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

by Alex Oakchest

  “I imagine it wouldn’t be as appealing to read.”

  “Perhaps. Well, it’s over, Beno.”

  “No, it’s only just begun. Do you think we can destroy a duke’s army without the ripples reaching the murkier, deeper parts of the lake?”

  “Ah. The chain of nobility.”

  “The nobles are like the carrion you see over there. Waiting for a corpse to fall so they can pick at it. The birds might have gotten here faster, but the nobles will arrive eventually.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “For now? Clean up the town. Take things one corpse at a time, that’s my motto.”

  I floated away from Gull and to my dungeon mates. I tried not to focus on the ones who had fallen.

  “I know you’re all tired and you have lots to think about, but our work isn’t done. Take any wounded dungeon mates back to our lair. The rest of you, surround the duke so he can’t escape, but don’t get too close to him,” I said.

  As Wylie, Tarius, and a few townsfolk encircled the duke, I floated over to Galatee, who was sitting on the ground with Reginal’s head in her lap.

  “I’ll get Cynthia,” I said. “She’ll be able to brew a medicine or something. And we can send for Reginal’s healer. He’ll-”

  “He’s dead, Beno.”

  I looked at Chief Reginal, and I knew that it was true.

  Reginal was gone, the thrill of battle having been too much for his overworked heart. As a core I should have been unfeeling about this, but the strangest thing was that I felt sad when I looked at his face. Reginal and I had begun our relationship in animosity, but we’d slowly warmed to each other.

  I thought then of Namantep and her healing powers. Could I restore her, somehow?

  No, I was grasping. Reginal was gone, and that was that.

  Unless…

  “Smit,” I said.

  Galatee rubbed tears from her eyes. “Beno, we will deal with the duke later. I don’t have the energy.”

  “Just one second.”

  I floated over to Duke Smit who was standing up, swordless and surrounded by my kobolds and beetles.

  “You’re an epochian,” I said.

  “What of it?” answered the duke.

  “See the goblin over there? You can bring him back.”

  Smit shrugged. “If I had someone to feed on, yes.”

  I looked around at Jahn’s Row, at the street filled with groaning, mortally wounded men. “I don’t think that would be a problem.”

  “I have conditions,” said Smit. “I will bring the goblin back. In return, you will let me go back to my fort, unhindered, where I will collect my children and leave. You will never see me again.”

  “You don’t have enough bargaining power to impose terms.”

  “Ah. You expect me to perform this act from the goodness of my heart?”

  “I don’t expect anything of the sort. I think a nice round of torture might make you more helpful.”

  “How long do you expect it would take for your torture to work?” asked Smit. “A few hours? Longer? Certainly too long to be of any use to your friend. If you want my help, it must be now. Leave it too long, and I cannot roll time back far enough.”

  “You expect me to bargain with you?”

  “Unless you’d prefer that the goblin stays dead?”

  “You came to our town and slaughtered half the townsfolk. We didn’t provoke you. We had barely heard of you until you started sending your letters.”

  “Perhaps your little town grew too big for its own good,” said Smit. “But that’s beside the point. It need not have come to this. You could have peacefully submitted to me. Instead, you paid a grubby little mage to conjure a lightning storm. You fled underground like rats and used your traps to murder good men and women. All I wanted to do was to welcome your town into the bosom of Xynnar. Instead, you want to remain alone in this hellhole, cornered like rabid rats, lashing out at anyone who gets close.”

  “Moralizing while you’re sitting atop a mountain of corpses. Now I’ve seen it all.”

  “Time is not your ally, core. What do you want? To lecture me, or to help your friend?”

  “I can’t let you go.”

  “Why ever not? You will never see me again. I’ll take my children, take a new name, and that will be that.”

  “Don’t make me laugh. You’d give up your dukedom? Your fort?”

  “I never liked it much anyway.”

  “Then what in all hells was this about?”

