“Walk around town with a monster in tow? They’ll love that. No, Gull. Anyway, no monster I can make at my current core level is good enough to defeat Cael. But there’s a different way to get a better monster. I could persuade a wild one to join me.”
“We’re getting a little out of my area of expertise now, Beno. I’m not a monster tamer. Though I did once trap a wasp in a cup and release it outside a tavern.”
“Leave it to me. When we go to Hogsfeate, I’ll check the bounties board. Every town has a board where people post jobs for mercenaries to complete. Most of the jobs are mundane; ‘go kill the bandits who stole my coin purse.’ You know, that sort of thing. Every so often, a bounty will be posted asking for some man-at-arms to go take care of a monster plaguing the nearby area.”
“Ah. And if Hogsfeate has any monsters nearby, you’ll…what? Recruit them?”
“It is rarely that easy, but we’ll deal with that when we come to it. I take it you’re coming to Hogsfeate with me?”
“Then I can write the second book? Another tale of Core Beno and his treacherous army of darkness?”
“Hey! Less of the treacherous. But yes, you can write it. Pack your things, and we’ll go, and for demons’ sake, Gulliver…lose the winkle pickers.”
CHAPTER 4
“Move the trap nearest to your foot an inch to the right,” I said. “And the one just behind you isn’t set properly. See the spring? Please be more careful, Wylie. You’re not much use as a miner if you have no arms.”
A flicker of frustration crossed Wylie’s face before he hid it. I didn’t blame him. We had been playing around with trap configurations for hours now, and he was the one risking his limbs by moving all the devices around. I merely floated above him and barked orders, but hey, that was one of the perks of being the dungeon core.
“Dark Lord?” said a voice.
It was Maginhart, one of my kobolds. Kobolds were a mix of wolf and lizard, and while most of them had a heavier wolf weighting of appearance and instincts, Maginhart had much more of the lizard in him. Most of his skin was scaly, with few hairs growing in the cracks between them. Only his ears were hairy enough to be described as wolfish.
“What can I do for you, Maginhart?”
“I have a requessst,” he said, his lizard tongue rattling as he spoke.
“If this is about extending break times again, I already told Tarius that…”
“No, Dark Lord.” He looked at the ground and then took a breath, as if gathering his confidence. “I wisssh to leave the mining team, Dark Lord.”
This was the first time a kobold had ever asked me something like this.
“Excuse me?”
“I feel my talentsss may lie elssssewhere, in thingsss other than usssing a pickaxe.”
I quickly accessed Maginhart’s skill list from within my core.
Race: Kobold
Class: Miner
Level: 24
Weapon proficiency: Crossbow
Special Relationships:
Cynthia [Tinker]: Warm Acquaintance
Hmm. Although Maginhart had learned how to use a crossbow and had fostered a relationship with Cynthia the Yondersun tinker after running errands for me, there was nothing to suggest he should be employed doing anything else.
“You’re one of my most experienced miners, Maginhart.”
“You can alwaysss get more minersss, Dark Lord.”
“True, but it would be inefficient for me to move you to something else, losing 24 levels of mining progress.”
“But Dark Lord…”
“I’m sorry, Maginhart. Times are tough for us at the moment, with recent hero raids. I don’t have the luxury of catering to everyone’s tastes.”
“Dark Lord, I mussst sssay…”
“Enough. Our conversation is over.”
Maginhart walked out of the chamber, shoulders slumped. I felt like an arse as I watched him go, and I wished that I could change things around for him. I wasn’t just feeding him excuses; right now, I couldn’t afford to mess around with division of labor. Still, it didn’t feel great to have to disappoint him.
A loud stomping of boots came from beyond the chamber, making the walls, ceiling, and ground shake, and causing a dozen metal traps to rattle. Wylie, standing in the middle of a sea of deadly traps, froze on the spot.
“Easy,” I told him. “No sudden movements.”
