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

Haven’t been able to buy a beer since my birthday last year. They talk about the glory of questing work. Ha! I’m living hand to bloody mouth, I am.”

“Let’s see if anyone’s posted a job about a monster,” I said to Gulliver. “We might get lucky. Or maybe not, if this lot are anything to go by.”

Gulliver nodded. “I’ll keep myself busy. This crowd will add flavor to the book.”

He approached a barbarian who was resting on a stump away from the board, tearing meat off a bone. “Mind if I ask you a few questions?” Gull said, his book and quill handy.

The barbarian lifted the bone up and growled. “This is ‘uman meat,” he said. “And I’m still ‘ungry.”

To give Gulliver credit, he didn’t flinch. I suppose his years of experience as a warscribe meant that his flinching instincts were withered to dust. Taking a copper coin from his pouch, he flicked it onto the barbarian’s lap.

The warrior gave a smile full of missing teeth and patted the space next to him on the stump. “What do ya wanta know, me old pal?”

Gulliver thought about it, quill poised. “Is that really human meat, first of all?”

“It’s chicken, you stupid sod. Sit your arse down and ask away.”

Leaving them to it, I floated over to the bulletin board. The group of mercenaries around it was three -people thick, and try as I might, I couldn’t get close. I tried floating above them, only to get swatted by a meaty hand that belonged to an even meatier woman.

“Piss off, core!”

If this were my dungeon, I’d have slaughtered the lot of them. They might have looked tough, but I have always found that the tougher a fighter appears, the less they can back it up. Truly scary people don’t feel any need to dress up to prove that to people.

A few traps, a well-timed ambush or two. Easy. Yep, I’d butcher this lot without sweating. Here in Hogsfeate, though, I had no monsters with me except Dolos, and I couldn’t use my essence.

I floated toward the board again, this time staying behind the rabble.

“I can’t believe it,” I said. “The town tanner is offering a three-for-one deal on leather girdles and thongs. Idiot! Who in Xynnar needs one leather girdle or thong, let alone three?”

Within a minute, the mercenaries had scarpered, leaving me alone at the bulletin board. I scanned all the jobs that folk from Hogsfeate and surrounding areas had posted.

Wanted: Illusionist mage to perform at Duke’s party. Does not pay gold, but will be great exposure for an up-and-coming mage.

For sale: Novice’s Warhammer, never used. 

Also for sale: Novice’s bronze helm, dented in several places.

Want to make a fortune from thine own dwelling? Found out how this one barbarian makes 200 gold coins per week without picking up his axe!

Gulliver joined me, pausing for a second to wave at the barbarian, who had slung a sack over his shoulder and was heading off.

“Good luck with the pack of three-headed weasels, Eric!” said Gulliver. “I’m sure you’ll vanquish them before anyone else gets a chance to claim the reward.”

Eric the barbarian gave his fabulous toothless smile again. “You too, scribe! Luck to yer!”

“Lovely guy,” said Gulliver, joining me. “Says he’s getting bored of trying to compete for jobs on the person-at-arms board, and wants a stable paymaster. In my younger days, following a barbarian like him around would have made for a great story. Where did everyone get to, anyway?”

“Shopping.”

“Any luck with monsters?”

“Hmm. Not much. At least, not ones worth my effort. I need one that’s better than what I already have.”

“Like what?”

“A creature that can kill Cael, so I can be done with this whole thing. All I’m seeing are gremlocks, golems, bloodwolves. Boring.”

“Perhaps we better get back to the mage, then,” said Gulliver.

“You’re right. Let’s…wait a second…what’s this?”

Tap-tap-tap.

Mage Hardere’s door hatch opened, and the goblin with ear studs poked his head out. “Yes? What is it?”

“It’s us, from earlier. We’re here to see the mage.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“Listen,” I said. “I’m getting tired of people, tired of this town, and most importantly, tired of you. I’m guessing you don’t stay holed up in your tower all the time. If you don’t stop wasting my time with your little power games, I’ll follow you until I catch you alone, take you to my dungeon, and then skin you alive.”

The goblin snorted. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Really? Do you remember what happened last time a core got angry in Hogsfeate?”

The goblin glared at me and then slammed the door shut.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” said Gulliver.

“They’re the only ones worth playing. All the rest are boring.”

Locks clanked from behind the door, and it swung open to reveal a corridor inside the tower. The walls were adorned with the finest silks, crimson and lavender, and sky blue. A smell of spices hit me. Tarragon, turmeric, basil. They were pungent enough even to me, and I had already dulled my core senses. There was a set of spiral stairs at the end, which presumably led all the way to the top.

The goblin blocked the doorway. “Master will see you, but he requires a hair from the scribe and a shaving from the gem.”

“Mage Hardere can shave himself,” I said.

The goblin held up a chisel coating in an alchemical drip and thrumming with magical energy. “A shaving from the gem.”

“No damn way.”

“Then he will not see you.”

Gulliver plucked a hair from his head. “Don’t worry, Beno. This is just a precaution. Lots of mages and witches do it.” He offered the hair to the goblin. “This should suffice, surely? My hair will grow back, but a core’s body does not.”

“Hmph. This way.”

The old mage leaned forward. His robe