  “Necessity, core. Necessity. It occurs to me that this battle, this mound of corpses, might be what I have needed all these years. You need only let me go, and tell anyone who comes to visit your town that I died in battle. I, in turn, will help your friend. As simple as that.”

  “You don’t deserve a second chance,” said Gulliver. “Look at what you’ve done and the deaths you’ve caused.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t that a dungeon core? The floating block of stone who you are all taking orders from? My brain might still be fogged from battle, but I am certain dungeon cores aren’t used to grow flower gardens.”

  “You’ve obviously never met Core Jahn,” said Gulliver.

  “Give the duke what he wants,” said a voice. It was Galatee, now standing up, with Reginal’s body by her feet. “Give him what he wants, if it will bring Reginal back.”

  “I sense that your core is still unconvinced,” said Smit. He unbuttoned his collar and brought out a key attached to a string around his neck. “Perhaps I can persuade him.”

  “What’s that?”

  “This,” said Smit, “Is the key to a cellar in Fort Smitten where you will find all kinds of…monsters and creatures. They may be of interest to a being such as you. Now, do we have a deal?”

  I looked at Galatee. Though she didn’t go as far as to say it, her eyes were pleading with me. The sight was unnerving, coming from her.

  “We have a deal,” I said.

  The duke drank from one of his own dying soldiers and then used his powers on Reginal.

  The goblin chief coughed and tipped his head back. His eyes opened, and for a second, they were pure white. Then he focused on Galatee, who was holding his head again. Blinking, he focused on Galatee. “Galatee…what’s going on?” He leaped to his feet. “The duke is coming! We must…”

  He stopped talking when he saw the carpet of corpses on Jahn’s row.

  “I have given him back the last few hours of his life,” said Smit. “Reversed the effects of time on him, and him alone. I have not, however, healed his heart. That was a problem brewing long before you even heard my name, by the looks of it. As it seems to be a keg waiting to explode, I would advise you to take him somewhere more…calming.”

  “Thank you, Smit,” I said. “And now you will bring back all of my creatures, and all of the Yondersun townsfolk, one by one.”

  “One by one? You do not understand, core. I can’t do that. I am not a worker of miracles…I have limits. I cannot feed again today, and tomorrow would be too late to bring any of them back. The fallen are fallen, the dead are dead. Sometimes time is unmovable.”

  “Then there’s nothing else you can do with your powers?”

  “I did what we agreed. Now, I will need a horse capable of a full day’s riding. As I said, I will return to my fort and-”

  “Kill him,” I said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Kainhelm? Kill the duke.”

  “We…we made a deal.”

  “You brought all of this upon yourself, duke. All of the dead townsfolk. The people who fell on your side. My dead dungeon mates. Do you really think that reversing just a single consequence of your actions is enough for you to keep your life? Nobody asked for you to take interest in Yondersun, Smit. We were living here alone, not bothering anyone. You brought this upon yourself.”

  “You are no better than me. How many people have you killed?”

  “Lots. But I’m on the winning side.”


  “You have no honor, core. No honor!”

  “I never pretended otherwise.”

  Days later, we had healed those who could be healed and buried those who needed to be buried. The battle of Jahn’s Row had leveled me up four times, increasing my total essence to 4010. This made my work much easier, and meant I could easily expand my alchemy chamber to five times its size.

  After my kobolds helped clear the duke’s soldiers’ corpses from the street, my alchemy chamber was stacked to the rafters with cadavers. A new team of kobolds worked around the clock to dissolve the bodies and store their essence dust while stripping them of their weapons and armor.

  We held remembrance services in the dungeon for our fallen mates, and I was touched to see them attended by many of Yondersun’s surviving residents. In turn, my dungeon mates and I attended the mass funeral for fallen Yondersun warriors. Galatee stood at the back, crying, with Reginal next to her and Devry sitting in his wheelchair.

  I finally had time to visit Razensen on the third day after the battle. The bogan, with a giant bandage on his shoulder, was sitting by the dungeon pool. His belongings were piled in a chest next to him. He was picking up rocks the size of a man’s head and tossing them into the pool and watching the ripples spread out.

