The Crafter's Dominion: A Dungeon Core Novel (Dungeon Crafting Book 5)

by Jonathan Brooks

  “Multiple ways, actually. First—” Gerold said, turning his palms outwards toward the Master Blacksmith— “are these Energy Orbs that you see embedded in my hands.”

  “Good Creator, Gerry! Is that some sort of mark the dungeon put on you? Does it control you even now?” The Blacksmith shrank back a little in disgust, shaking his head.

  “No, this isn’t about control, Master. These marks are what she calls a ‘bond,’ which allows me to speak with her, and these Energy Orbs are something else entirely. They regenerate my elemental energy automatically—”

  “Impossible.”

  Gerold chuckled at the Master’s insistence, the first bit of humor he had experienced since he arrived back home. “That’s what I thought at first, as well, but it’s true. As long as I was within range of Sandra’s Core, these Orbs would continuously supply Water and Nether energy to me forever. Now, though, since I’m not near her, I have a feeling that if I use them up, they will shrink and disappear just like they would when used outside of my palms.”

  “Your stories are becoming more and more fantastical…but for some reason, I believe you. Did you say there are more of these ‘Energy Orbs’?”

  Gerold again nodded. “Absolutely. I don’t know how she did it, but Sandra created them with enchantments and even installed them in my Deep Diver suit, which she also crafted from raw materials, using a forge and her constructs to build the suit – and War Machine – from the ground up.”

  “It—She is a Blacksmith?”

  “Yes, and much more. She apparently loves crafting of all sorts, and you would be amazed at what she can produce!” he said wonderingly, before remembering who he was talking to. “I mean, she can’t produce the quality of weapons and armor that Master Blacksmiths like yourself can create, but there’s no denying that it is quite good; I would dare say that it would be relatively passable to your inspection, even.” He wasn’t sure why he was talking up Sandra and her abilities like he would a prospective mate he was presenting to his parents, but it also wasn’t a lie. She really was that good, though she could likely learn a lot from Jespin here.

  All of which reminded Gerold of his secondary purpose in returning to the mountain strongholds of his people. He had already failed at trying to warn them of the impending danger, but maybe he could somehow convince a Master Blacksmith like Jespin to reveal the long-held and sacred secrets of how to produce their unique armor and weapons to a strange dungeon located in the middle of the wasteland, while hostile dungeons and their deadly monsters surrounded them from every direction. That seems much simpler, right?

  “Raw materials? What do you mean by that?”

  The question took Gerold by surprise, especially at Jespin’s tone when he asked that. It was almost as if the Master Blacksmith was a bit nervous. “Well, Sandra takes bars or sheets of metals and then uses them on the things she crafts, as well as raw leather and other materials. Why do you ask?”

  The older Dwarf ignored his question. “Yes, but where do these materials come from? The Gnomes?”

  Huh? “Oh, it’s all dungeon-loot quality. She creates it herself – vast quantities of it, in fact. There was a rumor circulating among the villagers that Sandra had some sort of storeroom that held large amounts of materials, but I never actually saw it. But I did see the Enchantment Repository; now that was an impressive sight, even if I don’t know much about enchant—”

  “She just…creates it? Out of thin air?”

  Gerold was really curious where this line of questioning was going, because he couldn’t figure it out. “Well…I don’t know the precise process, but I believe she needs to use some of her own ‘energy’ – that I think I remember her calling ‘mana’ – to create the materials, just like she creates the dungeon loot that is used to create her constructs and other monsters. You should really see these metal Apes that she has; they wield these titanium warhammers that are extremely effective…”

  Gerold trailed off as Master Blacksmith Jespin reached into his soot-stained leather vest, pulling something from an internal pocket. With a trembling hand, the older Dwarf stretched out his arm with his closed fist, before slowly revealing what he had taken out.

  It was a small orb of very unfamiliar metal, only about as big as the tip of Jespin’s thumb. The disgraced Shieldman couldn’t see what was so special about it, until the little light filtering in from outside of the cells hit it in just the right way. The metal wasn’t colored like copper, iron, steel, silver, gold, platinum, titanium, or any other type he’d seen before; instead, it had a dark-blue tint to it, with almost rainbow-like swirls and striations seeming to float above it like oil floating on top of water. It was almost hypnotizing just looking at it, as the swirls seemed to move while he was watching.

