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

by Alex Oakchest

  In the next room, he saw a mage with a mutilated face, and two dead owls on the ground.

  What in the gods’ names was going on?

  Onwards he pressed, gripping his sword. Right now, he didn’t care much about treasure. He just wanted to get out of here. Course, when he told the rest of the camp about this, he’d miss out the part where he felt his hands shaking.

  He walked through another doorway and into a tunnel, and then into another room. A much wider one, oval-shaped and with a chest in the center.

  Ah, was this the treasure?

  Then he saw the dead barbarian with his hands caught in a bear trap.

  There was a squelching sound.

  Sander’s pulse raced.

  Movement to his left caught his eye, and that was when he saw it; a monstrosity of a spider mixed with…what…leeches? Leeches for legs?

  How could such a thing exist?

  That was the last thought that crossed bandit Sanders’ mind before the monster was upon him.

  CHAPTER 36

  Two Days Later

  The overseers loved to make a show of things, and it really annoyed me. Not long after they called an end to the evaluation period, they summoned all of us cores away from our dungeons and back to the academy.

  There, in the great atrium filled with statues of famous cores and models of famous dungeons cast by waves of mana light, they made us all wait.

  The other cores and I floated on our pedestals, all of us lined up in a row. I looked around and saw my old classmates, and I wanted to talk to them, but I knew better.

  This was it. The final evaluation. No sense any of us saying anything now, because we might say something stupid. Cores are prone to doing that.

  So we all waited in silence as, one by one, the overseer called us into the judgment room.

  Finally, it was my turn.

  “Core Beno, hop into the judgment room, please.”

  I did so, finding myself in the judgment room. Though actually it was Overseer Butte’s alchemy lab and they’d just tidied away all his vials and bottles and stuff.

  In front of me were four hazy beams of light, vaguely resembling giant faces but disguised enough that I couldn’t tell who they were.

  “Core Beno,” said one of them. His voice was distorted, but I guessed it was Bolton. I would have been shocked if Bolton had declined to sit in on my judgment.

  “How would you say your performance was?” the anonymous overseer asked.

  Good question. Very good question, and one I had prepared for.

  “I believe that my total essence advancement was in the top percentile of all cores. My dungeon was one of clever construction, if I can be so bold, and my trap placement was exquisite. As was proven in its effectiveness, if you happened to notice the hero corpses. Furthermore, I did kill a party of heroes.”

  “Party?”

  “The peg-leg man who met his unfortunate end at the hands…leech legs…of my boss monster.”

  “One man is not a party, Core Beno.”

  “According to the technical definition, there is no set number to describe a party.”

  “He was no hero. He was a bandit.”

  “Again, technically, he entered my dungeon of his own volition, with his own motives.”

  “Ah, technicalities,” said the overseer. “You do love those, don’t you?”

  “I merely comply with the academy guidelines.”

  “And do your guidelines state that you should let two young heroes escape your dungeon?”

  “They were not heroes,” I said.

  “By definition, Core Beno, they were.”

  Damn it. They had me then. I knew it. I had one last thing to say.

  “Learned overseers, if I may speak freely, I believe that-”

  “Silence! We have evaluated your performance, Core Beno. We have discussed it fairly and free from bias.”

  Sure you have.

  “It is, in our panel’s opinion, a fact that you broke a fundamental part of dungeon core law. You willingly chose to let two heroes leave.”

  “Now wait-”

  “Therefore, it is with regret that we have deemed your evaluation a failure. You will henceforth be ground into dust, and used in the creation of a new graduate.”

  CHAPTER 37

  Henceforth is such an immediate word, especially when it precludes a judgment that means you are to be robbed of your second life.

  But henceforth didn’t mean the same to the overseers as it did to me, because they didn’t grind me up straight away.

  Oh no, they forcefully transported me to a darkened room, with nothing but a pedestal in the center of it. They left me there to stew on my failure, to go over it again and again in my mind until I was sick of thinking about it.

  I went through all my successes and my failures, and part of me understood their judgment, even if the thought of it made me feel like I was burning hot with anger.

  I began to think about my dungeon nostalgically. To reminisce about times in my core room where Tomlin and I would study, and Wylie would sit there with that wide, unmovable grin that I now missed so much.

  It was a full two days before the door to the room opened, and a figure walked in.

  “Overseer Bolton,” I said. I had decided to take my fate stoically. Not give them anything. “This is it.”

  “It is, indeed, Core Beno.”

  “Can I ask something?”

  “I suppose you may, given the circumstances. This was never, ever personal, you know.”

  I decided to ignore that obvious lie. “I want to know what will happen to my clanmates.”

  “Clanmates?”

  “Tomlin and Wylie and Gary. My kobolds and my boss monster.”

  “Your kobolds are surprising, Core Beno. One of them is much more studious than we expected, and the overseers have found value in him. He has been brought back to the academy, where he will assist the breedmaster in raising young kobolds and preparing them for their roles. But he is stubborn, and he made such a fuss that we had to agree to bring his little kobold friend with him. Your boss monster, also, is worthy of more study, and we may find a use for him in another dungeon. We have taken the liberty of renaming him.”

