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

by Alex Oakchest

  I had thought about spinning a tale. Altering the truth a little to be the way I wanted it. One that would make me and the other dungeon monsters look better.

  But I didn’t. I told them the truth.

  It was Reginal and Galatee who decided that the people would prefer a lie. That the town would be better off if they didn’t know about the ancient core and the mad mage. That instead, they wanted a story about an accident at the quarry, a vague tale about gases being released and affecting people’s minds temporarily.

  Well, it was up to them what they told the townsfolk. I wasn’t a part of the town anymore.

  And now, under a beautiful night sky, we followed Gary out of town. Waiting at the town gates was an old man. He was dressed in clothes that had once been fine, but now bore signs of age. He had a lute in his hands.

  “Gary,” I said. “Can we have a word?”

  Gary and I moved away from everyone.

  “Are you sure about this?” I said.

  “You heard what happened, Beno. The hammer made me say it. Every word. You know what I did.”

  “It’s not strictly your fault. Those people hurt you. Badly. You thought they were your friends, that you could trust them.”

  “You can’t make an excuse for slaughtering four people, Beno. Even you don’t believe there’s anything that can redeem this, do you?”

  Honestly, I didn’t.

  When Gulliver used the Hammer of Truth on Gary and them asked him about that night, I’d expected to hear that Gary had nothing to do with it. That he’d gotten drunk, and Riston had set him up.

  The getting drunk part was true. But the rest of it was just as it appeared. Like a few people had told me, when you find a drunken monster in the place where four people were slaughtered, the simplest answer was the best.

  Or worst, in this case.

  Really, though, I was to blame. I had created Gary. I had made him in my dungeon for the sole purpose of killing heroes. The townsfolk weren’t heroes, sure, but that wasn’t the point. Killing was a part of Gary. It was instinctual. When ale and betrayal were thrown into the mix, the lines of who he should and shouldn’t kill were blurred.

  “You don’t have to go,” I told him. “Gull and I haven’t told Galatee anything about what you remember. She thinks Riston did it. We can let her carry on.”

  “No. By all rights, I should never have left that cell.”

  I had nothing to say to that.

  “Thank you, Beno, but no. Farzo is a master bard, and he says I can travel with him. He visits taverns all around Xynnar and plays there. And the gold he makes, he gives to people who need it. He doesn’t keep anything for himself.”

  “That explains his clothes.”

  Gary smiled. It was a sad smile, and that upset me. I was used to Gary’s eight eyes twinkling with cheer.

  “I’ll never be able to earn enough gold to redeem what I did, Beno. But I think I’ll do more good this way, than in a cell. If I didn’t think so, I would tell Chief Galatee everything and face my punishment. But I can’t carry on as I did. I can’t stay in the dungeon, and I certainly can’t be near town. There was a time when I thought they could accept me. All of us. But there’s no place for me with them.”

  “You’ll always be welcome back in the dungeon. The new dungeon, that is. I’ll even buy that ginger tea you love so much.”

  “Thank you, Core Beno. For everything.”

  Gary pulled me into a hug.

  I wasn’t happy with everyone watching. It didn’t do much for my reputation.

  After hugging me, he said goodbye to all the dungeon creatures in turn. With that, Gary gave a last wave of his leech legs and headed away with the old bard.

  It was time for the rest of us to go, too. To leave Yondersun and start life in our new dungeon.

  I was weirdly excited about it.

  The End of Book 6

  Dungeon Core Academy: Book 7

  Chapter 1

  I was out looking for a monster to add to my dungeon, just like any other day.

  As a dungeon core, I could create my own creatures using a mystical energy known as essence. That day, I needed something with a little more bite. And I meant that literally.

  I had been feeling underpowered for a while. When I got in that kind of mood, only one thing cheered me up – recruiting a beast capable of tearing dozens of heroes apart.

