We climbed out of the carriage and onto the field. Ahead of us was a single wooden signpost driven into the mud.
Anna turned in a circle. “I don’t get it. Where is it?”
“It’s underground, of course,” I said. “The clue is in the name. Dungeon Core Academy.”
If it had just been Jahn and me visiting the academy, they likely would have turned us away. After all, we had failed to graduate from the academy after our evaluations had gone wrong. I was still bitter about that, but I had grown as a person, becoming the dignified core that I was today. I was too noble to harbor a grudge against the cheating, grubby overseers who ran the place.
Since we had Overseer Bolton with us, who had spent two dignified careers at the academy - as one of the greatest dungeon cores who ever lived, and then as an overseer - we gained an audience with Head Overseer Tarnbuckle.
Tarnbuckle’s office was in a cavern in the underground complex that made up the academy. The whole cave system had once been used by smugglers, and the warren of tunnels and passageways spread far and wide for miles. The cavern that Tarnbuckle took as head overseer was one of the biggest of the lot. Richly decorated with a plush couch, a huge desk designed to make his visitors feel small, and many objects and trinkets from far across Xynnar.
“You’ve done well for yourself, Reg,” said Bolton.
Tarnbuckle adjusted the head overseer necklace that hung around his neck. “It’s Head Overseer Tarnbuckle, actually. Nobody calls me Reg anymore.”
“You’ll always be Reg to me. Even with the new trinket around your neck. You’ll always be the overseer who used to be scared of his own cores.”
I sensed antipathy between Tarnbuckle and Bolton. I wondered if it was because Bolton had never gained the rank of head overseer. Then again, he was always talking about how happy he was to not be an overseer anymore. That he would finally get a chance to live his life. Was that all a facade? Did he secretly miss his old job?
“We have things to prepare for,” said Tarnbuckle, “so I regret I cannot give you too much of my time. Would you like to explain what two failed cores are doing here?”
It was the first time since arriving that Tarnbuckle had even acknowledged Jahn and me. Before getting here, we’d agreed that Bolton would do the talking. Even so, I was taking the disrespect harshly.
“It’s like this, Reg,” I said. “I am entering the Battle of the Five Stars and I want the Dungeon Core Academy to sponsor me.”
Tarnbuckle tried, and failed, to suppress a laugh. “You? You want the academy to sponsor a failed graduate in the most prestigious tournament in the land? A tournament that promises great rewards, and only happens once a decade? Out of the question. You are no longer part of the academy, and thus cannot be sponsored by us.”
“I thought you might say that,” I said. “When I was a student here, I spent a lot of time in the library. I read every single book, committed them all to memory using the memory palace technique I was taught at this very place. It’s a pain, isn’t it, when your own teachings bite you on the arse?”
Tarnbuckle adjusted his head overseer necklace again. “Where are you going with this?”
“One of the books in the library lists the academy’s regulations. All 10,052 of them. One section - Section 78, Subsection J – concerns the Battle of the Five Stars.”
Tarnbuckle’s expression wavered for just a second. “What about it?”
“As an ex-academy core, even one who did not graduate, your regulations state you are duty-bound to evaluate me for potential sponsorship.”
Tarnbuckle stared at me for a moment. Sitting beside me, Bolton’s face was almost neutral, except for the slight hint of a smile.
Overseer Tarnbuckle picked up a red crystal from his desk. When he held his hands around it, the crystal glowed, and a voice spoke from it.
“Yes, Head Overseer?”
“Fetch me the regulation book,” Tarnbuckle said.
We sat there patiently while Tarnbuckle read the book that a kobold underling had brought him. Our patience was tested when he read the regulations a second, third, and fourth time.
“The words won’t change the more you read them,” I said.
Tarnbuckle slammed the book shut. He shook his head while tutting to himself. “Believe it or not, I was trying to be nice about this. You could have just accepted the excuse I gave, Core Beno. That you are not part of the academy any longer. But no, I suppose I’ll have to be blunt about it. The reason we will not sponsor you is that you were never all that promising as a core. We have much better cores to put forward.”