  “How are you feeling?” I said.

  “Sore, but I have had worse injuries. Once you almost die, few wounds can compare to it.”

  “Some people would say that death is easier, depending on how swift it is. I don’t remember my own death.”

  “Ah, well. At least I can tell my people one thing about my travels; I met a person who has been to the ice and has returned.”

  “You can tell them that you avenged your parents,” I said.

  “Aye, yes. That too.”

  “You don’t sound as happy as I thought you would be. Was revenge not as fulfilling as you expected?”

  “Beno,” said Razensen, “It was delicious. Worth every second. I only wish it hadn’t been over so quickly, is all. I would like to thank you for your role in helping me get it.”

  “You might thank the dead duke for that. He brought your brother here, after all.”

  “You gave me a cool place to stay. A place away from that dreaded sun. You treated me as one of your dungeon mates in the time I spent here, and you introduced me to my friend Kainhelm, to boot. You will always have a friend in the bogan people, Beno.”

  “You’re going home?”

  “Nazenfyord is dead. My mother and father have gone to the ice. It is expected of me to rule, and I do not wish to spend a second more in this pit of sun-heated hell. No offense, Beno.”

  I laughed. “Believe me, if I could somehow destroy the sun, I would.”

  “I wanted to ask you something, my friend. Does Kainhelm belong to your dungeon in the same way that your other creatures do?”

  “I didn’t create him, if that’s what you mean. But we made an agreement that he would serve the dungeon,” I said.

  “That is what I wanted to speak to you about. I would ask that you let old Kainhelm come home with me to see my homeland. I think it would be a better place for him. My people are not affected by the energy he gives out, and he has never, in his centuries of life, traveled beyond the wasteland borders. I believe that he would like to see the world.”

  “The battle was disastrous for my dungeon, Razensen. We lost so many dungeon mates. I don’t think I can lose Kainhelm right now.”

  “As you say, Stone. As soon-to-be-ruler of my people, I will respect the decisions of another leader. Thank you for the help you have given me. I will not forget it.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Pvat, head of the Hogsfeate Heroes’ guild, reclined on Sir Dullbright’s couch and sipped wine from a glass filled almost to the brim. Across from him, Dullbright said nothing. Mage Hardere, wearing a robe open at the waist to reveal his naked torso, scowled at the old hero.

  “Do you have to be so blatantly disrespectful?” said Hardere.

  Pvat glugged wine from the glass and let out a loud ah. He smiled. “Why not? We both know this…thing...here is a mimic, and not the real Dullbright. I have to say, I prefer this version. Much less self-important.”

  “There are guards outside the house, you idiot. What if one of them looked in and saw you acting so disrespectfully in the mayor’s presence? Reclining on his chair and glugging his wine?”

  “Well, I imagine that Dullbright here would have the men replaced if they dared say anything.” Pvat sat up now. “That’s the beauty, you see, Hardere. Your spell, so masterfully cast, made me the mimic’s new master, meaning that the mayor of our town answers to me. I’ve been thinking about that, you know. It occurred to me that with the mimic under my control, it’s not terribly convenient to have you around anymore.”

  “Fine. You paid for my services. If you don’t want to pay for more, I’ll be off.”

  “Actually, it doesn’t suit my needs to have you wandering around with this secret in your head, and with lips as loose as your robe.”

  Pvat clapped, and the door opened. Four men in Hogsfeate guard uniforms walked in. These men were tall and lean, physically the complete opposite from most of Hogsfeate’s guards.

  “Oh, I forgot to mention,” said Pvat. “Dullbright had a change of heart. He decided to replace the town guardship and have the heroes’ guild take over the role instead.”

  “You sneaky bastard,” said Hardere.

  “Compliments will get you nowhere. Boys, take the mage to the guard cellars and-”

  Pvat didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. Mage Hardere bolted to his feet. He uttered eight words and held eight fingers in the air. He pointed six fingers at the newly arrived guards, killing them instantly with blades made from light.

