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

Bolton had been the first face I had seen. He had been an ever-present figure in the early years of my second life. My favorite overseer, my mentor, a man with boundless knowledge of dungeons and heroes.

And now?

Well, our relationship had soured since I left the academy. A shame that it had to be so, and an even bigger shame that I was the one who soured it most. Then again, Bolton had started it all. He’d failed me from the academy on a technicality, showing me that our bond had meant nothing to him.

“Core Beno?” said a voice.

My anxiety peaked for a second until I realized that the voice hadn’t come from my inner core and so couldn’t be Morphant or Gulliver.

Instead, the voice came from a man approaching me warily. Behind him were a woman and two children waiting beside a bulging burlap sack tied at the top by a piece of string. The man was short and muscled, more than just athletic but stopping short of stocky. He had two scars on his right hand and one on his left.

“Sorry,” he said, when he reached me. “I didn’t mean to be so familiar by using your name. Mr. Core, I meant to say. Is that the right way to address a core?”

“Beno is fine,” I caught myself saying.

It took me by surprise. From a stranger, I would normally accept nothing less than being called Dark Lord, Evil Eminence, or Diabolical Diamante. But something about this man had disarmed me instantly. It was the honest nature of his face. His expression seemed like earnestness itself.

“Core Beno,” he said. He held himself well, his stance like that of a soldier, but lacking a weapon. “I’ve been in Yondersun for two days. I’ve offered my services everywhere, and all I’m getting is shut doors and empty stares. And that’s from the nice folks. Now, I’m asking you, and I hope you can take it as a sign of desperation that I’d do so, meaning no offense. But…I want to know if you have any work?”

“Work?”

“Digging tunnels. Sweeping the floors of your dungeon, I don’t mind. I’m not too proud as long as I get gold for my family.”

“You…a human…want to work in a dungeon?”

The man jerked his thumb to his wife and children. “For them, I’d clean the latrines in an orcish beer house. Not saying I don’t have skills that’d be useful for more than that, but this is the size of it. I need work.”

Hmm. There was something strange going on here. Why had he brought his family all the way to the wasteland when any other town in the Xynnar mainland would offer better opportunities?

“I know what you’re thinking. I see no point in lying to you, Core Beno.” He held up his palm to me, and I saw a branding on his skin.

“Ah, you’re a criminal. Does nobody in Xynnar have work for a criminal?”

“Oh, there’s work for criminals. There’s always a lord or a duke who wants something doing that nobody else will. Collecting materials from sulfur pits, getting rid of the wild bears on his estate. But my crime branding isn’t the usual type.”

“What’s special about yours?”

“They only give it to a man who’s turned on his lord.”

“I’m surprised you’re alive.”

“I had to pull a few strings. Ropes, in fact. And I did more than pull on them, I yanked them so hard I got friction burns. Bargained for my life, which I succeed in as you can no doubt tell, but I got the branding, and now nobody will touch me.”

“What are your skills? Are you a fighting man?”

“A blacksmith, primarily,” he said.

“I don’t have work for you. Sorry.”

To his credit, the man smiled and nodded. “Thanks for your time. If you hear of anything, my name’s Salt Ogden. If you hear of any work, Mr. Core, I’d be obliged.”

“I’ll bear that in mind. Good luck to you, Salt.”

Salt walked back to his family. I saw his wife arch her eyebrow expectantly. Salt shook his head, and she looked at the ground. The children, oblivious, continued with a game they were playing.

He’d taken that well, and he seemed like an honest man with an honest family.

“Salt?” I said.

“Yeah?”

“I might be able to offer you some manual labor from time to time.”

“Whatever you have, I’m not picky. Thank you.”

“Beno?”

“Gulliver?”

“Beno, my pal!” said a voice, speaking to me through my core.

It was my best friend – best human friend – Gulliver, using my core shavings to talk to me all the way from Hogsfeate. I wasn’t a high enough level core to see anything from so far away, but I could imagine him. No doubt he was reclining on one of Mimic Dullbright’s couches with his legs spread out, winkle pickers resting on the chair arm, his frilly-sleeves arms relaxed behind his head.

“Good to hear from you, Gull! How’s life as Hogsfeate’s master of spin?”

“I’m shocked. Is that how you see my role, Beno? That the head of public communications should spend all day lying to the people? I’d say that your lack of a conscience shocked me, but I have actually never met a being with less of conscience than you.”

“No, really, Gull. How’s it going?”

“Not particularly taxing so far. The Hogsfeate populace isn’t overly academic, and Sir Dullbright already utilized a lot of propaganda. He’s conditioned many of them into gullibility.”

“Good, so how are the core messages getting across?”

“Feed someone too much too soon, and they’ll get belly ache and vomit. I have to be careful with my messages. Don’t forget, Beno, that Dullbright made his name and came into power by destroying a core gem that had gone insane and attacked the town. Getting the townsfolk to suddenly start accepting cores, let