  My search took me to the Hogsfeate bounty board. Dozens of mercenaries were gathered there. Barbarian men and women wearing furs and leathers. Most of them were eating chicken. Then there were ex-empire soldiers, bearing scars won in service of the emperor.

  Nobody paid me much attention as I floated amongst the crowd. Pinned to the mercenary board were twenty scraps of paper written in different handwriting. Most were run-of-the-mill mercenary jobs and advertisements that didn’t concern me. Things like:

  ‘Want to get healthier? Here’s the one trick that healers don’t want you to know!’

  ‘Wizard seeks volunteers to trial revolutionary new spells.’

  ‘Wizard seeks solicitor for accident-in-the-workplace insurance.’

  These were all standard mercenary jobs. Easy jobs for easy gold. They weren’t why I had come here today. Only one scrap of paper interested me.

  Sand dragon spotted in the south-eastern wasteland. Reward for its head: 1000 gold.

  This was interesting. I didn’t want to kill a dragon and chop off its head, even if I was capable. Sure, if I had enough planning time and if I brought the correct monsters, I could take down a dragon.

  But I had a better use for such an impressive creature.

  I found its lair a dozen miles south-east of Hogsfeate, close to the wasteland boundaries. There was a huge mound of rock with an opening carved into it. Much of the stone was scorched black. That was my first clue that a dragon lived here.

  Another clue was the sand dragon chained up outside it.

  Twenty feet tall, a mass of wings and scales and a forked tail. Its whole body was made from orange, clay-like stone. Its eyes were like rocks, and its teeth resembled jagged pieces of granite that could chomp through iron.

  A truly fearsome beast that would have been an incredible addition to my dungeon. If I could take a monster like that back to my lair and have it serve me, nobody could doubt my strength.

  Unfortunately, I wasn’t the first to arrive. A group of men and women wearing leather armor surrounded the beast and had slung a chain net over it. All around them were corpses pulverized into bone and blood, probably the work of the sand dragon.

  “That’s it, that’s it!” shouted one man. “Sling the net this way.”

  “Anchor it!” said another.

  Damn it to the seven hells.

  These chumps had captured the dragon, which meant they had claimed it. Since I was alone, there was no way that I could take it from them by force. I doubted that asking nicely would work. This trip had been a washout.

  Just before I left, I noticed something strange. Not the dragon, nor the people who had captured it.

  It was the dungeon core floating nearby.

  A big block of obsidian hovering in the air. Shaped like an arrowhead, with a core that seemed to capture the light. An aura of dungeon essence shined from it.

  A core? Out here? Apart from myself, the only cores I knew about in the wasteland were my friend Jahn and a core named Namantep I allowed to live in my dungeon.

  So, who the hell was this guy?

  My curiosity overrode my caution, and I floated closer to them. Just ten feet away, I could feel the aura of power pulsing from him. This core was older than me. He was undoubtably more powerful. It meant I had to be wary, and also that the core would expect deference.

  Unfortunately, I have never been well-mannered.

  “Can you explain what you are doing with my dragon?” I asked.

  Still holding the net, the men and women turn to look at me. The dungeon core didn’t move, but all the same, I sensed its attenti
on on me.

  “Declare your name,” the core said.

  “I have many names. Dark Magnificence. The Prince of Pain. The Ruler of the Wasteland Barrens, Summoner of Demons, feared for miles around. You could also call me Beno.”

  The core laughed. A dungeon core’s laugh is a very strange thing. High-pitched and tinny. It robs us of our mystique, which is why we don’t often tell jokes.

  “Grand names for such a low being,” said the core. “This is your dragon, is it? Only, it seems that our nets have ensnared it. The corpses you see are of our warriors taken in battle. The blood you see spilled belongs to my underlings. And you have the gall to say this is your dragon?”

  “I haven’t sewn a name badge onto it or anything. Yet it is my dragon all the same. I’ll just be taking it, and...”

