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

squeezed into the space, and we were even joined by Core Jahn, who floated on the same pedestal as me, and who the kobolds and beetles and Gary looked at with new-found respect after seeing what he had built on the surface.

Evidently, wooden lodges were prized more than poison chambers and ingenious traps these days, but maybe I was just being bitter. I was proud of Jahn, and glad that he had taken up the slack in surface building. I much, much preferred creating dungeon things.

“My friends,” I said, “We are here to pay our respects to Dylan, Karson, Fetter the raven, and Megalodonid, who have all fallen in service to our dungeon. Their work for us will never be forgotten, nor will they ever truly leave this place. Tarius?”

Tarius stepped forward. He held four glass jars filled with dust. In as tasteful a ceremony as I could manage, I had used the alchemy chamber on my departed creatures.

“Tarius,” I said, “The head of my newly-created dungeon union, will now commit our friends to the dungeon they served, so they can be part of it and watch over us forevermore.”

As we looked on in utter silence, Tarius approached a metal cylinder wedged into the ground. He opened it, and with a sniffle, began to tip the dust inside.

“Bye, Karson,” he said.

Though the metal prevented us from seeing it, the dust of our friends would fall down the cylinder like snowflakes, traveling through a narrow hole that led deep into the ground.

Over time, they would become one with the mud and soul and in that way would always be a part of the dungeon, whether they still served it or not. This room would serve as a memory of Karson, Dylan, Fetter the raven, and Megalodonid the drownjack.

“Shadow?” I said.

Shadow, her feet crowded by her puppies, approached the mana lanterns.

“Our scout and newly-appointed kennel master will light the tributes,” I said.

Shadow ignited four mana lamps, each fixed on the wall behind the cylinder, each to represent a creature who had fallen.

I hoped I wouldn’t have to add more lamps to the wall, but at least if we did, I knew my creatures could come here and sit in meditative silence and think about their friends.

“I don’t want any of you to work this evening,” I said. “Tarius, the hole in the loot room ceiling can stay for now. We’ll let the full moon spend its last night shining into the dungeon. Wylie, you are not to even think about grabbing a pickaxe. Spend tonight however you desire, my friends, whether that be together or in quiet reflection.”

The air was somber, but it was also hopeful. Despite the loss of fellow creatures, we had earned a great victory, and the future was bright for our dungeon.

Or, in the way I much preferred to thinking about it, the future was dark. Very, very dark. The kind of darkness that leads the most seasoned of heroes astray.

My clanmates filed out of the remembrance chamber, their steps marshaled by Brecht tapping on his tambourine, and Gary crooning a song that was quickly drowned out by the beetles and ravens chanting for something upbeat.

This left me and Gulliver, who had watched the events without a single quip or unnecessary show of wit and had simply recorded the ceremony in his book.

“I never thanked you,” I said. “In the loot room, you broke scribalistic neutrality to save Wylie.”

“Aye. Never let it be said I don’t help my friends.”

“Won’t you get in trouble with the guild?”

He nodded. “They’ll find out. They always do. That’s the problem with scribes; they have ways of wheedling information out of anybody. I’ll be kicked out, I expect. I was already on my last warning after spreading rumors that Archibald De La Monseur plagiarizes his stories from a talking dog.”

“Sorry, Gull.”

Gulliver flashed a smile. “Don’t be sorry, Beno! The scribes’ guild doesn’t hold the ownership of letters, you know. Nor do they have exclusive rights to quills and paper, words, and the eyes with which people read them. I can still write.”

“Doesn’t being part of the guild protect you when you report on conflicts and all that kind of stuff?”

“Pah. I’m done scribbling about the feats of dukes who stand at the back of their battle lines while their commoners die for them, only to charge in when the fight is won and crow about their bravery.”

“You’re welcome to stay here,” I said.

“Thank you, my friend. I’ve grown fond of this place. Even so, I will be away for a little while. Totemly Brilliant is selling rather well, according to Inky Mick, and people are asking for me. There may be more opportunities. More gold, more interesting people who want to share their stories, more maidens who need the company of a handsome scribe. I think I’ll go seek them out.”

“Okay,” I said. “You can come back anytime. My dungeon is always open.”

CHAPTER 35

Far across Xynnar, miles and miles away from Yondersun and Core Beno’s dungeon, a lad and his new bride slumped onto their bed in the Saucy Goose tavern, worn out after a day of celebration.

The tavern door was a thick one, hefty enough to block out not just the draught, but the sounds of the wedding guests below who weren’t ready to give up partying yet.

Lying on his back and holding his new wife’s hand in his, the lad reflected about how lucky he was to even see this day. Only weeks ago, he’d thought he might die. After fleeing back home, the first thing he’d done was ask his sweetheart to marry him, and the wedding was hastily arranged.

But he didn’t just think about his luck. He pondered about the future, where he would work hard at the mill and try to rise to foreman,