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

“In full? We had a contract.”

“On paper?”

“Yes. Signed in good faith by us both.”

“My copy seems to have been misplaced, Smit. As will yours be…unless you want to make this whole sorry situation any worse.”

Duke Smit spent the evening with his daughters. Though his mind was preoccupied, though he felt sick to the stomach and couldn’t eat his evening meal, he forced himself to be with them and to be as mindfully present as he could manage. He even thought about draining bloodtime from another monster and winding the evening back so he could spend it with them again, but he couldn’t afford to. When his current haul of monsters was gone, he didn’t have the gold to pay for creature catchers to procure more for him.

Only when the maid took his girls to their sleeping chambers did he send for the fort accounts. He puzzled over the ledgers for hours, snipping expenses where he could, trying desperately to dredge gold from places he hadn’t already raided yet.

He could trim back on weapon expenses for the army. Remove some of the men from service, perhaps. Every soldier cost him gold for their salaries, food, weapons, armor, lodging, and training. He could let some of the manor staff go, even though many of them had served the family all their lives.

Damn it, what a sorry, sorry mess.

“Duke!” shouted a voice from outside the manor. “Duke!”

Smit went to the window and saw Nazenfyord in the giant courtyard outside, his ever-orange eyes glowing in the darkness, the shadows of night covering his fur like a cloak. For a second, the sight of the bogan beast made Smit shudder. He supposed he’d never get used to that.

Nazenfyord was stomping around the courtyard. The bloody monster would wake up the whole manor and barracks with that booming voice of his.

Smith opened the window. “What is it?”

“I require…gold, Duke Smit-Smit. Gold for my… for my expenses,” the monster said, slurring his words.

“Well this isn’t the right way to get it. People are trying to sleep!”

“I require…gold…you see, duke. For…”

Damn it. The monster was drunk again.

Shaking his head, Smit could only watch as the monster tottered around the courtyard, before stumbling, falling face-first to the ground, and then snoring. At least that solved the problem for tonight, but he’d have to do something about the bogan soon. Either step forward with his plans to use him in the assault, or part ways with him.

He left the window and sat down. The account books waited for him, but he couldn’t face them.

Gold. Every bloody person in Xynnar wanted gold from him. People thought that a duke’s life was easy. That it was all about hunting and owning stables and journeying across Xynnar on fancy holidays. They didn’t know what it was really like. A weight around a man’s neck. A responsibility that couldn’t be shifted, because if it was, what would happen to the manor that had been in his family for centuries? To the fort they had maintained in the name of the monarchs of Xynnar? To the staff of the manor, to the peasants who lived in the Smit lands?

Sometimes he wished he’d been born a peasant and not a duke, but he also knew what an ungrateful thought that was. More to the point, he wasn’t a man to surrender responsibility.

He just needed to get the gold to shut Lord Dresden up. The Yondersun plan had shown promise, but Smit’s luck was so poor that the wasteland had suffered a rare lightning storm when he set out.

He had been prepared to play a long game, to be patient in the way he chose to make his move for the town. Patience was no longer a luxury his family coffers could afford, it seemed. He needed a quicker way.

A knock came at the door.

“Yes?”

“Beg your pardon, Duke, but a wizard is here to see you.”

“A wizard, or a mage?”

“Is there a difference?”

“Yes, in their minds.”

“I…don’t know then, sir.”

“Send him in. It isn’t as if I’ll be sleeping tonight.”

After just thirty minutes of talking with the ragged mage who had visited him unannounced, Duke Smit felt as if his fortunes might be turning.

“And you are a weathermage? I’ve never heard of those.”

“We’re rare, my good duke. Rarer than a lightning storm in the wasteland.”

“Well, you aren’t very rare at all then, are you?”

“Yes, I hear the weather has been unpredictable of late. Having heard what I can do, will you been requiring any sort of service from me, duke, or should I move on like a breeze in the night?”

Smit nodded at the plate on the table. “Would you like some sponge cake? I know it looks like fell out of a cow’s arse, but I assure you it tastes approximately like a sweet dessert.”

“I haven’t eaten today. I would be obliged.”

Before the duke could ask a servant to fetch some cutlery, the mage sat down and began eating with his fingers. Uncouth, yes. A dangerous act in the presence of some dukes that Smit knew, but he had never cared for manners as much as his peers.

“Tell me,” he said, “what is your policy on payment?”

“Exhuggh megh?” said the mage. He chewed and then swallowed. “My, this is a great cake! Compliments to your cook.”

“I’ll make sure he gets the message. I like to pay a man after his services have been rendered, not before. Too often a price is charged for a service that does not match up to it.”

The mage grinned, showing cake-covered teeth. “You are a duke. I know where you live. I shan’t worry about you tricking me out of gold.”

“Then perhaps we have a lot to discuss. Why