  The core laughed again. “It seems a jester has been sent to amuse me. Regrettably, I don’t have time to humor you. It is strange to see another core in this vast spread of nothingness, yet I have no wish to converse with such a lowly example. You will leave if you know what’s good for you.”

  He had me there. I doubted I’d gain much by staying here out of stubbornness. I hadn’t expected to encounter anyone at the sand dragon’s lair, which is why I hadn’t brought my monsters with me. I hadn’t imagined anyone would be stupid enough to journey to the sand dragon’s lair, not even the most greedy mercenary.

  This all could have gone so well. I had planned to have a chat with the sand dragon, given that I could speak dragon-tongue. I was going to make it an offer and recruit it to my dungeon.

  That wasn’t going to happen now, so it was best not to dwell. Besides, I had other questions. If there was a dungeon core in the wasteland, I had to know why.

  “What are you doing here? Where are you from?” I said.

  “I don’t converse with ants.”

  “Well, you should. They often have interesting things to say.”

  “Have you heard of the Black Web Academy?” asked the core.

  Of course I had. The core academy that forged me wasn’t the only one in the world. There were many. If I remembered rightly, the Black Web Academy had facilities in the north. They were a much-esteemed institution that placed a heavy emphasis on respect.

  The way to deal with people who demanded respect was to show them none at all. It threw them off.

  “Should I have heard of you?” I asked.

  The men and women holding the dragon exchanged wary glances. They weren’t used to anyone talking back to the core.

  The air grew tense. I sensed essence building in the obsidian core, which indicated it may have been preparing to use it. That, in turn, meant that this core was able to conjure things on the surface, which I could not.

  I got ready to float away in as dignified a manner as I could muster.

  Instead, the core laughed again. “Despite your obvious low quality, there is something amusing about you. You should come to the tournament. We could use entertainment before fights. Jesters of such utter ridiculousness are hard to find.”

  “Tournament?”

  “The Battle of the Five Stars.”

  Now things clicked into place. I had read about the Battle of the Five Stars in a book in the academy.

  Once every decade, a tournament was held where dungeon cores would gather and pit their wits against each other. It was said to be a brutal affair, full of legendary battles between powerful cores. It was a place where myths were made, where reputations were forged in iron and blood.

  Not only that, but it was said that the winner of the tournament would gain rewards that would make their power immeasurable.

  An idea began to spread in my mind.

  Back in my dungeon, I found the others in the middle of a meeting. One which I didn’t know about. Overseer Bolton was standing in front of a giant map, puffing on a pipe.

  “That stuff will kill you,” I said as I entered. “You’re old enough to know better.”

  “Beno, I am currently on my third life, approaching the sunset of my days. I don’t think I need to worry about things like that. Now, float over there and pay attention. I don’t know where you’ve been, but we have things to discuss. There have been a few sightings of ancient cores, and it is imperative that-”

  “Never mind about that,” I said. “I have something important to tell you all.”

  “Where have you been, Beno? I sent one of your kobolds to tell you to join our meeting.”

  “I was out hunting dragons.”

  “Dragons?”

  “Giant lizards, Bolton. They often breathe fire.”

  “I know what a bloody dragon is. My question is-”

  “You can ask all the questions in the world. First, listen to this.”

  I told them about the sand dragon and the obsidian core. My mention of the core got their attention, and I won’t deny that it felt good to have everyone listening to me for a change. Lately, everyone had been invested in the matter of finding the Ancient cores awakening all around Xynnar.

  I think that’s all everyone needs, sometimes. To have others listen to them. Even a hero-slaying dungeon core needs to have a sympathetic ear once in a while.

  Gulliver, wearing mustard yellow pantaloons and a frilly shirt with ridiculously oversized cuffs, tapped a feather quill against the notebook that he always carried with him.

  Actually, it was wrong to say that it was the same notebook. As a scribe, he was constantly recording things so that he could put them in a book and make a profit on my adventures. He got through half a dozen notebooks every week. He’d even been forced to hire a storage unit in Hogsfeate just to keep them archived.