I won’t pretend it didn’t hurt to hear this from an overseer. Especially one like Tarnbuckle, who had taught me in Advanced Traps for Maximum Carnage class, and who I used to rather like. It seemed that becoming head of the academy had changed him.
“I was the quickest learner in my class. I put more effort into studying than any of the other cores. I earned the highest marks on my assignments, I answered every question asked of me, I completed every task I was given.”
“And yet you didn’t graduate. Being a core isn’t just about who spends most time reading books. What matters is the quality of your core. Of the soul we took from your mortal body, combined with the gemstone we forged it into. Yours was of lower stock than many others, Beno.”
“That’s not true.”
Tarnbuckle touched the red crystal again. “Jones? Fetch me the scale.”
Tarnbuckle’s underling brought a giant golden scale into the room. It was set on a marble base, on which ten symbols were carved. A strong wisp of mana and essence emanated from it. I had never seen the instrument before, and neither Bolton, given how he was leaning forward and peering at it.
Tarnbuckle stood beside it. “A new test developed by our artificers. It is used to measure a person’s potential core quality before we forge them into cores. Saves us from making expensive mistakes. It can also be used to test existing cores.”
“It measures core purity?” asked Bolton.
Tarnbuckle shook his head. “Not purity. Quality. A core’s quality is like a signpost that shows us their potential. If you doubt my word so much, why not let me show you?”
Suddenly, this golden scale and marble podium worried me. But not just that. There was also the look on Tarnbuckle’s face. He didn’t look like he was bluffing.
What would happen if I got on the scale? Would it tell me that my core was of low quality? My core didn’t feel so shoddy, but was that the kind of thing I would sense?
Tarnbuckle, Bolton, and Jahn were all staring at me. If I left here without taking the test, the questions wouldn’t go away. It would make Bolton and Jahn doubt me. Worse, I would doubt myself.
“Let’s get this charade over with,” I said.
Tarnbuckle used an alchemic knife to chip the tiniest slither off my core body. He placed this on the scale.
Soon, wisps of essence drifted from the gold and wrapped around me, and something lit on the base of the podium.
Bolton stood up and peered at it.
“So you see,” said Tarnbuckle.
“I do,” said Bolton, gravely.
“What is it?” I said.
“Look for yourself,” said Tarnbuckle.
I floated off the scale and hovered in front of the podium, where the numerals were etched. The numerals counted to ten, and only one of them was lit.
I felt new knowledge etch itself into my core.
Core Beno
Level: 28
Core Purity: 71%
**Core Quality: Base**
Essence: 5100/ 5100
“Your core is rated as Base. That is the lowest quality ranking,” said Tarnbuckle. “If this test had existed when you were forged, we would have found a different candidate and left your soul to fester in your corpse. Count yourself lucky that you even got a second life in the first place.”
“How many ranks of core quality are there?”
“Ten, obviously. Y
ou needn’t learn the others, considering your quality is the lowest.”
Bolton gave me a kind smile and whispered to me. “Base, MidBase, UpperBase, Foundation, MidFoundation, UpperFoundation, Enlightened, Ancient, True Ancient, and Ascended. ”
“You knew about this?”
“I have heard rumors of a new test, yes. I researched it a little, but it just seemed like a fad.”
Tarnbuckle stared at me, but words fluttered from my mind. What does a person say when they are told that their core is of low quality? What did that even mean? That I came from low stock? That I had lived my old life badly, and this had left its mark on my soul?
All I knew was that I wouldn’t let this stupid golden scale dictate anything.
“No matter what your toy says, your regulations are written for all to see. You are duty-bound to evaluate me for possible sponsorship.”
Tarnbuckle’s smile couldn’t have been more patronizing if he practiced in front of a mirror. “Well, if you still want to go ahead with this charade, then fine. You understand that you have no chance, yes?”
