Dungeon Core Academy: Books 1-7 (A LitRPG Series) by Alex Oakchest (book suggestions txt) 📕

he had been supervising the transportation of rocks and boulders from my dungeon and to the surface, where they would be used in construction. It was a grueling assignment, lifting so much rock with so little a workforce, but Warrane’s muscles were getting the benefit of it.

“Your three eyes look especially stark today, Warrane,” said Gull. “And the smell of sweat that wafts with your every step is really…something.”

Warrane grinned. While some clansmen took Gull’s ribbing to heart, Warrane was able to take a joke. He gave Wylie a hug, nodded at me, and showed Gull the skin of his thumb, which was a rather foul gesture among the Wrotuns.

“Always a pleasure, Warrane,” I said, genuinely meaning it. Most of the Wrotun clan treated me as a tool, whereas Warrane greeted me as a friend.

“This leaf thinks likewise.”

“How are your folks?” I asked.

Warrane was quiet for a minute.

“That’s a touchy subject for poor Warrane,” said Gull. “Like asking a gelded dog where his plums are. Sorry, Warrane; our dungeon core lacks tact.”

I changed the topic. “Not that it wouldn’t be good to have a cup of tea and a natter, but you’ve caught me at a busy time.”

“This leaf always finds the core busy.”

“Well, I have dungeon expansion to do, strengthening defenses on Chief Reginal’s orders. When I’m not toiling down here, I’m learning how to use my skills on the surface. I’m telling you, a second life might be many things, but it isn’t relaxing.”

And when I’m not doing either of those things, I thought, I’m working out ways to trick and deceive Reginal and the others, so I can become free.

“It is Chief Reginal who sent this leaf,” said Warrane. “He requests that you join him on the surface.”

“Can’t it wait?”

“He said you must join him immediately.”

“Immediately? Really? Well, tell him I’ll be ten minutes.”

Warrane rolled his eyes at my small display of rebellion. I didn’t blame him, but I couldn’t help myself. I hate being told what to do; it’s a flaw I have never successfully eradicated since being resurrected as a core.

Gulliver sat by the wall now, with one leg crossed over the other and his book resting against his thigh. He scribbled in it, with his tongue sticking out.

“What are you writing?” I said.

“I write many things.”

“Let me see.”

Gulliver sighed. “Would you constantly ask a magician to reveal his tricks?”

“If his tricks involved sawing me in half, yes. Come on; you know our deal. I get to read everything.”

Gulliver sauntered over and tossed his book to me. It hit my gem body and fell on the ground.

“Gull…”

“There was nothing in my agreement about me being your hands. What next? I become your chief itch scratcher? I’m a scribe, not a dungeon core’s work monkey.”

“Wylie,” I said. “Could you please hold the book so I can see it?”

He did so, and I read the scribe’s words.

Pride teases many into a fall, using its wiles on fools and kings alike. Though, to be sure, many fools and kings are one and the same. Pride, too, will lead Core Beno into misfortune. Watch as he makes a chief wait on him for no other reason than because he can. See how pride does him a mischief.

“Pride is doing me a mischief, is it?”

“I don’t mean it as a slap in the face, Beno. But let’s not pussyfoot around sleeping wolves; you are prideful. I have never met a person for whom pride acts like a friend, that’s all. As a scribe, I’ve had to swallow some pretty ugly terms and promises in order to get access to my subjects, and I learned long ago that pride is not an ally, but an enemy wearing your friend’s cap and stockings. Sometimes a person needs to say, ‘be gone, pride!’”

Maybe he was right, but I had already told Warrane what to say. He left my dungeon, and I stared at the hole in the wall and felt my mind wander through the field of glorious possibilities the hole, and the narkleer, represented.

Damn it, they would have to wait.

“Brecht,” I said, casting my words through my dungeon using my core voice. “You’re coming to the surface with me.”

“I’ll come too,” said Gulliver. “I’m seeing more kobolds than beautiful women, lately. The balance is all out of whack.”

“Behave yourself around the clan,” I said.

“You might as well tell a flower to stop looking so pretty, for it is drawing too many bees to it. The clan women love me.”

Soon, I was joined by a kobold holding a giant tambourine. Brech was a level 15 bard, a subclass he earned after eating the distilled essence of a bard hero. Long story.

When ten minutes had elapsed, I pedestal-hopped through my dungeon, teleporting myself from one room to another. I could have just hopped straight to the surface, but if I was heading in this direction anyway, I may as well check on each room in my dungeon at the same time. You know, kill two kittens with one club.

Satisfied my labyrinth was in good shape, I made one final pedestal hop, transporting my core self through the ether, rushing upwards out of my dungeon and to the surface world.

I found myself floating atop a pedestal that I had constructed above ground. Brecht soon joined me. Lacking the ability to pedestal-hop, the kobold bard had transported himself to the surface the old-fashioned way…by walking.

Gulliver followed him, swaggering out of the dungeon and onto the wasteland and stretching his arms out wide.

“Ah, I’ll never tire of this beauty,” he said. “All these rocks. And rocks. And more rocks.”

The land around us was mostly featureless; just a never-ending spread of orange dirt sitting under an orange sky and a burning sun. Few buildings, other than