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

by Alex Oakchest

400 essence points used! [Total: 215/615]

  Dungeon room created: Arena

  An arena is a place for your dungeon creatures to hone their skills without having to face heroes.

  While training in an arena, combat creatures will level up. To speed up leveling, appoint a drillmaster or specialist combat instructors.

  “An arena, Core Beno?”

  The voice came from behind me, where a man was standing beneath a tunnel arch. He was short, with a head so bald it reflected light like the winter moon, and wearing a robe that rustled when he made the slightest movement. His eyes showed cunning, knowledge, and a hint of a secret. A secret about what, I didn’t know, but that was the impression his eyes always gave me.

  “Overseer Bolton,” I said. “I hate it when you do that.”

  The old instructor plastered a look of innocence on his face. “Do what, my dear core?”

  “Academy instructors can creep through dungeons undetected. Even my core vision doesn’t pick you up. It’s supposed to be used to make your surprise evaluations more surprising…not to spy on me.”

  Bolton strode into the arena, his robe flapping around him. Quite a feat given there was no wind down here. It must have been a spell. Talk about vanity…

  He completed a lap of the facility, running his fingers along the carvings on the walls, shaking his head at the targets and dummies.

  “Can you guess the question I keep getting asked lately?” Bolton said.

  “Is it ‘Bolton, why haven’t you pissed off back to the academy yet?’”

  Overseer Bolton was employed by the Dungeon Core Academy, though he had been posted to the wasteland indefinitely, removing him from his job of evaluating dungeon cores for graduation. This wasn’t a punishment, though it might have felt like it. No, it seemed that the academy had taken a great interest in this project, what with two cores building dungeons underground and transforming the surface above.

  Bolton touched his chest in mock hurt. “Are you saying I’m not wanted around here? Beno, your words are crueler than your dungeon.”

  “Fine. I’m guessing the question you keep getting asked is by Galatee and Reginal. They want to know when I’ll be able to start building on the surface,” I said.

  “Correct.”

  “Ever tried teaching a fish how to ride a horse?”

  “Beno, dungeon core is a label, nothing more. Think of it as a costume. Take off the dungeon part, and what do you have? A core. A gemstone with the ability to manipulate essence. Whether that essence is used above ground or below, is simply a matter of training.”

  “Samson thinks I’m still a little while away.”

  “Well, I trust the esteemed instructor, despite him never teaching at our academy. Be patient, Beno. It will come. Your friend has just taken his first great step.”

  “Jahn built something on the surface?”

  “A stone well. Nothing more than that. But it is progress, being able to manipulate essence while the sun shines on him. What are you smiling about?”

  “If Jahn is learning how to do it, Galatee and Reginal won’t need us both soon. One dungeon core is enough; two is overkill.”

  “Ah, you think Jahn’s progress may earn you freedom. Beno, Jahn is the rose, and you are the thorn.”

  “If I didn’t know you were talking in metaphors, I’d be hurt. You think they’ll divide our duties?”

  Bolton completed his lap of the arena, standing near my pedestal with his arms folded and his hands hidden by his robe sleeves.

  “It isn’t lost on the people here that Jahn builds his dungeon like a child constructing a tower out of his father’s old oil barrels. Harmless in thought, but one wrong spark, one barrel jostled too much…”

  “They’re thinking of having Jahn in charge of the surface, and keeping me down here.”

  “Some flowers bloom in the light, others in darkness.”

  Damn it. For a second, a light shone in the tunnel of freedom. Bolton had just snuffed it out, but that wasn’t all. Now, I found myself envious of Core Jahn, jealous that he’d adapted to surface building quicker than me. Some flowers bloom in darkness, my arse.

  Here I was, jealous over being bested at something I had never wanted to do in the first place.

  “An arena is an interesting choice,” said Bolton, but the way he said interesting suggested he had a worse word in mind.

  He waited for me to explain my reasoning to him. It was like he thought we were still in the academy, and I had to justify all my dungeon decisions to earn his approval.

