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

by Alex Oakchest

  “Let’s see what I can use…”

  Monsters Crafting Category

  Spider [Cost 15]

  Leech [Cost 15]

  Raven [Cost 18]

  Fire beetle [Cost 20]

  Kobold [Cost 35]

  Angry Elemental Jelly Cube [Cost 75]

  Shrub Bandit [Cost 100]

  Sinister Owl [Cost 120]

  Stone Dwarf Troll [Cost 180]

  Porcu-Pinetree [Cost 195]

  Bogbadug [Cost 200]

  *New* Chain Imp [Cost 200]

  *New* Poltergeist [Cost 200]

  Bone Guy [Cost 250]

  Hivemind Shrooms [Cost 375]

  Mimic [Cost 500]

  *New* Lizard-Pegasus [Cost 550]

  *New* Yeti Priestess [Cost 615]

  Drownjack [Cost 790]

  *New* Double-sided Minotaur [Cost 825]

  Clock Work Sentry [Cost 1007, Artificer required]

  Balachko [Cost 3000]

  My last level up had unlocked new creatures for me to craft. Some were common creatures that I’d read about in my studies in the Dungeon Core Academy. I mean, who hadn’t heard of a lizard-pegasus or a poltergeist?

  Others, however, weren’t as common. It wouldn’t be an unreasonable question to ask, 'what the hell is a double-sided minotaur?' 'What in the name of Xynnar is a yeti priestess?'

  The one that interested me most today was the chain imp. Its low essence cost suggested a creature of not much offensive ability, and that was a fair thing to assume. On its own, the chain imp was worthless to have around once a core grew their dungeon to a higher difficulty. But when you put them into a monster melding chamber…

  Feeling a plan forming, I used some of my essence.

  Monster created: Chain Imp

  Essence Remaining: 2260 / 2460

  “Look now, what’s this?” said Gulliver, taking a step back. “A little goblin of some sort, but uglier…if that were even possible.”

  Standing before us was an imp. Three feet tall, its skin as red as a slapped arse, with wings smaller than a duck’s, and a mouth full of blackened, razor-sharp thorn-shaped teeth. It held a sword in one hand and a poker in the other.

  “Hello, little fella,” said Gulliver, resting on his haunches as if he was talking to a child.

  “Gull, you’ve become too used to dungeon creatures, and you’re forgetting that they are dangerous. Take a step back.”

  “Why? He belongs to you, doesn’t he?” he leaned forward and squeezed the imp’s cheeks. “You’re a cute little bugger, I’ll give you that much.”

  The imp took a step to the side. But though he had moved to his right, a twin copy of him was still standing where he had just been.

  He stepped again, creating another copy. He did this again and again until he’d formed a ring of little imp copies around Gulliver. The one standing behind Gulliver cackled and pricked the scribe’s arse with his sword. The other imps shrieked with laughter.

  Gulliver jumped and rubbed his buttock. He turned this way and that, trapped on every side by imps who were pointing pokers at his posterior.

  “Alright, alright,” I said. “Come on, imp, let’s have none of that. Gulliver is a friend of the dungeon. Now, as is the custom in my lair, I like to give creatures the chance to name themselves. Do you have a name?”

  “Ken!”

  “Dracksilva!”

  “Morose Mack!”

  “Kentwhistle!”

  The dozen imps all said a different name, each of them shouting at once until most of the names were lost in the general hubbub. The sound of imp voices babbling in a chorus became deafening.

  “Enough! Unlink your chain, please, and speak to me as one.”

  The imps stepped into each other, one at a time, until just one of them stood before me.

  “There, you see?” I told Gulliver. “A chain imp. In battle, they can create copies of themselves, linked by an invisible chain. Only by knowing which is the true imp can you kill them.”

  “Remarkable,” said Gulliver, rubbing his rump.

  “The problem is, they’re not exactly the most fearsome of warriors. The ability to copy themselves makes them tough, and it means they can ambush people while staying in plain sight, since few fighters would expect them capable of forming a copied chain. But…they’re about as tough as a paper shield. Put an imp up against a well-seasoned hero, and there’d be no match.”

