in the larger box, a grotesque parody of a beast formed—a mish-mash of the rat and snake that was hard to look at. Rather than selecting the mental command to finish, Ban examined his Amalgamation Interface further.

  He had assumed he could mix any two creatures together and have a third appear, fully functioning and ready for battle. That assumption had proven false. But what he had not paid much attention to before, was the list of features that ran down the left side of his Amalgamation Interface.

  From top to bottom, the list read: Head, Torso, Upper, Lower, Tail. These were the five major components of his minions. Ban selected the first, Head, and additional physical sub-features spilled down in a detailed list.

  Under Head, the dungeon now read: Teeth, Skull, Jaw, Eyes, Snout, Tongue.

  I’m finally getting somewhere, he mused, and clicked on Teeth. Suddenly, in both of the upper boxes, what passed for each creature’s teeth lit up.

  At the same time, a slider bar appeared, with a cursor set in the middle. To either side were numbers. Currently, each side read 50. Well, that’s interesting, Ban thought. What would happen if I nudge it just a little bit to one side?

  When Ban moved the cursor toward the snake, the amalgamated creature in the box underneath the minion inputs changed. Its front teeth grew more pronounced, thinning out and lengthening until, by the time he had reached the far side and the number read 100, the teeth resembled the snake’s fangs perfectly.

  I’ve got it! Ban reveled quietly in his head, hoping not to disturb his dragon.

  Switching back to his main Amalgamation Interface, Ban selected Torso next, and saw listed: Bone Structure, Musculature, Skin. This much shorter list was a nice place to start over. Ban selected Bone Structure and moved the slider all the way towards rat. The hideous elongation of the amalgamation’s body became something more recognizable. He did the same with Musculature. But when he got to Skin, he moved the slider bar in the other direction. Suddenly, Ban was staring at a minion with the body of a rat, but the scales and fangs of a snake.

  Excited by this success, Ban selected ‘Upper’ from the main interface, which he discovered meant the amalgamation’s upper extremities. He adjusted both this and the ‘Lower’ slider to retain the rat’s sturdy limbs. In the results box, the formerly shrunken appendages of his amalgamation grew in function.

  For its ‘Tail’, Ban moved the slider bar mostly toward the snake, giving the - reptilian rat thing? - a long, sweeping tail. He wanted its tail to be short enough that the amalgamation could dart around, though, and not be bogged down by the extra weight.

  The last changes he made were back in the Head menu. Ban tweaked the Skull shape just a bit closer toward the viper, widening its head. Then for the Eyes, Tongue and Jaw, he pushed the slider bar all the way over to the Viper. Finally, he brought the Teeth back to 75% Viper and 25% rat, so that it could both gnash its prey and puncture them with its fangs.

  When he was done, he admired the amalgam and mentally prompted Finish.

  40 AE, 20 BM, and 25 IM poured out of Ban, more than he’d ever spent on a minion. But the results were worthwhile. The beast sprinted down the tunnel, its body lurching side to side more than scurrying like a rat. When it came to the end of the passage, it ran up the side of the wall and stayed there, its tail wedging into a crevasse and supporting its weight.

  How fascinating! I’m a genius, Ban thought with only a slight sense of irony, truly feeling satisfied with his efforts. He inspected the amalgam closer and saw that in his unfiltered musings, he’d named it ‘Reptilian Rat Thing’. No, he sighed, that won’t do at all. He thought for a moment and happened upon the perfect name: Amethyst Rake.

  This addition to the forces he would soon build filled him with confidence. But it wouldn’t do to let it out in the world abroad. It was terribly large and as conspicuous as a boy in a brothel.

  Sifting through the list of Available Minion Designs, Ban remembered that he had absorbed the remains of one of their new neighbors. Its vaguely humanoid features could make for a very promising build. Wanting to make the most of his remaining time, Ban selected the gargen as his first minion input.

  A good start perhaps, Ban thought. But what would most complement this odd little beast? He toiled on, experimenting with great and tedious precision until he felt he had the perfect combination.

  Hours later, as the sun began to rise outside, Ban opened the entrance to his dungeon once more, preserving the natural look of the cave. His hero would need to leave somehow, and much sooner than he had wished for.

  The designing and planning of traps, ever the favorite pastime of dungeons, could come later. The same could be said about filling his chambers with lurking minions, mindless but ready to attack anything that threatened his core. More pressing matters were at hand.

  He had also done as much packing as he could, for a being without arms. Provisions were stacked in piles in the upper chambers, along with a few farewell gifts. It was not fitting to see your dragon off, after all, unless you sent them out absolutely prepared. Imagining Kai far from Ban’s influence and weakened by a need as base as hunger made the Earth Core cringe.

  What was more important, though, was to ensure that Kai met his new companion with proper ceremony. He hummed a bit, hoping to stir the dragonling from his sleep. It didn’t work, so instead he called out, Wake, dragonling! Rise to adventure, rise to might, rise to the coming of the new day!