“I’ve never let a little thing like that stop me.”
Chapter 5
Later that day, Overseer Tarnbuckle summoned me to the academy’s main chamber. Hung on the walls were charcoal etchings of some of the best dungeons ever created. The centerpiece was the Necrotomitlita, a labyrinth of death created by Overseer Bolton. It was a dungeon so magnificent that it had earned him a rare third resurrection. Ever since becoming a core, I’d always looked up to him for creating the Necrotomitlita.
I was joined by four other cores, all of whom bore the essence aura of cores forged by the Dungeon Core Academy. It was the same aura that I had, too. Much in the way every person’s house has its own scent, so do cores from the same academy. I had been away from the academy for so long that my aura had probably dimmed somewhat.
Overseer Tarnbuckle was wearing his official head overseer’s robes fastened around his swollen gut. His great medallion was slung around his neck, and it bounced against his belly with every step.
The four cores who were to be evaluated for sponsorship were forged into different cuts and hues of gemstones. It wasn’t so important which type of gemstone was used to forge a dungeon core. Only that it be sensitive to essence, and thus, good for core bonding. My competitors were red, blue, green, and grey colored cores.
“Today, we will evaluate five cores to see who will be granted the honor of academy sponsorship for the Battle of the Five Stars tournament in Heaven’s Peak. There, you will be representing the academy. Only the best of you will be permitted sponsorship.”
After saying this he glanced at me, his brow more furrowed than I thought was possible.
“There will be three tests to decide who is worthy of sponsorship. The first will test your knowledge of all things relating to being a core.”
What do you know? That was my specialty. Maybe this wouldn’t be so tough.
“The second will test the skills you have learned in the academy.”
Not bad. Not only was I a keen student when I attended the academy, but I would have an experience advantage over cores, who hadn’t left yet. I had created a real, functioning dungeon, which was something these other cores wouldn’t have done.
Overseer Tarnbuckle clasped his overseer necklace in his hands and beamed a smug smile.
“The third test will evaluate the quality of your core.”
Oh, bloody hell.
The first test of the evaluation went as I’d hoped. The five of us were made to answer questions in turn. The questions were set by Overseer Tarnbuckle and were sourced from the academy library. They ranged from basic trap construction, creature compendiums, demonology, and dungeon architecture and aesthetics.
When I had been a student at the academy, I’d practically lived in the library. The other cores spent their free time messing around. But the way I saw it, we wouldn’t be the academy forever. It seemed a shame to waste such a treasure trove of knowledge.
Using the memory palace technique that the overseers taught me, I committed many of the books to memory. I only spared myself from memorizing trivial books. Stuff like ‘Overseer Tarnbuckle’s Guide to the Fields of Xynnar’ and ‘The Autobiography of Overseer Tarnbuckle.’ Basically, anything authored by the man who was about to test me.
Tarnbuckle began asking the questions, addressing the other four cores in turn. He asked them stuff like:
What are the essential components of a successful boulder-dash trap?
Name five creatures with toxic blood.
Which core pioneered the reverse, twice-blind tile puzzle?
Those were good questions. I would easily have answered them, given how much I’d studied core-related stuff. The more I heard, the more excited I was to show my knowledge. To prove that a core of Base core quality could study just as well, if not better, than the rest.
Not to mention that I had successfully created two dungeons since I had left the academy. I had core experience these academy students could only dream of.
Then came my turn. I did my best to hold my smugness inside, but was nevertheless keen to show off my knowledge.
“Core Beno,” said Tarnbuckle. “According to ‘Overseer Tarnbuckle’s Guide to the Fields of Xynnar’, where might one find swigbuckle buds growing in copious quantities in the autumn?”
Oh, hells.
Tarnbuckle eyed me with a subtle grin on his face, no doubt sensing that I was in trouble. Although cores don’t usually betray the rare emotions they have, overseers are gifted with the talent to read a core’s feelings.