  “Right. How is this thing going to help against a duke’s army?”

  “Creating the imp is only step one of my plan. Watch.”

  Next, I created a poltergeist and a bone guy. Given that poltergeists were ghosts with scores to settle, and bone guys were walking skeletons, they had a certain undead kinship that would help them bond better in the melding room. It was a little-known melding-chamber trick that combining creatures that shared similarities would increase your chances of getting a good monster and not a ridiculous freak.

  “And what are we expecting here?” asked Gulliver, as all three creatures took their places on the rune circles.

  “If this goes to plan, we’ll get undead skeleton warriors with a poltergeist’s invisibility, and the chain-imp ability to make copies of themselves. Invisible, undead, multiplying warriors.”

  “And if it doesn’t go to plan?”

  “We’ll get a ghostly imp who drops little bones everywhere. Okay, melding room. Get to it.”

  Monster melding in progress.

  Chief Reginal paced up and down the room, grumbling and coughing. Galatee, who had shown great patience up to now, finally snapped.

  “Reginal! Reginal…dear…can you stop pacing?”

  “It’s this damned cavern. The idea of it. Tons of stone above us, waiting to crack and fall on our heads…”

  “You have been in Beno’s dungeon lots of times.”

  “That was different! That was when I knew I could get out.”

  “Then let’s do what we came here to do and make a plan. Beno, have you been busy?”

  “Busier than a tavern owner when the king’s navy turns up at the docks,” I said. “I have a new creature in the process of creation, and I have made a new unit of monsters.”

  “Those bloody beetles? What good are they?”

  “Fire beetles, actually. They’re cheap as hell for me to make, have tough shells, and can use fire attacks.”

  “They don’t even reach up to my knee, Beno.”

  “Doesn’t matter. They cost so little essence that I could make 30 of them. You have to consider their size as an advantage here; the duke’s men are not used to fighting dungeon monsters. Like most soldiers, they’ll have trained to fight people and not insects. It shows a lack of foresight if you ask me.”

  “And how does that work in our favor?”

  “They’re used to fighting an enemy they look in the eye, not a swarm of insects on the ground. Their cavalry is useless against fire beetles because their horses don’t have enough dexterity. Equally, their infantries’ sword training will be useless. Training with a weapon involves practicing techniques until they become muscle memory. Repeating the same thrusts, blocks, and counters again and again. But they are all based on fighting an opponent who stands in front of you, not one that swarms around your feet, that requires you to twist, turn, bend.”

  “They are still insects, Beno.”

  “They’re not just insects. You see, when I kill heroes in my dungeon, I use my alchemy chamber to dissolve their bodies, and then I…”

  “Ugh. Spare me the gore,” said Galatee.

  “Fine. My alchemy chamber allows me to strip the class from fallen heroes and distill it into essence dust. That is how Rusty became a shaman, and Brecht a bard. A fire beetle is not capable of such a sophisticated class change, however feeding them hero essence boosts their attack and defense. It toughens their shells, sharpens their pincers. These are no ordinary bugs, and I have 30 of them as well as my other dungeon creatures.”

  “Yondersun can supply almos
t a hundred warriors. Thirty-five are soldiers by profession. A further thirty retired when we built Yondersun, but they can still fight once they’ve shaken the cobwebs off. The rest are formed from our town militia. They have been training in their spare time, but I wouldn’t call them soldiers.”

  “We’re still way, way short of an army, much less the kind of sophisticated army a duke would bring. To go out and fight would be suicide. We lack numbers, and the numbers we do have lack training. We’ll be coming up against a professional army,” I said.

  “After everything we have done to make this town what it is, I will not let some silver-spooned moron take it! I will go to my grave with a dozen swords in my belly before I allow that!” said Reginal.

  “Nor do we have to. Do you really think I would give up? We simply need to even things out a little more,” I said.

  “And how do you propose that? We have no weasel-faced weathermage to stuff with gold this time.”