  “Glad you’re entertained,” I said.

  “I’m waiting…”

  “For what? The puppet show starts at sundown. Go wait on the surface. Get some sun on your dome.”

  Bolton self-consciously rubbed his bald scalp. “Arenas take up valuable underground space,” he said. “Most cores forego them in favor of melding rooms and breeding lairs.”

  He was pushing me to justify myself by criticizing my decision…

  …and damn it, I couldn’t stop my big old mouth chomping down on the bait.

  “This is how I’m going to take this place to the next level,” I said. “For one, I’m not lacking for space down here.”

  “True. Most cores must work with barely a quarter of the underground space you enjoy. Limitations focus the mind, Beno. The man with mountains of gold forgets to watch the small coins even as they roll away, and soon finds himself poor. But the man who watches all his coppers…”

  “This isn’t me using space for the sake of it. Think about this, Overseer; more powerful creatures cost a hell of a lot more essence to create. A hivemind shroom – there’s an example for you. They cost 375 essence points. At my current essence regeneration, that would take me -”

  “More than a day for 375 points to regenerate.”

  “Accurate,” I said, surprised.

  “I stopped by to talk to my friend Tomlin in the cultivation room,” said Bolton.

  That, at least, made me smile. Overseer Bolton had become friends with Tomlin ever since meeting him while evaluating my first dungeon. It was rare, for an overseer to befriend a kobold, but Tomlin had won him over somehow.

  “I need to tell him to keep my dungeon matters to himself,” I said.

  “I am an overseer of the academy, Beno.”

  “And the academy sold me.”

  Bolton shuffled his feet, making his robe rustle. Strange; was this the first time I had made him feel uneasy?

  “Beno, you were always both my most promising student, and my greatest disappointment.”

  “Did I ever tell you you’re like a father to me?” I said, not bothering to hide my sarcasm. Though secretly, his praise about my promise prodded at my vanity.

  “The thought of you as my son makes me shudder with dread. Whether you showed promise or not it doesn’t matter now; no point beating the chef after he’s already overcooked your pie,” he said, after clearing his throat. “Let’s see if I have this right; after creating a monster like a hivemind shroom, it would take you more than a day to regenerate the spent essence. What about it? Cores don’t have to watch death’s hourglass.”

  “Sure, I can’t die of old age. But come on, Bolton. Spawning one powerful creature per day? That’s no way to build an army.”

  “A clever dungeon core doesn’t need an army. When the work is delicate, a hammer isn’t the best tool for the job, and can do more harm than good.”

  “How many more of these sayings are you going to pull from your arse? Besides, a hammer? How insensitive of you, Bolton. I don’t have hands.”

  “Yes…it is easy to forget. My apologies.”

  “Ah, forget it. I’m only pulling your beard.”

  “I don’t have a beard, nor hair. How insensitive of you, Beno.”

  “Right. Sorry.”

  Bolton smiled. “I’m only pulling on-”

  “This could go on for days,” I said, interrupting. “Look, I know arenas have gone out of fashion, but t
hat’s mainly because cores these days have much less underground space to work with, and they have to prioritize. Out here in the bare arse of nowhere, I don’t have such limitations.

  So, I can afford to both have my arena, and spawn a bunch of cheap monsters like fire beetles and angry elemental jelly cubes. They cost less than 100 essence points. Much easier to create them in numbers.”

  “With limitations.”

  “Limitation is just a word people made up to give themselves an excuse. But you’re right; cheap monsters are poor fighters.”

  “No dungeon ever became legendary by getting filled with fire beetles,” said Bolton. “Without sounding like my head has swollen, my own Necrotomitlita never had such lowly critters.”

  “Everyone starts somewhere. A core has to increase in power before he can create behemoths and frost giants at the drop of a hat.”

  Note to myself: product idea. A hat that spawns behemoths and frost giants when dropped.