“Sounds like you have visitors, Beno,” said Gulliver, who was leaning against the wall with his scribble book in one hand, a feathered quill in the other, having offered Wylie and me no help whatsoever. Then again, that was Gulliver’s way. He simply skulked in the shadows and made notes for his book, while occasionally offering us a sampling of his wit.
“Do you think? Ah. I finally understand why they say writers are so perceptive.”
“Heroes, do you reckon?” he said.
I used my core vision to check the tunnels just beyond us. “No, nothing as interesting as that. That’s fine, Wylie. You can leave the traps for today.”
Stomp-stomp-stomp.
The walls shook again. A bear trap suddenly snapped shut. Wylie jumped on instinct, nudging another trap that also closed shut. Eyes wide in panic, Wylie danced through the trap maze until he reached safety, where he panted to get his breath back.
“Wylie…go…mine…things…now,” he said.
“Thank you, Wylie. Great work today.”
A figure appeared in the tunnel archway, stepping to the side as Wylie darted by. It was a goblin, tall for his species, old, and wearing dozens of battle scars on his face and arms. His muscles were toned but were disappearing through old age and lack of use, and it was impossible to miss that even the scant hair on the sides of his head was sparser than it had been just a fortnight ago.
“Chief Reginal,” I said. “A lovely surprise.”
“Beno,” came a throaty reply. “We will talk somewhere else. Somewhere not laden with traps. Do you really need so many in one room?”
“I was testing trap sensitivity and placement strategies. Every advantage helps in combat, Reginal. You should know that.”
“I need to talk to you. Now.”
The goblin chief clicked his fingers and turned his back on me. He stomped down the tunnel, trailed by a retinue of six younger goblins. I watched them disappear.
“Aren’t you going to follow him?” asked Gulliver.
“Let him wait. That was a power play,” I said. “Coming to my dungeon unannounced and trying to decide where we will and won’t talk. Reginal is a soldier, and he’s learning that leading people isn’t as easy when there are no enemies to point a sword at, so he’s resorting to mind games to make himself feel better.”
“What’s he got to worry about? I thought Yondersun was flourishing?”
“That’s his problem. His Eternals clan was at war with the Wrotun clan for decades. Their feud was all they knew. Now that the war is done and the Eternals and Wrotuns have founded Yondersun together, Chief Reginal is at a loss of what to do next. Take the sword from a soldier’s hand and he won’t know what to do with himself.”
“Why is he here, do you think?”
“For the only reason that he ever comes to visit. He either wants something from me, or he wants to stop me from getting something.”
After waiting an appropriate amount of time, I joined Reginal in a chamber just north-east of my loot room. Blocked off by a door disguised as stone, then a tunnel, and finally another hidden door, I had designed this as a place to entertain guests while keeping it separate from the parts of my dungeon heroes were likely to explore. My lair was like a theatre; most of my dungeon was the stage where heroes and monsters would clash, but I needed space for work behind the scenes.
Reginal was sitting at the head of the table, while his six goblin soldiers were standing to attention against the walls.
The goblin chief stared at me. “There’s something different about you today, Beno.”
“Well spotted.”
He stroked his chin. “Have you been polished, perhaps?”
“It might be the fact that I am floating.”
“Haven’t you always floated?”
“Forget it. What’s this all about, anyway, coming here with an entourage? Is it normal to enter someone’s home with armed guards? You’re losing your manners in your old age.”
“This is a home, is it? Pah. A rat would find this place uninviting.”
“I see you’ve been working on your charm.”
“We need to talk. Please take a …please float on my level, Beno.”
I didn’t move. “I’m confused about why you need to bring six armed goblins down here if you just want to have a chin wag. I don’t bring a swarm of fire beetles with me every time I visit Yondersun.”
“Take your arse off the coals, Beno. My lads are not here to tear the place apart. They’re for my protection. You see, last week, a representative from the Silkers merchant guild visited Yondersun. They wanted to set up a guildhall in our town.”
