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

of where he guessed my eyes would be if I had any. He was trying to be nice, so I didn’t spoil his gesture by telling him that he could have left the book in the northernmost region of my dungeon and my core vision would still allow me to read it from here.

Gulliver stared at me as I read. He was clenching one fist and messing with his shirt hem with his other hand, waiting for me to speak.

Knowing how it felt for your work to be evaluated, I decided not to play a joke on him and just cut to the point.

“This is outstanding work,” I said. “Your writing is lovely, and your account of the wolf battle, well…it reminded me a little of a scene from the Soul Bard if I’m honest.”

“Praise indeed, given it’s your favorite book.”

“This is great, Gulliver. I come across like a war general or something.”

“You sound like you expect something less.”

“It presents the nicer parts of my personality a lot better than I supposed,” I said. “I know I can be a bit of a scamp, always plotting how to kill people and things. But I’m not all bad. I’m just as sufficiently bad as I need to be, and pleasant for the rest of the time.”

“I’m glad you like it. And I have a title for the first volume.”

“Oh?”

Gulliver smiled, flashing his teeth. “Totemly Brilliant – The Ballad of Beno Versus the Beasts.”

“Top notch titling, Gull. Well done. You have my approval to publish it. How long until people read about my exploits? About my great battle strategy, about my glorious deeds?”

Gulliver tapped his book. “I have a way of transmitting my work to Inky Mick instantly, using ingenious artificed tomes. The book will be on sale before you can count to ten.”

“I am bad with numbers; it is well known.”

The scribed smiled. “Now, with my news broken, would you care to explain what we’re doing in a dingy room piled to the rafters with hero carcasses?”

“Pretty simple. This is where I perform dungeon alchemy. Can you do me a favor and drag a body onto the runemarks? I don’t mind which one; pick whichever you like.”

“Drag a body…Nope, Beno. Not a chance. I’m not touching them.”

“Demons Below, Gull. You’re in a dungeon and you’re enjoying a view of things few people ever get. Most cores would have slaughtered you the minute you came down here, just to get a level up. Yet here I am, Muggins, letting you waltz around like it’s a fancy-dress ball.”

“I’m a scribe, Beno. Not a necromancer’s butler. I’m not touching dead bodies. Just like when I was a warscribe, I’m here to stay firmly out of the action. It’s called scribalistic neutrality, and it’s a reason scribes can enter warzones and the like without fear of being targeted. If we started breaking neutrality here and there, we become part of the fight, and thus it is acceptable to kill us. I just want to write my epics, publish my stuff, and make some coins.”

“Fine requests, but we can’t all go through life doing what we want. Sometimes, you have to help move dead bodies. That’s not an unreasonable thing to ask for is it, that you drag a couple of corpses for me? Unholy underworlds, Gull, didn’t your parents teach you any manners?”

Gulliver crossed his arms. “I never met my parents, in actuality. Forget it, Benodict. Not happening.”

“Fine.” I used my core voice now. “Gary? I need some help moving some bodies.”

Thirty minutes later, the five heroes were gone and Gary, who was much more helpful than Gulliver, had departed for his break, which he would spend in quiet contemplation to center his soul.

One by one I had processed the dead heroes using my alchemy chamber, and now their bodies had been alchemically stripped to their essence, leaving them as just five piles of dust on the floor.

Two of these essence piles proved to be useless, and these were the ones who died in a human state. Unlike most heroes, they didn’t have defined classes like scout, assassin, mage or whatever, and so didn’t leave useful essence behind.

But the other three…well. Their essence was both dangerous and tremendously powerful.

“Piles of ash,” said Gulliver. “Great. What’s next? Scatter their remains in their favorite flower garden?”

“That is concentrated werewolf essence,” I said. “When ingested it will…do something. What, is the question. If I feed this essence to, say, Wylie, would he turn into a werewolf-type creature permanently? Or would he develop the werewolf condition of only changing when there’s a full moon?”

“Lycanthropy is a tricky subject,” said Gulliver. “Some believe it is the result of a curse, others an affliction. That subtle difference affects how one views the lycanthropes; a curse suggests blame, while an affliction is to be pitied. Until I saw one, I always subscribed to the idea that the existence of were-anything was hog crap, and that it was merely a name given to perfectly explainable medical conditions. Photosensitivity, psychosis, excessive hair growth. Good, honest explanations that require neither pity nor blame, and could potentially be tackled by science.”

“Lots of people try to explain werewolves rationally, yet there’s a reason all the merchant roads are empty on the night of a full moon. Superstition is like a mouse and the cat is science. The mouse will hide while its hunter lurks, but the minute the mog is out of sight, the vermin comes scuttling out.”

“I’m told a sorcerer replicated lycanthropic symptoms using a mix of rare herbs,” said Gulliver.

“And no doubt he was soon selling this magical mix, and he now resides in a palace on the eastern coast, while the people who bought his concoction drink diluted elderberry and tarragon and howl at the moon, annoyed they haven’t changed yet. Forget fables and unrealistic things,