  Bolton gave the arena one more glance, before settling his stare on me. I saw a hint of a smile on his face, and not a mocking one. “Well, Beno, you seem to have direction, and that’s half the battle. I’ll leave you to it; Chief Reginal wants my help with some sort of thermal pockets hidden under the wasteland.”

  The overseer left the arena, and I listened to the rustle of his robes grow quieter as he wound further through my dungeon. I watched him using my core vision, seeing him stop to have a chat with Wylie and the others for a minute, and then he opened a portal to leave my dungeon.

  Now, it was time to focus on arena-related business.

  In my head, I was rubbing my hands together while I looked at my new arena.

  The arena was something of an equalizer. Now that I had it, I could create much cheaper creatures, create them quickly, and then account for their lack of combat ability by whipping them into shape in the arena.

  “Gary, Fight, Kill? Join me in the arena,” I said, sending my voice out into the depths of my dungeon.

  While I waited for them, I created a few new creatures.

  Essence points used: 130 [Total: 85/615]

  Creature created: Angry Elemental Jelly Cube [Lvl1]

  Creature created: Fire Beetle [Lvl 1]

  Creature created: Kobold [Lvl5]

  The creatures formed before me with a whoosh of light, and the arena received its first soldiers; a floating blob of goo with a blue hue, a black beetle the size of a pumpkin and sporting shocks of red on its husk, and a kobold.

  While the jelly and beetle were only level 1, my previous work with kobolds had earned me a kobold proficiency. Not only did this mean that new kobolds were spawned at a higher level, but there was another benefit to my proficiency.

  “Welcome to your new home,” I told them. I focused on the kobold. “Your name is…let’s see…”

  As kobolds went, he was much taller and wirier than usual. His fur was rust brown, with some white patches.

  “Rusty. That’s your name. And your class is shaman.”

  A tornado of light gathered around Rusty, spinning him around in circles, before dispersing. It left Rusty a changed kobold; now, he was adorned with a rather fetching robe, and he held a staff with a skull on top of it in his right hand. On his head was a crown of bones.

  Rusty [Kobold] is now a level 5 shaman!

  The angry elemental jelly floated over to Rusty, getting so close that it bumped his shoulder with its ooze.

  “Oooh, look at Mr. Special over here. Mr. King of Bones.” Then he looked at me. “I see our core favors his little wolf lizards. This is an outrage, I tell you. An outrage!”

  “I’m going to have to build a meditation studio if I’m to have angry blobs of goo floating around,” I said. “Just try and tone it down, okay? Stress kills. This dungeon isn’t a place for negativity.”

  “Do we get names? Or are we not special enough for Mr. Kobold Lover?” asked the jelly.

  “Firstly, don’t use that nickname ever again. Call me Dark Lord, Dark Magnificence, Prince of Pain, or the Master of All that is Unholy. You can take your pick. Whereas your name, jelly, is Peach.”

  “Peach??”

  “If your attitude improves, I’ll give you a less silly one. Beetle, your name is…”

  “Death!” squeaked the beetle.

  “No, that is already taken by…well, by Death. Your name is…”

  “Death.”

  I sighed. When a fire beetle gets something into his head, there’s no changing it. “Fine, Rusty, Peach, and Death. You three are to train in the arena until you’re in better shape.”

  With my pronouncement, my core vibrated, and a message appeared.

  Rusty [Kobold, shaman], Peach [Angry elemental jelly], and Death [Fire beetle] are now training in the arena. Training is passive, and they will level up with time.

  Footsteps announced the arrival of more creatures. I heard little scampering steps accompanied by great slurping sounds.

  “Gary, Fight, and Kill,” I said, greeting the newcomers. “Meet your new clanmates.”

  Three monsters entered the arena. The first two were Fight and Kill, my fire beetles. I had named them after Fight and Kill, the first beetles I had ever made, back in my original dungeon.

  With them was Gary, my spider-rock troll-leech hybrid. Standing ten feet tall and half as wide, he was an imposing sight. Many people have a fear of spiders, I am told, but those people have never in their worst nightmares imagined a spider with leeches for legs could exist. Yes, all eight of Gary’s legs were actually great, bulging leeches with razor teeth. His skin was made from stone, weak against magic but able to take the punishment from most melee weapons. He was a monstrous creature.

