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

“So what are you going to do?”

“What can I do, Gull? I can’t exactly storm the town walls. Even if I had enough creatures to do it, I’d be leaving my dungeon completely unprotected. Reginal and Galatee have no idea about what I’ve been doing in Hogsfeate, and they wouldn’t approve of it if they did, and they certainly wouldn’t commit any of their people to fight Pvat. Nor would I ask them to. A bastard like Pvat isn’t worth Yondersunians dying for.”

“Surely you’re not going to going to float away and let Pvat have Hogsfeate for himself?”

“Only for now, Gull. I can’t beat him by force, so I’ll have to think of something else. There’s no point rushing into a fight that I won’t win. You used to be a warscribe. You must have seen plenty of battles that would have been best avoided.”

“True enough. I’ve watched a duke’s pride get thousands of men and women slaughtered.”

“Exactly. Look at poor old Klok here. Imagine him with a sword, charging at the walls of Hogsfeate. He’d get run through by the first moron with a spear. He wouldn’t want to be dragged into a fight like that, and I wouldn’t ask him to. Isn’t that right, Klok?” I said.

“I would prefer not to fight, Dark Lord. Some kobolds are born for fighting, some are for mining, some are for other things.”

“Fair enough,” said Gulliver.

“Yip!” said Rusty, suddenly standing up on the back of the wagon and pointing. “Dark Lord, look!”

“What in all hells…” said Gulliver.

Yondersun should have been just ahead of us. Instead, all I could see was a thick blanket of fog covering the town from the ground and all the way up to the heavens. Grey and thick like smoke, but with no smell, no hint of fire. It stretched from east to west, completely covering the horizon so that not a single house, shop, or person could be seen.

Chief Reginal spluttered into his handkerchief, only recovering after several deep coughs. “Can someone shut the…” he began, before coughing again. “Shut the damned windows?”

Every single window in the Yondersun meeting lodge was already shut. Although it was only early in the afternoon, the world outside the windows was darker than a tomb. An oppressive kind of fog smothered against the windows, a fog so thick that nothing outside could be seen.

“So what is it?” said Galatee. “Fog?”

“Can’t be actual fog,” I said. “It never gets cold enough for fog out here.”

“It’s mist,” said Reginal.

Galatee, rubbing his back, said, “There’s a difference?”

“Fog is natural. An element of weather. As Beno said, fog can't form out here. But a mist…well. Who knows what kind of mists a mage could conjure out of his arse?”

“Or her arse,” I said.

Galatee looked at her husband with concern. “Oh, Reginal. You’re stressed. You’re seeing swords in the shadows. Although we can’t explain how fog has formed here, that doesn’t mean that…”

“Reginal might be right,” I said. “Do we not know of a mage who can control a meager thing like the weather? A mage who carries strange little boxes with lightning and rainclouds and all kinds of weather patterns trapped inside?”

“But we paid him,” said Galatee. “Why would he cast a fog around our town?”

“Because the greedy rat wants more!” said Reginal. He pounded the table with his fist and then collapsed into another coughing fit. Recovering himself, he said, “Mark my words. He’ll show up soon, offering to lift the fog if we pay him a fortune. He’s blackmailing us. Oh, I knew we should never have employed the services of a mage.”

“Or,” I said, “He has a new employer. The weathermage has no loyalty to us. If someone were to pay him enough gold, he’d turn his boxes of tricks on anyone. Now, think very carefully, chiefs. Can you think of a single enemy of Yondersun? Say, a duke of some sort who was recently set on riding out here and holding us to ransom?”

“Duke Smit.”

“Yes, old Smitty himself.”

Reginal’s face paled. “The fog is toxic. He’s using it to poison us! To weaken us without having to lift a finger!”

“I don’t think so,” I said.

“What do you know? You’re a damned lump of stone.”

“Well, that was very hurtful, Reginal.”

“I know. I know. I am…” Reginal spluttered. Galatee rubbed his back even harder as if her rubbing speed was directly linked to how fast his lungs cleared. “I am sorry, Beno. I shouldn’t use hurtful names. But listen to me! I can’t get a bloody word out without coughing up my diaphragm. This fog is toxic. It has affected me the worst, but mark me, townsfolk will start dropping.”

Galatee looked at Reginal, then at me. I could tell she was doubtful about her husband’s claims but didn’t want to directly contradict him. Then again, she would quickly lose chiefly integrity if she agreed with Reginal just because they were married.

“We’ll send everyone into the underground caverns next to Beno’s dungeon for a day or so until the fog clears,” she said.

“Live underground for a day? Close their shops and taverns, leave their houses, and squeeze together in that hovel? Unthinkable.” said Reginal.

“My tribe lived underground for decades. We haven’t suddenly forgotten how to stomach a little discomfort.”

“You’d be surprised. They’ve already been in their fancy townhouses long enough to forget how to sleep in the dirt.”

“Well, what do you want, Reginal? You tell me you think the fog is poisonous. I do not believe it is, yet I’m offering a solution to make sure our people are safe. Short of sucking the fog out of the air myself, what do you want me to do?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I am sorry, love. I do not like facing