  “Again, it all comes down to that classic fallacy that dukes and lord have. They’re so arrogant that they only train their people to fight fellow human armies. They’re used to civilized battles on large patches of land, where both armies line up, inexplicably give each other time to prepare, and then blow a trumpet before charging at each other, to their deaths. They are not, in experience or training, used to fighting below ground.”

  “Ah. So we draw them underneath Yondersun,” said Reginal.

  I thought about the duke. About how he might have the advantage in numbers, but there was one thing he could never have; the ability to split his thoughts like a core.

  I could handle a battle on two fronts. I would have no delay in responding to stimuli on the surface and in my dungeon at the same time. The duke couldn’t think that way. Even if he could command a split army, he would need time to think about every decision. The more I gave him to think about, the more pressures and decisions I forced on him, the more mistakes he would make.

  “We’ll draw part of his army into my dungeon, part of into your cavern, and fight another part on the surface. I will handle whatever soldiers he sends below ground while committing part of my force to tackling him on the surface. Both of you will focus on fighting the duke in town. We’ll split their army into three and make them fight in unfamiliar terrain.”

  “That seems a lot for you to handle. How can you focus on three separate terrains?”

  “Trust me. I can do it.”

  “It will be a blood bath, Beno. Your tunnels will be stuffed to the gills with the dead.”

  “I know. Sounds wonderful, doesn’t it?”

  “There are two problems, as I see it,” said Galatee. “Firstly, why would the duke send his men underground?”

  “Think about this. Imagine that the Duke and his friends get to Yondersun and find it empty. The duke might not have a genius intellect, but he will realize that the people of the town have gone somewhere. That they’re sheltering. He won’t truly be able to call Yondersun his own until he knows he’s crushed our ability to fight back.”

  “Fine, so we could lure him underground to look for us. A second problem, then. All of our people are sheltering in the caverns adjoining your dungeon. If the duke’s soldiers get in, they’ll be trapped.”

  “Not so,” I said. “There are a few emergency tunnels that led out of the cavern and emerge deeper in the wasteland, yes? Take the children, the old, the sick, and anyone else who cannot fight to the tunnels so that they don’t get caught up in the battle. Everyone staying behind, either in my dungeon or the cavern, is staying to fight.”

  Reginal looked at Galatee. “Is this true? There are chambers that lead out of this pit of hell?”

  “We lived in the cavern for decades. It was only prudent to have other ways out of it.”

  “Then that’s settled.”

  “There’s a third option,” said Galatee. “It makes me sick to even think about it, but it must be considered, otherwise we are not doing our job as chiefs.”

  “Go on…”

  “There is always the option that we swear fealty to the duke. Surrender Yondersun with no bloodshed, in the hope that he allows our people to keep their homes and jobs and live in the town under his banner.”

  “Give him our town?” said Reginal. “The one we fought each other for? The one countless goblins, gnomes, and orcs have died for? The one we have built until it is beginning to flourish all the way out here in a wasteland that nobody thought could be cultivated? I will not even consider it. I will go to my grave with a hundred swords in-”

  “In your belly. Yes. It is unconscionable for me as well, darling, but I will not have our people think we did not at least discuss it.”

  “We fight.”

  “We fight.”

  “Let’s get to it then,” I said. “We need to start drilling your fighters on where they should be when we lure the duke down here. I’ll lace my dungeon with more traps than a wizard’s dirty-magazine drawer. The duke’s soldiers won’t have a clue what to do.”

  “Beno,” said Galatee, “Do you think you could spare some traps for the cavern? I believe they will be useful.”

  “Really? You’ve always hated the things I use in my dungeon.”

  “I am a chief, Beno. I have people to protect. Needs must.”

  Just then, a message sounded in my core.

  Monster Melding complete.

  CHAPTER 22

  Sheltering in our dungeon beneath tons of mud, sand, and stone, we couldn’t hear the pounding of their cavalry’s horses, but we definitely felt it. The sound vibrated above us, shaking the dust from the ceiling. Kobolds stirred and whispered. Fire beetles scampered around, some waving their antennae around to try and locate the sound, others idling up to Brecht, to Shadow, to Gary and asking for pets from them.