“Surely that can only be a good thing? They’re one of the biggest merchant guilds around. The commerce they’d bring…”
Reginal slammed the table with his palm. Then he bit his lip, clearly trying to hide the fact that it had hurt him.
“They bring political instability!” he thundered. “Every city, every province those slimy Silkers set up in, governors lose their seats, dukes wind up getting turfed out of their castles, lords lose their bloody heads!”
“Xynnar really needs to arrive at a simple, uniform titling system,” I said.
“Assassinations. Bribes. Shady deals, blackmail, threats. No, Beno. I won’t have the Silkers in Yondersun, no matter how much money they offer. They’d begin by helping grow our economy, and end by controlling every inch of the damn town.”
“Sometimes a leader must do things that he finds distasteful.”
“Not me! I will not deal with those…I want to say leeches, but that would be an insult to leeches!”
“Gary would agree with you,” I said. “What does Chief Galatee think about this?”
“She isn’t best pleased with my reaction. But then, she spent most of her life underground, didn’t she? Quite literally. She doesn’t know the world as I do. Alas, my experience doesn’t matter, because neither of us can overrule the other.”
This was interesting. Galatee was the chief of the Wrotun clan, and Reginal chief of the Eternals. After decades of conflict, they’d merged to become one clan, united within the walls of their new town. Along with the founding and flourishment of Yondersun, it had seemed peaceful times were ahead.
Now, it looked like there were cracks in the foundations of their alliance. I didn’t want to upset things too much since my dungeon was directly below Yondersun and I didn’t want to start a bloody civil war right above my head or something, but would it benefit me to widen the cracks just a little?
“It must sting,” I said. “Neither of you having true power.”
Reginal glared at me. “I may not be a genius, but I know when a pot is being stirred, Beno.”
Perhaps I wasn’t as crafty as I thought. My honesty had always got in the way of my rise in the world of subtlety and wordplay. “The Silkers, then. Why does their offer mean you’re traipsing around with armed guards?”
“Galatee is in favor of letting them set up their guildhall in Yondersun. This would mean commerce and jobs, and people can’t see past their own coin purse. Forget that the Silkers gradually assume control of every place they ever settle in. The leaders they can’t buy, they blackmail. The ones they can’t blackmail, usually have accidents. Someone made the Silkers aware that Galatee is in favor of them, while I oppose.”
“You’re worried the Silkers might make an attempt on your life so that a more sympathetic chief would take your place.”
“Exactly it, damn it!”
“A good plan.”
“What?” said Reginal.
One of his soldiers reached for his sword.
“Calm down,” I said. “Just because I can appreciate a good plan, doesn’t mean I have a stake in it. I don’t give a damn what happens on the surface as long as it doesn’t affect me or my creatures, as well you know.”
Reginal rubbed his hand over his face, then his scalp. His skin was a much paler green than usual, his eyes looked like someone had drawn charcoal rings around them. If the Silkers didn’t kill Reginal, then the pressures of leadership eventually would. The poor guy had spent decades fighting to be in this position, and I doubted that it was anything like he’d imagined.
“So what brings you to me?” I said.
“We agreed to give you autonomy,” said Reginal. “That makes you, your dungeon, and all your…beasts…a sovereign state, of sorts. Neither Galatee nor I can order you around in any way, as you love to remind us.”
“Let’s not pretend you did it because you have a tender heart. I gave you no choice. Anyway, it’s worked out well for all of us so far, hasn’t it? I send my mining crew to help you when I can spare them. My creatures chase off any of the hostile desert wildlife. You send me supplies from time to time.”
“A suitable arrangement, thus far. For most of us, anyway. Notwithstanding a small minority.”
“Ah. The protesters.”
“Yes, the No-Cores. A dangerous lot, if you ask me. Especially the one with the scars all over his face. I don’t trust him an inch.”
“Who is he?”
“An outsider. Booth Stramper, they call him. Always hanging around with the leader of the No-Cores. I swear, all the things I have to deal with. It gives me a headache.”