  “What—?” He tried to ask what it was, but he was at a loss of words at the metal’s sheer beauty. He wasn’t a blacksmith that worked with metals all the time, but being a Dwarf meant he could appreciate the beauty of a pure loot orb of a quality metal – and this was certainly a quality metal.

  “This is—”

  Whatever Master Blacksmith Jespin was going to say was interrupted as the entire mountain seemed to shake.

  Chapter 9

  It wasn’t so much of a violent shake as it was a gentle rumbling. A rhythmic rumbling, to be more precise. It took Gerold a moment to puzzle through what it was, but one look at the old Dwarf standing across from him was enough to confirm it for him.

  The Drums of War were sounding through Stonebrink Hall.

  “War” was a bit of a misnomer, as it was more of a “defense” than anything. If there was ever a direct attack on their stronghold by dungeon monsters, the Drums would reverberate throughout the entire Hall to alert everyone inside. Non-combatants would flee to relative safety further inside the mountain, while anyone who could hold a weapon to defend their people would head to the front lines, just behind the Shieldmen to act as a final defense. It didn’t happen very often, and it had never happened while Gerold had been around, but had known that it was always in the realm of possibility.

  Historically, if something like that happened, the Shieldmen would beat back the attack and then eliminate whatever dungeon had extended itself far enough to threaten them. The mountain ranges that the Dwarves inhabited were located near the center of their lands, where the dungeons were mostly found around the perimeter forests, along with some random outcroppings found scattered throughout. It was usually these dungeons that were able to get close enough to threaten them, and they typically assaulted the highly defended Hall entrance; it was extremely rare for them to accumulate enough power and influence to actually break into their stronghold from below.

  “I have to go.” Jespin seemed to be in a trance as he walked out, closing the multiple doors behind him as he left. The drums and vibration were so loud that the Master Blacksmith didn’t even hear Gerold screaming at him to stop.

  “Wait! I can help! Don’t leave me down here!” All his efforts to be heard more than a little were drowned out, unheard by the retreating Dwarf, and Gerold was stuck being by himself again, worried out of his mind. Regardless of what the Shieldmen and even his family thought of him, he still cared about his people and wanted to join the defense – even if he didn’t have his armor anymore. He could still swing an axe and carry a shield, after all.

  But no one came to let him out, even to help defend the Hall under attack by dungeon monsters. After 15 minutes, the Drums stopped, though that didn’t mean the danger had passed; instead, it was likely only beginning.

  By his estimation, nearly half a day later, Gerold was starting to get hungry; no one had come to feed him like normal. He had no idea what time it was, nor if his worry over the people in the Hall was exaggerating how much time had passed, but he was reasonably certain that something was wrong. It was only when another few hours went by that he finally heard some signs of life as someone headed in his direction through multiple locked doors.

  “What
happened? Is everyone safe?” he asked the familiar face of the Dwarf that normally brought his food. Instead of answering, however, all the food deliverer did was lay his tray of nutrient-rich but unappetizing edibles down so that Gerold could obtain it near the bottom of his cell door. “Hey! At least tell me that the monsters were beaten back!”

  Still no response, though he did see a momentary hesitation in the other Dwarf’s gait as he left. That’s not a good sign.

  It wasn’t until the next day – perhaps 24 hours later based on meal deliveries – that he got another visit by Jespin, though he looked a bit worse for wear.

  “Yes, we were able to beat them back, but I’m not sure for how long,” the old Dwarf said in response to Gerold’s question as he sat down on the bench, his bloodshot eyes almost screaming lack of sleep for the retired Master Blacksmith.

  “What do you mean?”

