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

to the town, I needed to maintain good relations with them. Especially since there was a growing movement called the No-Cores, who seemed to hate having a dungeon beneath their town.

My creatures who were not recovering from injuries labored the hours away, constructing new dungeon tunnels and training in the arena to get into better fighting shape. All the while, I studied and worked, scheming and concocting and planning until I knew how to beat the brothers.

Eventually, I had constructed a trap that absolutely had to wipe out the three brothers. If it didn’t, then what use was I? I might as well fill my dungeon with cement.

On the fourth day after my defeat, a kobold scampered into my core room. He was short, with toned arms and legs from a lifetime of mining. A pickaxe was tied to a strap on his belt. He had a mischievous look on his face even though he was far from a mischievous creature. In fact, he was one of my most loyal and trusted dungeon mates, even if he wasn’t the brightest.

“Wylie!” I said. “Always a pleasure to see my mining supervisor.”

“They here, Dark Lord. Heroes here!”

“The brothers?”

“Wylie does not know family history.”

“Are they stupid-looking? Do they resemble one another?”

“That them! Yes!”

Though a core’s feelings are muted at best and generally non-existent, I felt a flicker of excitement then. Or was it nerves?

“It’s time. Everyone knows the plan. Spread the word, Wylie. I want everyone ready, alert, and raring to tear the Pickerings limb from limb. Sharpen your claws! File your teeth! We’ll strip their skin and rip out their bones.”

“Uh…yes, Dark Magnificence,” said Wylie, slowly backing out of the room.

CHAPTER 2

The heroes entered my dungeon for the sixth time, twirling their swords in their hands and chatting as if they were on their way to a tavern. As much as their nonchalance made me want to throttle them, I understood it. If I had beaten my enemy five times, I wouldn’t be worried about our next meeting.

I watched them make their way through chambers and tunnels. There wasn’t a creature in sight, and not a single trap laid to stop them aside from the ones they had already spotted in previous dungeon raids, and they avoided them with ease.

Approaching a riddle door, the poor door had barely opened its mouth to ask for a riddle, when Cael blurted, “A man. The answer is a man.”

They jumped over hidden pitfalls and deftly walked around pressure switch tiles, laying not a hand on their swords the whole time. It was after thirty minutes of walking that Cael stopped. His younger brothers followed suit.

“Hello?” Cael called out. “Core Beno?”

“Good morning, Cael!” I said. “Nice to see you again.”

He looked around as if he expected me to be floating above his head. “You should get out a little more, Core. Experience the world outside your dungeon. It isn’t morning but evening, and a lovely one at that. My brothers and I thought we’d collect more of your loot. If we’re quick, we might sell it in time for happy hour at the Scorched Scorpion. The innkeeper brews a cracking ale.”

“By a desert hellhole’s standards,” added the youngest brother.

“Well, come in, come in,” I said in my most welcoming voice, trying not to betray my eagerness to slaughter them. A dungeon core isn’t supposed to show excitement. “Your loot is waiting for you.”

The youngest brother nudged Cael. “Something’s not right about this. I sense danger.”

“You’re in a dungeon. What else did you expect?”

“He’s trying to trick us.”

“Of course he is! I’d be offended if he wasn’t. Now keep quiet. Remember; he can hear everything we say.”

They wormed their way deeper into my lair, traveling south through passageways laced with spiked pitfalls and rusted bear traps. Parts were wide enough for them to walk in a row, while other tunnels grew tight enough that they went single-file, the youngest going first to detect and disarm traps.

Though they wisely kept their swords handy, they didn’t encounter a single one of my creatures as they traversed the twists and turns of my tomb, threading their way deeper into the heart of darkness.

Finally, they reached the center of my dungeon. Standing in one of the loot room archways, Cael put his hand up, palm outwards. His brothers paused behind him.

 “You best make sure we’re safe from traps,” he said.

The youngest brother walked slowly around the loot room, stopping every few steps and checking for traps on the ground, the ceiling, and even in the air. Finding nothing, he beckoned the other two over.

“We’re clear,” he hissed, still not grasping the fact that I could hear everything they said no matter how much they whispered.

They crossed into the center of the room, where I had left them a gift.

In my core room, I heard Tomlin making a racket behind me.

“Do you have to do that so loudly?” I said.

“Do what, Dark Lord?”

“Whatever it is you’re doing.”

“Breathing, Dark Lord?”

“Yes! For the love of all demons, Tomlin, do it quietly.”

“Is Dark Lord feeling tense?”

“Sorry,” I said. “It’s just that if this fails, I’m out of options. I’ll have to admit that I’m not strong enough as a core.”

“Tomlin thinks this is the last time we will fight the Pickerings.”

“A decidedly vague response. Call me suspicious, but that sounds like you have your arse planted firmly on the fence, Tomlin.”

The kobold didn’t answer me.

“Damn you,” I said, and turned my attention back to the heroes.

In the loot room, Cael sheathed his sword and crossed his arms. “This seems suspicious,” he said.

I couldn’t argue with that. The three brothers were staring at a chest brimming with trinkets. Shiny treasures made of gold, silver, diamond. Heirloom plates,