  Ban ignored the insults that Kai threw his way, and cut him off. I know, I know, Ban soothed, I’m sure I have much in common with night soil. But please, Kai, shut up and listen.

  The young man sat up and wrapped his arms around his long legs. What is it, Ban? And why couldn’t you have waited another hour or so?

  Ban couldn’t handle the suspense any longer. He urged his newest creation to run into the room with its arms held wide. Then out of the gargat’s mouth, Ban spoke, “It’s me, Kai! Now what do you say we go adventuring?”

  Kai fell back and struck his head against the hearth, swearing like a Kaltanese sailor. “How in the seven hells are you speaking through that thing’s mouth?”

  Ignoring the reproach in his tone, Ban answered in Kai’s mind. This is my champion! The most exciting thing of all is that I can inhabit the little monster at will, so you won’t need to leave me behind!

  Why in all of Brintosh would I be leaving you behind, Ban? And where do you suppose we’ll be going? Kai fretted, and the dungeon knew his alarm was justified. Everything had changed and only a great act of will kept him from spillin
g the dragon eggs before they could hatch.

  Ban paused, allowing the tension from Kai’s most appropriate question to build to its natural apogee. When Kai looked ready to explode, the dungeon finally answered. Why, to wake up the other shivvered dungeons and find our way to the Sunken Keep, of course! What else would we do on our first outing?

  21

  Bright Eyes, Blind Sky

  Rhona

  The sky overhead bled clouds, all streaking south, south, always south. What is that… a wind storm? Rhona thought absently. She continued to marvel at the glowing sky. She knew somehow neither sun nor stars lit the sky, but an ethereal blue, pale light that leached the color from the world.

  She was aware of lying on the coldest stone, her back stiff and her body unresponsive, strapped down somehow. She tried to pull herself up, confusion overtaking her like a fog bank, but as soon as she did, her shoulder hitched, a chain catching around her chest and holding her fast.

  “What the hells is going on? Hey! Is anyone there?” she called and knew not a soul listened to her pleas. Rhona thrashed against the unwieldy chains for a few moments until the pain overpowered her panic. Looking down, she saw how the thick links of steel wound through her shoulders, anchored into a gray-black stone beneath her.

  The stone fascinated her. Just as she thought she’d identified its color, the stone would shift; vermillion, onyx, sapphire, and emerald all flashed in the stone’s depths.

  She ran her fingers along the coarse surface and a heat began to build there. No longer cold, the stone was soon hot enough to burn her skin and she gritted her teeth against the scorching pain.

  Rhona wanted to dismiss the scene as nothing more than a twisted, if unique, dream. She ran her tongue across her teeth, feeling each smooth lump exactly as it should be. She bit her lip and felt it. Hells, I swear I can even smell pine trees! she thought, the scent of an alpine forest blowing across her prone form.

  The stone beneath her lurched and then rose. Two enormous wings, leathery and glinting like pearlescent steel, burst up on either side of her. Rhona felt whatever beast she was bound to run and leap in the air. She fell with it, the wind scoring her cheeks until she felt them chafe. Just before she swooned from the force of the terrible plummet, everything vanished.

  She stood in the middle of a field of white under a white sky.

  Everything was basking in a brilliant absence.

  I claim you from the fire. Yugos would only destroy you with all the rest.

  The voice was as ubiquitous, as pervasive, as the sheer lack of color or contour in this place. Rhona tried to turn, but as she spun around, she discovered that there was no detail upon which to anchor her vision. She could not tell if she was turning, if she had a body at all; both were mysteries.

  “Who are you? Where are you?” Rhona asked, hoping at least to hear that voice again, deep yet feminine, wise and mournful.

  Again, the voice arose, and this time, enveloped her entirely. I am Sheerda. I claim you from the fire. The 8th will fight alongside the 9th. You must open the eyes of the mountain, Rhona.

  “The eyes of the mountain? What are you talking about?” Rhona questioned, frantically searching for the speaker.

  When the voice, Sheerda, answered her, it was as if she were far away. You are mine, servant of the 8th. Do not turn from your burden, or it will consume more than your heart.

  Rhona opened her mouth to ask more questions, any of the ten thousand queries that flew across her mind, but clouds streaked across the empty sky around her, increasing in speed and moving south, always and inevitably, south.

  The fledgling monk woke sputtering, scraping her face with a leaf that had stuck to her cheek. Her body thrummed like a drum struck by a hundred hands. Searching around her, she could see the silhouette of Honor already up and chomping on tufts of dewy grass. She’d slept near a fallen log, stretched out on the oiled cloth soldiers carried with them for shelter. Each was big enough to form half of a two-man tent. One was sufficient to act as a reliable, if diminutive, lean to.

  In a pinch, it made a serviceable bedroll.

  She was cold but dry, and she sat up and assembled her gear. She stowed her equipment as quickly as any infantry grunt in the realm. Some habits, Rhona refused to let die.