  “This is the 4th call to arms in the last few months, and the frequency is only increasing,” Jespin explained wearily. “Luckily, nothing has broken through the stone entrance gates yet, nor have they tunneled beneath; but I fear it is only a matter of time before there is a serious breakthrough. We’ve lost a half-dozen Shieldmen already in the defense, so our numbers are thinning; we no longer even have the option of going out and destroying this dungeon that is threatening us, because we don’t have the numbers to survive another attack if it were to come while a team was away.”

  As callous as it sounded, it sounded like an easy solution. “There are thousands of people in this Hall alone that would fight for the honor of being a Shieldman; just have the Master Blacksmiths start churning out more armor and weapon sets. You could even come out of retirement to train some more—”

  “It won’t work,” Jespin said sadly, shaking his head.

  “What? Why?” Gerold knew that it would probably take a little while to really ramp up production, but they had to do something.

  “It doesn’t matter if we have 1 Master Blacksmith or 5,000; we can’t produce enough to make a difference.”

  That didn’t seem right to Gerold. While he didn’t know what went into the armor creation process, it seemed more than possible that with 5,000 Master Blacksmiths producing enough sets for new Shieldmen, they could be equipped enough within a few weeks or months to fight back and close down this nearest dungeon. It was even far enough away from the others that had been destroyed near the wasteland that it shouldn’t matter.

  It shouldn’t even be a matter of materials, either, because Gerold had seen the stockpiles of high-grade dungeon loot steel they had in the Kingdom’s stockpiles when he had been invested as a Shieldman, and there was enough there to create thousands of suits of armor and the weapons that went with it – if not tens of thousands. Unless it wasn’t the steel that they were lacking, but something else….

  “Does this have anything to do with that strange orb of metal you showed me before?”

  Master Blacksmith Jespin was too tired to hide his surprise. “How did you know that? No one but us Masters should have that knowledge.”

  Gerold shrugged. “It was only an assumption based on what you said about not being able to create enough equipment for new Shieldmen, as well as your questions about Sandra and how she can create what she needs. What is it?” he asked, gesturing to the older Dwarf’s hidden vest pocket.

  Jespin exhaled a big sigh, before looking out the door leading to Gerold’s freedom. Dropping his voice down lower, the Master began to reveal something the former Shieldman never thought he would ever learn. “I guess the times are getting desperate enough that it really doesn’t matter anymore.” He pulled out the strange metal ball again and showed it to Gerold, even letting him hold it. Surprisingly, when he picked up the orb, he could sense that it was extremely dense but soft – and yet was remarkably light for its size.

  “You’re right, Gerry. This is mithril, a very rare metal that is required to make the special armor and battleaxes we provide to the Shieldmen. I’m not going to detail the process right now, but this little bit you’re holding – along with large quantities of dungeon loot-quality steel – is all we need to fully equip a new Shieldmen recruit.”

  Huh. “That doesn’t seem so bad, then. So, what’s the problem?” Gerold asked as he handed the strange mithril metal back to the Blacksmith.

  “Well, the problem is that mithril is very rare, like I said; remarkably, we used to have large deposits of it throughout our mountain ranges here, which was how we came to use it in the construction of armor and weapons. Over time, however, the deposits ran out and our reserves dwindled to near-empty. Fortunately, about 250 years ago, a dungeon was soon discovered that dropped these small mithril orbs when their powerful monsters were killed; we’re not sure how that happened, but we weren’t going to complain about it.

  “Needless to say, we took advantage of this fact and sent constant teams of Shieldmen to collect these mithril orbs by invading the dungeon, diving deeper and deeper inside to destroy more and more monsters. Unfortunately, about 50 years ago, a large team went inside and suffered horrendous casualties in the process of killing the strong monsters and falling victim to numerous traps. Understandably frustrated and out for revenge, the remaining members of the Shieldmen team managed to reach the bottom of the dungeon and found the crystal-like stone that represented its heart…and they ended up destroying it in retribution.”

  They destroyed its Core? The thought of that happening to Sandra made Gerold despondent for a moment, before he remembered that they had done the same thing to the undead Dungeon Core not that long ago. “Didn’t they know—?”