  “Hardly the behavior of fearsome warrior insects,” said Gulliver.

  “They’ll be fearsome enough when the time comes.”

  More thudding came from above. Speckles of dust fell from the ceiling.

  Gulliver brushed his shoulder. “Seems like the time’s coming, alright.”

  “We just have to hope the duke sees the signs we left for him,” I said.

  “Dark Lord?” said a voice.

  Tomlin stood in the archway, his kobold fur covered by combat leathers. The leathers were made to fit a young teenager since I found it cheaper to buy leathers this size in bulk and then have them re-sized by a tanner who’d set up shop in Yondersun.

  He held a sword in his hand, though his palm was too close to the bottom of the hilt. Every so often he scratched his armpits and his back, clearly uncomfortable in his combat attire.

  “Everything okay, Tomlin?” I said.

  “Tomlin would like to speak with you.”

  “Go ahead.”

  The kobold looked at Gulliver. He shifted his feet. “Alone, please. No offense to Gulliver.”

  Gulliver winked at him and exited the core chamber, leaving Tomlin and me alone.

  “What is it?” I said.

  “Tomlin is scared, Dark Lord.”

  “I know that you don’t like fighting, but this isn’t just a gang of heroes. We will need everyone if we’re to have a chance, Tomlin.”

  “Tomlin isn’t a fighter. He will not be any use. He does not know how to use sword, and his leather armor is too heavy for him. Tomlin…Tomlin is frightened he will die.”

  You poor, poor creature, I thought.

  Of course, it would not be very motivating for me to say that.

  “Pull yourself together, for demons’ sakes. You’re a kobold! You’re a dungeon creature! The men coming to fight us have spent their whole lives above ground. They know nothing of darkness. They cannot fight in tunnels where the claustrophobia is so strong it seeps into their marrow. The only thing they know is that to win a battle, they have to strike quicker and stronger than their opponents. They don’t know about our kind of warfare, Tomlin. They don’t know about traps and puzzles. They don’t know wh
at moves in the shadows down here. But you…you are a creature of that darkness! It is they that will fear you! Alright?”

  He looked at least a little bit convinced, which I supposed was the best I’d get from a residual coward like him. I felt a little guilty to be so stern, but that was my job. It would do neither of us any good if I told him that he had very good reason to be scared.

  “Dark Lord…if Tomlin dies, will you be careful when you choose who becomes the next cultivator?”

  “You aren’t going to die, Tomlin.”

  “Tomlin knows he is a coward. But he is a coward because he doesn’t lie to himself. Eric says a person must not lie to themselves about fear. Tomlin could die today. Dark Lord should be honest.”

  “Then yes. This is a battle we’re not given much choice in having. There’s a chance it could be the end for all of us.”

  “Then Tomlin thanks Dark Lord for giving him cultivator job and letting him learn skills. And he hopes that if dungeon wins but Tomlin dies, Dark Lord will choose someone who will carry on Tomlin’s essence vine work.”

  “You’re a good kobold, Tomlin. Here with me since the beginning. You know that if I could spare even a single person from fighting, I wouldn’t put you in danger?”

  “Tomlin understands.”

  Galatee grimaced as she adjusted her leather armor, trying to create even a millimeter of space for her armpits to breathe.

  “Do they have to make the dreaded thing so tight?”

  Reginal, who had been wearing his armor since the minute he woke up that morning, held his sword and struck various defensive poses while watching himself in the looking glass and correcting his form.

  “It wouldn’t do much good if the armor was so loose that it hindered movement, would it?” he said.

  “Even so, with all the bloody mages and artificers crawling around Xynnar, you’d think one of them would have come up with comfortable battle wear.”

  “The attire of battle should never become comfortable, my love. When it does, you know you are lost.”

  “Come over here and massage my neck. I have more knots than a sailor’s practice rope.”