  The thought of falling back asleep and returning to the odd dreams was simply too disturbing to consider, so she saddled Honor and was soon trotting away from the edge of the farm where she’d made camp. Not all farmers reacted kindly to those who they found camped out in their barns, in need of a place to stay. Who knew where that cren-covered lie came from?

  On one of her first field exercises, her shiny, new squad leader announced boldly that they would be dining at a goodwife’s table. They watched him approach and knock, a smile on his face and confidence in his heart. The farmer’s face pinched into a scowl as soon as he saw the line of soldiers, and they all learned a few new curses as he told the lot of them where to go and who to take with them. Unfortunately, soldiers of any kind, or even travelers, for that matter, weren’t often welcomed in the world abroad. Especially not near highways or, as in the case of Rhona’s old squad leader, near the capital city of Creshon, with its many demands.

  The sun came up and scored the sky with saffron, and snatches of Rhona’s dream came back to her. Eyes of the mountain? What under Yugos’ crusty loincloth was I thinking of before I fell asleep? Rhona rubbed at her eyes. Maybe it was something I ate. Should toss the rest of the biscuit and be done with it already.

  Shaking the sensations from her mind, Rhona spurred Honor into a full gallop, the cold air helping her wake up completely. There was little better in this world to pull you from sleep than a brisk ride.

  Eventually, Rhona slowed and dismounted to walk, Honor trailing behind. Though she’d come over halfway already, her journey was long. You couldn’t cross the ocean in a night, after all.

  Walking beside her friend, keeping track of the leagues by counting their strides, the day passed around her.

  Time had no better metaphor than the ocean itself. The ever-patient waves nicking at the coastline made Rhona think of the hours passing, the days, the weeks, all taking just a bit more of you with them.

  Seeing the ocean in her mind’s eye, Rhona thought of the old master she’d visited and learned so much from. Teema had changed her life. In the span of a single afternoon, Rhona knew she’d never be the same again.

  Their exchange still troubled her. What ever happened to honest coin? But no, the master had less need for coin than Rhona had need of a cock. What could she do with it, besides improve the stature of her pissing?

  The stories she’d given the woman were dearer than anything material.

  When she’d learned of Lorren’s death in a skirmish on the Kaltanese border, Rhona had thought she’d die. She wasn’t in love with the man, so much as fascinated with the idea of love. They’d shared a few nights together, and perhaps that was a good thing. If she’d caught a child from him, her career would’ve ended abruptly.

  Taking that babe back to live with Da? Well, she was no fool.

  And then the other memory she’d shared. How many times had her father shown that beast within, exposed its fangs for her to see so that she too might tremble in fear? Maybe that’s why he did it. Spent too many years afraid and alone that he shared it with those dearest to him.

  The explanation made sense but brought no comfort.

  Not only did Rhona know her destination now, though, but the gift Teema had bestowed on her far exceeded any expectations. She closed her eyes, bringing up the description of her new skill for the ninth time.

  Spirit Surge: Rapidly converts Progression into usable ether, enabling the body to enhance both Strength and Dexterity. Attack speed and power will dramatically increase as the flow of time slows to a crawl. Progression used is not recoverable. Cost: 20 Progression for every second of relative time elapsed. Duration: until Progression is diminished or skill is released. Skill will release bef
ore current level or ascension rank is reduced.

  Sweet Briga! How insane is this skill? Rhona knew she’d need to test it at some point, but frankly, it frightened her. Progression was such a fixed thing. Imagine trading your memories for power. Teema’s warning made sense, considering the skill she granted. Such a potentially powerful weapon could make any warrior unstoppable, but the price? Rhona wondered if the skill could sap away levels or ascensions. That might not be worth any boon.

  The happy clop of an approaching horse snapped Rhona back into reality and she opened her eyes. The scenery hadn’t changed, the salt-blighted grass still pointed towards the ocean, with the rolling turf of burgeoning hills off to the north. But ahead of them, Rhona spotted a horse-drawn cart making its way along the road at a turtle’s pace.

  She waited until the driver came into sight then held up her hand, waiting for the man to return the gesture. Not a friendly wave as in a greeting, per se, but a signal meant to reassure whoever was approaching that no weapon was in your hand. Sadly, many bandits did the same, but the tradition stuck. Someone who used the signal falsely was never trusted again, so even thieves were loath to fake such a gesture of good faith.

  “Fair skies, old man! How does the road treat ya this mornin?” Rhona asked, pulling Honor to the side of the road to let the cart pass.

  “Fair skies, indeed, though I’d give my second son for a bit more rain. I’m well enough, but my back is killing me! What’s new?” He called back. “How are you then, daughter?”

  The man who approached was as blind and merry as a summer’s day. He stared blankly ahead, trusting his faithful and slope-backed horse to keep them both safe. Rhona took a glance into his cart and saw it was loaded with fresh straw, still green from the field, with a few sacks of oats and potatoes. He was a farmer then.

  “I’m well enough. Might do better with fewer miles. Have you the spell to shorten the way?”