  That was an overwhelming relief for me. I’d worried that association with me would mean the end for Tomlin and the others.

  “And the girl?”

  “Girl?”

  “Vedetta.”

  “Ah. Most interesting. You mean the ex-core. The ascended.”

  “You’ve spoken to her?”

  “How could we not?”

  “What will happen to her and her brothers?”

  “That is of no consequence to us, Core Beno. She is a mortal now, and we do not trifle ourselves with normal folks’ activities. Though, word reached me that she has been helping her mother. Alchemists have visited her house, and the woman has begun to recover from some kind of illness.”

  “And her brothers?”

  “I am surprised you ask that, given what their safety has meant for you. But they have left the family home, I am told. One has gone to the king’s army, the other has traveled way, way west, seeking admittance to a mage college.”

  “Looks like things turned out well for them.”

  “Quite.”

  “Then I am ready, Overseer Bolton. I know what you must do, and I am prepared for it.”

  “Oh, I don’t think you are,” said Bolton, with a grin.

  This was strange. Why was he smiling? No matter what had happened, I knew he wouldn’t take delight in having me destroyed. Whenever a core was pulverized, it was seen as a mark of failure on the overseers’ parts.

  “There has been a development,” he said.

  And then he was silent.

  He wanted me to ask, didn’t he? He was drawing it out. He was really loving this moment.

  “A development?”

  “A benefactor has…Let’s say that a benefactor has given you another chance.”
>
  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Your fate has changed, Core Beno. You have been bought. Yes, yes, strange, isn’t it? A benefactor has bought you, a core, and wishes you to oversee a private dungeon, one not associated with the academy.”

  A rush of feelings hit me now. Feelings I thought that being a core had destroyed. Happiness. Relief. An overwhelming sense of joy.

  “Who is this person? Where are they? When do I go?”

  “They’re right outside this door. Let me call them in.”

  And as the door opened, and a figure approached the doorway, I knew that I had been given a second chance.

  A third chance, actually.

  You know, given that I’d already died once before.

  The End of Book One

  Dungeon Core Academy: Book 2

  CHAPTER 1

  Most people don’t have any idea what it’s like to be carried around in a rucksack. Neither had I, actually. Not until I, Beno the dungeon core, was carried around in a rucksack.

  It was completely lacking dignity, I had to admit. Nothing to see but darkness. Nothing to hear but the tinkling of glass vials that sometimes rolled against me. We were traveling by horse and cart, I can tell that much. The cartwheel closest to me was uneven and made a clack-clack-boof-click sound when it turned. Every so often, the horses would wheeze.

  Occasionally I’d hear someone talk, but I couldn’t pick out any words. We traveled for a long time, but I couldn’t tell say exactly how much passed.

  That kind of thing is hard for me, judging time. Dungeon cores are made to withstand eternity, and as such, we have no concept of time. It makes it very annoying to make dinner reservations with us.

  Not only did I have no clue how long we had already traveled, I didn’t even know where I was going. There had been no time to explain, and neither the overseers nor my new owner – ugh, what a word to use – saw fit to tell me.

  The only thing I knew was this: just a few days ago, I had finished building my evaluation dungeon. This was something all cores had to do after studying and graduating from the Dungeon Core Academy. They’d get released into the wide world…well, a muddy room deep underground…with nothing but their wits and a scrap of essence moss.

  From that, they’d have to apply all their lessons and grow and build an entire dungeon. The only way to make sure you passed was to kill a party of heroes who had entered your dungeon to get their grubby little mitts on your loot.

  So, how did I fare?

  Brilliantly. Really. I slaughtered a bunch of heroes like they were little beetles scampering over my dungeon floor.

  But if I was talking to someone who knew what really happened, I suppose I’d have to be honest about myself and my abilities.

  The truth was, I had allowed a couple of heroes to flee my dungeon. That goes against the dungeon core rules, letting heroes escape with their lives. It goes against everything we stand for. But they were brothers of my friend, who was both a little girl and a hundreds of years old dungeon core named Vedetta.

  Plus, I did kill a party of heroes immediately after that.

  But again, since there might be someone going around spreading a pesky thing known as the ‘truth’, I suppose I would have to be honest about things, if anyone asked me. It wasn’t a party of heroes, as such. It was only one hero, and one person can’t make a party. At least, not a very good one.

  So yes, it was just one hero, and yes, he was a bandit who used to rob and murder innocent travelers. Not exactly an example of heroic virtue. But the academy definition of a party is ‘One or more people working together with a shared aim.’ Their definition of a hero is ‘One who is not a core or monster, and finds their way into the core’s dungeon by their own means, for their own motives.’

  So the lone bandit was, by the laws of dungeon coredom, a party of heroes.

  Unfortunately, the academy overseers didn’t look on my semantics too fondly, and they told me I had failed my evaluation and would have to be smashed up into core dust, which would then be used to create a new core gem who, hopefully, wouldn’t be as disappointing as me.

  Then, something wondrous happened! As I was waiting to meet my fate, which I was determined to take without showing any fear, an overseer came to see me.

  He said, “Your fate has changed, Core Beno. You have been bought. Yes, yes, strange, isn’t it? A benefactor has bought you, a core.”