  “No, none of them knew exactly what they were gathering for us, though I’m sure they had their suspicions.” Jespin hung his head, as if tired of the whole story. “In my opinion, it was our greatest failure as Master Blacksmiths that I regret to this day, though almost all of the others would disagree: Our secret to the development of our special equipment was so ingrained in us that it was inconceivable to share it with anyone – even those tasked with providing the materials we needed. Only the King knew of our need for the mithril, which was required so that he could send out the Shieldmen to collect it, but even he didn’t know the exact process.

  “Now…well, now we are nearly out of mithril, and soon it won’t really matter if that portion of our secret is revealed. This orb here,” the Master Blacksmith said, holding up the metal sphere in his hand for Gerold to see again, “represents 1 of the only 20 that we have left. I’ve been carrying this particular orb around for nearly 250 years, as it was one of the first dungeon loot drops found in that particular dungeon so long ago. Even this will shortly go into the pool of available materials for another Master Blacksmith to use in the creation of another set of Shieldmen equipment…unless there is a better use for it.”

  “A better use? What do you—oh.”

  “Exactly. If what you say is true about this dungeon, this ‘crafting dungeon’, then it’s entirely possible that it could provide us with as much mithril as we need. With a large and virtually unlimited supply, we could indeed create more armor and weapons for new Shieldmen and finally start to take back this land from the dungeons that are slowly overrunning it.” The Master Blacksmith cocked his head to his side as he considered. “Or not so slowly, if what you also say is true of the dungeons near the wasteland.”

  Gerold shrugged. “As far as I know, we have a short time before things start spiraling out of control, but it could be that things have changed since I’ve been gone from there. Either way, it sounds like we’re going to need all of the help we can get just to survive here, disregarding the wasteland for a moment. If you were able to acquire more mithril, how quickly could the Masters create what we need?”

  Jespin scratched his head while he considered. “The major time delay in their creation is the use of our elemental energy; it takes weeks’ worth of our elemental energy to create even one set, and the only way to regain it back is to sleep. Except…your dungeon found a
way around that, didn’t it? With those things embedded in your palms?”

  Gerold nodded and corrected the Master Blacksmith. “Yes, Sandra created these to help regenerate our energy automatically; faster regeneration can be achieved with additional Orbs touching the skin, if needed.” He spread his hands and smiled. “Essentially, this means that you can have your weeks’ worth of elemental energy in a matter of hours.”

  Jespin just sat staring at Gerold for a moment, before shaking his head sadly. “To think, asking a dungeon for help in defending against other dungeons! Never in my 684 years would I have thought that was even a remote possibility. I guess times are changing, huh?”

  684 years? He’s much older than I thought.

  “What…hmmm…what do you think it will take for this dungeon of yours to help supply us with mithril?”

  Jespin’s hesitant question hinted that he probably already knew the answer, but Gerold was going to tell him anyway. It was one of the reasons he was there in the first place, after all.

  “Like I said before, Sandra is a crafter first and foremost; she actually felt bad when her actions resulted in the destruction of my gear. She actually wanted to replace the whole set, but didn’t know the secret of their construction, so the Deep Diver was the next best thing she could provide.” Gerold hesitated a moment before he continued. “When Nurboldar was attacked, our people needed somewhere safe to stay; Sandra volunteered to open up her dungeon for them to live. She created vast underground space where they not only could live, but plant and farm the same crops they were already harvesting in the village. The only thing she asked in return for all of this was a promise from me, a promise that I would attempt to convince a Master Blacksmith to share their secret. It wasn’t even an ultimatum, as if the inability of acquiring this knowledge would lead Sandra to kick our people out of her dungeon, but was only a promise to try.”

  Without doing or saying anything else, Master Blacksmith Jespin got up, walked to the door, and left, leaving Gerold alone with his thoughts. I guess that’s the answer, then? I told her it wouldn’t work, though I certainly did try. Even as our people are in danger of dying the longer this goes on, with dwindling resources to make additional armor for our Shieldmen, it seems as though the secret was to die with us as well. The former Shieldman knew that it was the biggest secret in their Kingdom, and it was likely hard to even think about sharing any of that knowledge with an outside party – especially a dungeon.