  “So, you battled the sand dragon into submission, earned its never-ending loyalty, and then a dungeon core showed up and stole it from you?” he said.

  So, I embellish things from time to time. Is that a crime?

  Well, perhaps in a court of law, yes. But this was just a stupid stone grotto.

  “Correct,” I said. “But the dragon stuff isn’t important. The Battle of the Five Stars could be the making of us.”

  “The making of you, more like,” said Bolton. “It’s no secret that the core who wins the tournament earns magnificent rewards. Could this be your motivation entering such an event, by any chance? Personal glory and untold rewards?”

  “Bolton, I am shocked. Have you ever know me to act selfishly? Don’t answer that. My motivation is as pure as angel breath, if that is a thing. You said time and time again that Jahn’s task is so important that it’s almost divine. We need to find Ancient cores before anyone else does, and bend them to our will. I don’t need to tell you how difficult that will be. The rewards bestowed on us by winning the tournament would help us immeasurably. The Battle of the Five Stars happens only once a decade. Can we really afford to pass up this chance?”

  Bolton squinted at me. “And you have only Jahn’s task in mind as your motivation?”

  “Bolton, nothing would please me more than to dedicate my entire second existence to serving Core Jahn and his mission from the gods.”

  Bolton stood up and stopped pacing while tapping ash from his pipe onto the floor. “This is all just a silly diversion. You have no chance of winning the tournament, Beno. Do you know the caliber of cores that will enter? Cores from the best academies. Ones who can conjure monsters that make the heavens tremble. You will not defeat them using your usual dirty tricks. They are much more sophisticated than that.”

  “So that’s it then, is it? I come to you with an opportunity, and you refuse it because you are scared of losing?”

  Gulliver and Jahn were watching me now. I noticed Gulliver nodding his head. Jahn wasn’t nodding his head, since he was a block of gemstone and didn’t have a head. Nevertheless, as a fellow core, I could sense his emotions. He was agreeing with me. Suddenly, the tables had turned on Bolton.

  The overseer’s face reddened. “I am simply-”

  “You are chicken,” I said. I tried making a chicken
noise, but it came out all wrong and sounded like a pig that had stood on a bramble. Not quite the effect I wanted.

  “A coward. A goose-livered, pipe-smoking old git who barks about Jahn’s cause and how important it is, yet is scared of failure. A sniveling mouse of a man who will not take a risk.”

  “Beno is right,” said Gulliver. “If the rewards of winning this tournament are so great, can we pass it up? After all, what’s the worst that could happen? We lose? I’d rather suffer 1000 losses while trying to achieve greatness, then have my life be a long, drawn-out loss with no chance of reaching for the stars.”

  “A rather mixed metaphor,” I said. “But you sort of made the point.”

  Then, Bolton did something that surprised me greatly. He turned to face Core Jahn. “Jahn? What do you say?”

  I had never seen Bolton, or any overseer, show such deference to a dungeon core before. Especially not Core Jahn, who back in the academy was renowned as the worst dungeon core to ever be forged.

  Of course, we knew now that Jahn hadn’t been forged in the academy. He was an Ancient core who the academy had found, woke from his slumber, and then brainwashed into forgetting his roots.

  This explained why Jahn had always been poor at building dungeons, creating monsters, and fighting heroes. While I cultivated essence and used it to make monsters underground, Ancient cores were masters at using essence to create structures on the surface. Peace versus violence. Cores forged for different existences. Building on the surface was something I could not do.

  Jahn was enjoying the overseer’s attention. Though no expression appeared on his face, I sensed smugness coming from him. If he wasn’t such a bloody nice guy and one of my best friends, I would have been annoyed.

  Jahn had never been the sharpest core in the academy, and he would never be the brains behind any operation. That was just how it was. We all have different talents. That rich division should be celebrated.