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

“None taken, because obviously you’re right. A dead core is a dead core. Whereas human Whereas human corpses are so much more than just a sack of rotting meat, aren’t they? Besides, Namantep isn’t dead.”

“What?”

“Don’t soil your best britches. She isn’t conscious, and she could never become conscious unless certain rituals are done, but she isn’t dead either.”

“You might have told me that. I’m walking around with a weapon of madness in my satchel!”

“You also have a mimic capable of stealing memories and then embodying them,” I said, “but you weren’t being such a baby about carrying Dolos. Besides, I told you; Namantep isn’t conscious. She will never be conscious unless I go through a ridiculous effort to make it so. Relax, and focus on finding the monster.”

“What is it that we’re looking for, anyway?” said Gulliver. “You said you only wanted to catch a monster better than the ones you have. A monster that can kill Cael. It must be quite something. So what is it?”

“What is it?” I said. “Well…it’s over there. That, Gulliver, is a bogan.”

It was a beast that had no business living in the sun-drenched wasteland. Twice as tall as a man, bulky, and wearing a coat of fur that made me sweat just to look at. Its face was dark, and the fur covering it seemed almost like a hood. Three pink eyes glowed from within the darkness. On its head were two horns, one much bigger than the other. Its arms and legs were tree trunks, easily muscled enough to serve as battering rams or skullcrushers, whatever its needs were.

It was about what I expected, of course, having read about bogans in the Dungeon Core Academy. But seeing diagrams in a book and coming face to face with such a beast were two different things.

Cael Pickering, you’re going to really regret me killing your brothers and forcing you to vow revenge.

“That thing can’t be native to these parts,” said Gulliver. “Not a chance.”

“It isn’t. They live in much colder places. The question is, why is it here?”

“Escaped from a hunter’s wagon, perhaps. Caught in the south, hauled all the way here to be sold for meat. Or as a pet, maybe.”

“It’s hardly a lapdog.”

“That’s the thing about the rich; they buy all sorts of stupid things. Something about having money makes the world boring to you. Take me, for instance. Every time one of my stories earns a substantial amount of gold, I find that the ales I used to drink taste now like tap water, and only the best brews will quench my first.”

“If a hunter bought it here, then where are they? Why aren’t they trying to recapture it? It’s not as if it is hard to miss.”

“Our horned friend either killed its captor, or fled far enough away from them. Either way, are you sure you want this thing in your dungeon, Beno? A kobold is one thing. They’re reasonable creatures. This is a wild animal!”

“That’s the thing about wild animals, yes. They tend to be wild, and be animals. But there’s a reason that nobody has claimed the job of killing it from the board yet.”

“What are we supposed to do if even mercenaries can’t deal with the bloody thing? It looks like it could crush a house.”

“We’ll reason with it,” I said.

“Beno, I normally defer to you on monster matters, but…”

“Gulliver. You’re a scribe – use your eyes. See how it’s cowering beside that giant rock? It doesn’t want to leave the shade. However it found itself all the way out here, it isn’t enjoying its new scenery.”

“I’ll stay here and…uh…keep our rear flank guarded from a distance.”

“Very wise,” I said.

Leaving Gulliver behind, I floated across the wasteland and toward the creature. The closer I got, the warier the creature became. From this proximity, I could see how thick its fur really was, and how unbearable the heat must have been.

Seeing me, it stood tall on two legs. Its trio of eyes glowed a deep, reproachful red. Despite its fur coat, it was impossible to miss that its body rippled with muscle, and that one swipe of a paw could send me flying back across the wastes. Its horns, meanwhile, looked sharp enough to punch through steel.

This was one of those moments where I was glad to have been reborn as a core, and to no longer be trapped in the useless flesh sack that they call a body. Not only did I have little fear of a creature that would have sent many heroes crying for their mothers, but I knew I could talk to it.

All cores in the Dungeon Core academy were required to use our advanced memories to learn an immense variety of languages spoken by man and beast. Despite the fact that creatures created by a core could speak the common tongue, there were other ways to recruit a creature to a dungeon. Finding a bogan in the wasteland being one of them. We needed to be able to communicate with monsters borne not of our own essence.

Knowing I could talk to it and knowing the right thing to say, however, were two different things. If I set my mouth flapping in the wrong direction, I was likely to provoke this beast into trying to destroy me and Gulliver.

I dredged my memory, searching through my memorized tomes on beasts, critters, creatures and monsters that I had read in the Dungeon Core Academy library.

What do I know about bogans? Where can I find some common ground?

Ah.

“You are a long way from home,” I said.

Its eyes glowed an even deeper red. Now that I knew exactly what this thing was, I remembered the entry I had read on it in Creatures of