I wasn’t going to fall at so low a hurdle. I just had to think about this. Although I hadn’t read Tarnbuckle’s stupid book, there were plenty of tomes in the academy library that dealt with herbs and botany.
Time to enter my memory palace.
Swigbuckle was the chief ingredient in the Mind Philter potion. I knew this from helping Maginhart study for his alchemy apprenticeship tests. And according to a book by James Crick, titled ‘Industry and Xynnar’, the Mind Philter potion was a vital piece of the economy of a place named Bamburgh. It stood to reason that if the potion was brewed in vast quantities in Bamburgh, then there would probably be copious quantities of swigbuckle nearby.
“Bamburgh,” I answered.
Tarnbuckle said nothing for a moment. I sensed the other cores watching me.
“Correct,” he growled.
The red core was the loser of the knowledge round, which meant that me, Blue, Green, and Grey passed on to the second round of evaluations. We were taken to separate chambers in the academy, where our essence was drained from us by the overseers.
Alone in my chamber, a voice spoke to me.
“Your next task is to create the best that trap possible using the little essence that we leave you. You have thirty minutes. The trap will be judged by Overseer Yuren. You may begin.”
Reaching into my core, I checked my essence. Normally, I would have 5100 essence points. This was quite a lot, and certainly, more than the non-graduated cores would have. The academy was a place of theory, and cores didn’t level up much until they left it.
No doubt sensing my advantage, the overseers had drained most of our essence and left us all with the same amount.
Essence: 300 / 5100
300? It had been a long time since I had to work with such a paltry amount of essence. Nevertheless, I could, and I would. The overseers could throw whatever they wanted at me, and I’d find a way.
My instinct was to create the most lethal trap possible with the essence available to me. That was the point of a dungeon trap, after all. To kill things.
However, 300 essence wouldn’t get me a very sophisticated trap. I had to be clever about this. I thought about it for a while. In fact, I thought about it for too long.
Soon, I realized I only had five minutes left.
Bloody hell!
I began thinking about boulders and lava traps, and so o
n. Just as I was about to knock together the most lethal trap I could, something occurred to me.
It wasn’t just the trap that was key here. It was also important who was judging.
Overseer Yuren was one of the oldest in the academy. Easily older than Bolton, probably older than death itself. Death had probably come to claim Yuren plenty of times, only to take pity on him just because of how bloody ancient he looked.
With that age became a different attitude than some of the younger overseers, like Tarnbuckle. They took their jobs more seriously because they had more to prove. Yuren was at the point in his life where he didn’t just want to earn his gold. He wanted to have fun, too. That meant he’d always been the most humorous of our overseers. The most tolerant of misbehaving cores, the overseer who laughed at our stupid core jokes.
Yuren wouldn’t just want a lethal trap. He’d want one that made him laugh. Knowing this, I got to work.
Three minutes later, with thirty seconds to spare, my trap was complete. A voice filled the chamber.
“Your traps will be tested in turn by a reanimated cadaver. Overseer Yuren will be watching. Further work or maintenance on your trap is prohibited, even if it fails.”
It made sense that they’d use a reanimated. While true resurrection was possible - and was the occupation of the League of Necromancers - reanimation was different. A reanimated corpse was just a big bag of flesh and guts. Not quite dead yet not alive, and certainly not possessing a brain, mind, or anything that would mark it as a living being. This was why I often thought that a reanimated could do an overseer’s job.
Reanimated corpses didn’t have feelings, hopes, dreams, and certainly didn’t experience pain. Perfect for testing traps on.
I anxiously awaited my turn, hearing the distant slamming of iron and the ominous whirring of something mechanical from the other chambers.
Soon, a corpse shambled into my chamber.
Here we go, I thought.
I floated to the side of the chamber, so I couldn’t be accused of manipulating the trap in any way. From there, I watched it.
Dungeon Core Academy: Books 1-7 (A LitRPG Series) Page 135