  “Core Beno,” he said, his voice light and sing-song. “Always a delight to see you. I was just remarking to the lovely Fight and Kill on the way here; I feel like you’re in great shape these days. Have you been exercising?”

  Gary never failed to put a smile on my face. We’d had our ups and downs, mainly after I was forced to demote him from boss-monster status to make room for something more powerful, but we would always be friends. He was so damn nice, it was hard not to be.

  Fight and Kill scampered over to Death now, and the three insects clacked their pincers against each other in their customary greeting.

  “Fight?” said one.

  “Kill.”

  “Fight kill?”

  “Death.”

  “Fight death kill.”

  Nobody ever said that fire beetles were great conversationalists. I faced my friend, deciding that he’d be the best one to give orders to.

  “Gary, you and your new clanmates here are going to train in the arena.”

  Gary held a leech leg against his chin and looked around thoughtfully. “This place looks marvelous. Such exquisite carvings; did you do them, Core Beno?”

  “Well technically, yes. But also no. I’ll leave you here now, I have things to do. Work hard, get tough. Gary, I want to see you hit level 20 before the cock crows.”

  “My dear fellow, I am only level 4 at present. When is the cock going to crow?”

  “It’s just a saying, I think it was created by farmers or something. What I’m telling you is, it’s time to dream big, big guy. No point dreaming in little morsels, let’s dream of having king-sized feasts.”

  With that, I left the creatures in the arena, satisfied that my dungeon was slowly, but surely, getting deadlier.

  CHAPTER 9

  Sider

  “Ooooo,” she said, howling like a wolf. “That musta hurt!”

  She watched the fight from the cart, relaxing with her legs dangling over the edge and with four bottles of ale on either side of her.

  She wore a shirt stained with the sweat of travel, and trousers she’d mended too many times to count. When you lived the life she did, you learned to be handy with a needle and thread. Either that or be prepared to buy yourself new clothes all the time. It wasn’t just her; all the guys knew learned how to sew. It
was just one of those things you had to live with.

  She had been embarrassingly bad at it, initially. This was years ago when she’d first joined the group, way before she became leader. She’d resisted learning the skill. “Why in all hells would I want to sit there playing with a needle and thread?”

  But they’d insisted. After her initiation into the group, which involved way more goat blood and candles than she’d expected, it was a prerequisite to learn how to fix clothes, and that was that.

  Set before her this evening was a scene lit by the glow of a campfire. The flames swayed in the wind but didn’t die, and they cast illumination over four half-naked men.

  Muscled louts, all of them time-worn and battle-scarred, but still in the kind of shape that turned the heads of even of most prude ladies. Sider wouldn’t waste her time with chumps like these. Not in that way, at least. They were more like her brothers.

  Two of the men were sitting down, while the other two stood, facing off against each other. It became a dance, each edging around the other, looking for weaknesses, waiting for concentration to wane, until…

  Whack!

  Sider winced as a fist struck a nose, spraying spit and blood everywhere. The men were at it then, throwing punches as if they were fighting for their lives.

  The other two men cheered them on, wincing at each clean strike.

  “That’s enough,” said Sider finally.

  The two men broke apart, bloodied and covered in perspiration.

  “Gather around,” she said.

  The men shook hands and walked across the camp, before standing in a semi-circle and facing her. Firelight glinted off the necklaces each of them wore, and Sider touched her own necklace for a second, careful not to accidentally activate it.

  “We should arrive at the dungeon by second moon tomorrow,” she said. “I know you doubt that it even exists, but-”

  “The boy was an imbecile,” said the man whose nose was broken in five places. Hooray for regenerative healing.

  Sider shook her head. “The lad wasn’t an imbecile; he was ready to wet himself. I know it is a long time since any of us could feel fear, but you must remember that it can be like a parasitic worm boring through a person’s mind.”