  Pointing the remaining two fingers at Pvat, he scowled. “A man performs a service, you pay him gold, and that’s that. There’s a nice balance in that way of doing things. You have no honor, you bloody heroes.”

  Pvat, a career hero for most of his life, betrayed no fear to the mage. “Who needs honor when you have a mimic and a guild full of heroes? Mimic, kill this demented mage,” said Pvat.

  The mimic got to his feet. Though he wasn’t particularly quick in Dullbright’s form, he had time to grab a sword from one of the guards.

  “That’s right,” said Pvat. “Slit the mage’s throat. He can’t cast a spell on both of us at once.”

  The mimic of Dullbright launched forward and stabbed Pvat in the gut.

  Pvat clutched his belly and wheezed. “What…”

  Hardere cackled. “Did you really think I had made you the new master of the mimic? You bloody idiot. Why would I do something like that? He’s served me ever since we broke his last master’s bond.”

  CHAPTER 26

  We were all gathered in the loot chamber where Razensen was standing in the center, clearly uncomfortable with having all the attention focused on him.

  “As you all know,” I said, “Our friend Razensen is leaving us. He’s off home, where he’s going to find a job shoveling snow or something dull like that…”

  “Very funny, Stone,” said Razensen.

  “Razensen is going to be the leader of the bogans, and as such has promised to lend the might of his people to our town and dungeon whenever we need it. No matter what he is doing, just a whisper from me will bring him and his fellow bogans running to our aid…”

  “Be careful, or I will revoke my offer of friendship.”

  “Fair enough. We’re going to say bye to Razensen today. Our dungeon wishes him the best of luck, and we hope to see him again. Razensen, you are always welcome here.”

  “You are also welcome in my homeland. All of you.”

  Kainhelm approached Razensen. He reached out with skeletal arms and hugged his friend. “I will miss you, you poxing beast. A blessing to your people. A plague on your enemies. May…may we meet again.”

  I watched Kainhelm and Razensen hugging, and yet again, I felt a
flicker of guilt. What in the name of the underworlds was wrong with me lately? The longer I stared at them, the more I felt a horrible sensation in me. A wicked, disgusting feeling that I knew was called empathy.

  Empathy for Kainhelm, who had spent centuries underground, alone and friendless. He and Razensen had inexplicably become best friends, and no sooner had he made a friend, then he had to say goodbye to him.

  And worse, I was the one making him do so.

  “That is not all,” I said. “We are also saying goodbye to another of our dungeon mates today.”

  Every kobold, every beetle, every jelly, every Gary was staring at me. Kainhelm and Razensen were staring hardest of all.

  “Kainhelm is also leaving us,” I said. “He is going to travel to Razensen’s homeland with him, where he will spend time seeing a different part of Xynnar. I’m sure you will all wish him the best.”

  Kainhelm looked at me. “You poxing…you plaguing…” he said, struggling for words. “Thank you, core.”

  “And thank you, Kainhelm. Good luck to you.”

  I was content to stay over by the corner of the loot room then and watch my dungeon mates enjoy the farewell party. They’d earned the break, what with the battle of Jahn’s Row and the incessant clean up afterward. They needed a rest from it, a rest from everything that had happened.

  I did too, and so I just stayed there and listened to them talk and laugh, and I enjoyed Brecht’s music as he played his tambourine and sang. Gary, still injured from the battle, could not play his lute, more’s the pity, but he lent his singing voice to the proceedings and sang about lovely things such as dead heroes caught in murderous traps.

  As the party wore on, I heard a voice in my inner core.

  “Dark Lord?”

  I recognized the voice, though I hadn’t expected to hear it again.

  No. It couldn’t be. I was hearing things.

  “Dark Lord?”

  The voice speaking to my inner core was Morphant. This was a trick. It must have been.

  Another voice spoke now. An older voice that I recognized, but couldn’t place. “So I speak to the sprinklings of stone, you say?” said the voice.