  He told me that henceforth I would no longer be working for the Dungeon Core Academy, and I wouldn’t be pulverized into little pieces of core gem.

  Woo hoo!

  I tried to imagine who my new benefactor was, and why he would want me. There were a few plausible reasons. Dungeon cores are masters of traps and puzzles, which means we make for great home security.

  Perhaps a ridiculously rich merchant had bought me to protect his family. Maybe I would live what counted as a life of luxury for a dungeon core. I would have a core room made of marble, and I would rest on a velvet cushion while harp music played from the corner, and the smell of extravagant spices drifted to my imaginary nose and promised untold luxury.

  Which brings me to the present. To lying in darkness in a gods damned rucksack, with glass bottles rolling against me.

  I’ve never been a snooty core, and though I don’t remember my first life, I don’t think I was a snooty man. In fact, I was probably a rough-and-ready barbarian with the silver tongue of a bard, deft fingers of a rogue, and a glorious, glorious wizard beard.

  So, I decided that I’d suck it up. I didn’t want my mysterious benefactor’s first impression of me to be that I was a pain in the arse.

  As we carried on going wherever we were headed, sounds increased. Muffled voices. Horses braying. Maybe cows, too. Do cows bray? No, cows mooing. That’s what I heard.

  Smells drifted into the rucksack. Incense. The delicious aroma of a stew cooking that threatened to awaken taste buds I didn’t even have. That was a bad part of being a core – phantom feelings. I don’t need to eat, drink, sleep or urinate, but sometimes I get glimmers of those urges. It’s a hangover from my first life that should lessen the older I get.

  It was then that I heard a voice.

  “Ahhh,” it said, coming from right beside me. “What a nap! I could have slept for decades. Wait…tell me I didn’t sleep for decades!”

  I knew that voice!

  “Core Jahn?” I said.

  “Beno? Is that you?”

  Hearing Core Jahn’s voice was like a blast of comfort. Despite the manly front I displayed, I had been a little worried and a little lonely.

  But Jahn was here, which meant that I wasn’t the only core bought by our benefactor. I’d always liked Jahn. He was a joker. He was cheerful. But he never, ever listened in core class.

  Jahn had become an academy legend recently, but not for the best reason. His dungeon evaluation happened at the same time as mine. During our evaluation, we all started in a small core room with nothing but a patch of essence moss on the wall.

  Essence is part plant, part fabric of the world. We cores draw our energy from it. We absorb it deep inside our gem selves, and we can convert it into actual, physical things. Monsters, traps, tables, rugs – you name it. A whole dungeon is built from essence.

  During the assessment, we were expected to cultivate the patch of essence moss, turning it into essence vines that grew on our dungeon walls and gave off essence to replenish us. Grown this way, the vines were self-sustaining and rewarded us with an endless supply of essence.

  Core Jahn, however, had the bright idea of fully absorbing the essence moss before cultivating it. In effect, in core terms, he ate the moss, and this left none to cultivate.

  It’d be a little like a farmer planting an apple seed, caring for the tree until it finally grew an apple…and then eating the apple and burning the damn tree to cinders. It meant he had no means of regenerating essence, and no way to build a dungeon.

  Yeah, Core Jahn failed his evaluation in the most mise
rable way, and the academy was going to smash him into dust just like me. I was so happy that he’d been spared.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Jahn,” I said. “But I thought you were a potion bottle. You tinkle like one.”

  “I was sleeping, Beno. Didn’t the evaluation tire you out?”

  “We’re cores. We don’t get hungry, sleepy, or anything like that.”

  “I do.”

  “Impossible.”

  “I promise! I learned how to separate a tiny sliver of myself away, Beno. In that, I locked my sleepiness. I said to myself when they resurrected me, if I have to spend eternity as a dungeon core, then I still want my sleep.”

  “Separating part of yourself? How? Jahn, that technique…I haven’t even heard of master cores doing that.”

  “I can’t explain how. I just did what felt right.”

  Unbelievable. If Jahn was telling the truth, then this core who didn’t even think to cultivate essence, had managed to trap a part of his old humanity in himself. There was more to Jahn than me or anyone else gave him credit for. Interesting, very interesting. But that was something to delve deeper into later when I knew what was going on.

  “Where are we going?” he asked me.

  “I’ve been thinking about it. For one, you have to be rich to buy a dungeon core. Two cores, in fact. After all, the Forgers at the academy grind up failed cores and use them to make new ones. Finding fresh core dust is hard, so I’m told.”

  “That makes me feel better, Beno. That we’re worth something.”

  “We’re worth a lot of somethings. The overseers would have made our new owner pay. And anyway, about he or she…the way I see it, the only reason you buy a dungeon core is because you need them to create and maintain a dungeon of some kind. And why do you do that?”

  “Could be a supervillain, Beno. Like Lord Saurgoth or the Shadow of the Dark Mountain. One who wants to kill heroes.”

  “They wouldn’t sell us to someone overtly evil. We might kill heroes, but we adhere to guidelines when we do so. No, our new owner needs a dungeon or the thing a dungeon represents.”