“Get rid of them then.”
“For what? Holding signs? Singing? Besides, their concerns aren’t entirely outlandish. Some folks aren’t happy with having a dungeon full of creatures dwelling underneath them. They say they feel unsafe.”
“Preposterous,” I said.
“Well, as I said. You are autonomous and do not fall under my rule. However, that doesn’t mean I am without certain persuasions.”
“You’re a lovely goblin, Reginal, but not to my tastes.”
A flicker of a grin crossed Reginal’s face. He hid it, but not fast enough so I didn’t notice. To compensate for his lapse, he adopted an especially stony expression. “Forget it. I hate all this, you know. Wordplay, games, hiding what you really want to say underneath a camouflage of witty retorts. It tires me.”
“That makes two of us.”
“I’ll just say it, then. Beno, I am threatening you. I want your support in the Silkers matter. If Chief Galatee sees that I have your backing on this issue, it might be enough weight to tip the balance.”
“Why would Galatee care what I think? She’s made it clear she isn’t all that concerned about me.”
“That’s a façade, Beno. It worries her, having a dungeon core under the town.”
“She need not worry. I’m a big softie.”
“We’re both just too tender-hearted for our own good, aren’t we? Galatee once told me about a type of frog. The dotted humming frog. They typically live with tarantulas five times their size who could kill them with ease. The frog guards the spider’s eggs against ants, while the tarantula in return protects the frog from predators. Galatee doesn’t enjoy being in a similar situation with your dungeon, despite the obvious benefits.”
“What am I, the tarantula, or the frog?”
“You’re a floating block of sentient minerals who is going to help me. You’re clever than the frog or the spider, and you realize that supporting me really is the only choice you have.”
“And if I don’t?” I said, equal parts annoyed and amused.
“That is where my threat is relevant. I can make your life very difficult.”
“You might say a life spent underground is difficult enough.”
“Come off it; you enjoy it down here, you strange, strange being. I can trouble your existence in other ways, ones that I’m sure you have the im
agination to understand.”
“You’re a brave goblin, Reginal, traipsing into a dungeon core’s lair and making threats that you can’t possibly back up.”
“How many monsters do you have, Beno?” he said.
“How many freckles do you have on your arse?”
Another grin, barely hidden. “I would suppose that you have no more than five or ten battle-worthy monsters at the moment. Probably much fewer, given your recent defeats. Surprised that I know so much? Word gets around quicker than the plague, Beno. It moves especially fast when three hero brothers sell loot to merchants in town and then spend all night getting drunk and singing songs about what they did to you.”
I felt a flash of anger. Sharp, hot, but gone in less than a second. Even so, it was concerning. Dungeon cores aren’t meant to have much in the way of emotion, but lately, I had been having flashes of it here and there, along with other emotions. I had heard stories of it happening to other cores, that it was normal from time to time, but I had no use for emotions. They were a pain in my gem arse.
Damn you, Cael Pickering. This is your fault.
“Heroes love to exaggerate,” I said. “I wouldn’t put too much stock in drunken boasts.”
“Tell yourself that, by all means, but let’s not pretend that I am taken in by your lies. Your numbers are low, and I know what that means. I didn’t earn my chiefdom by begging for votes or having a perfect smile, Beno. I was fighting battles while you were still a corpse, before those academy forgers made you…what you are now. I know one thing above all others; the best time to stab a man in the back is when he’s already on his knees and gasping for breath.”
Did he have a point? It made no sense for Reginal to declare war on my dungeon, since even in my weakened state I posed too much of a threat to him. My dungeon was right below his town, after all.
But there was still some truth to his threat. I was weakened, for the moment. Reginal had plenty of goblin soldiers, and could no doubt call on more Yondersun townsfolk to pick up weapons if he ever needed them to.
Then again, casting my lot with Reginal was dangerous in itself, because it would upset Galatee.
Dungeon Core Academy: Books 1-7 (A LitRPG Series) Page 66
