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

air was delicious, and all the more so because these men and women were soldiers. It made it a much stronger kinder of fear, coming from these people who were trained for battle. It was so strong that it became a current in the air, reaching me all the way in my core chamber.

“This place is full of traps!” shouted one.

“The walls are trying to kill us!”

“Back! Back! Move out of my way, damn it.”

One voice rose above them all.

“Order!”

He must have been an officer, because they listened to him.

“Onwards. Watch the ground. Argyle, I thought you said it was safe?”

“This isn’t the same tunnel we took last time. I thought it was, but…”

“I thought there was only one way through?”

“Something is different.”

“Do we go back, or…”

“The duke’s orders were clear. Pull yourselves together.”

They pushed on, the remaining forty-two of them. They followed winding passageways and cramped shafts, their attitudes considerably more apprehensive than before. But though they were being more careful, this was still a dungeon, and they weren’t trained for it. Being careful isn’t enough, as any hero would have told them. A person also needs to know what to look for when they’re in a dungeon.

Click.

One soldier stood on a pressure plate. A hatch opened in the ceiling, and a stone boulder dropped out, crushing him and three others into a flat pulp of bones and flesh.

Creak.

Another soldier blundered onto weakened floor timbers that disguised a spike pit. His cries echoed through the dungeon as he, and five others, fell to their doom, only becoming quiet when they were impaled on the spikes below.

By the time they navigated my trap-laden tunnels and reached the loot chamber, the twelve remaining soldiers were a wreck. Trembling, some with swords drawn, others holding the edges of their armor like babies gripping blankets.

Waiting in the center of the loot chamber were the poor, defenseless Yondersunians that the soldiers were there to find.

The poor, defenseless Yondersunians who were actually kobolds in disguise.

“Go ahead,” I told them, using my core voice. “Have your fun.”

“Yip Yip!” cried Rusty, casting his disguise aside and waving his new shaman staff. He set a totem on the ground, and flames lashed out from it and scorched the soldiers. Brecht began beating on his tambourine, casting out notes of fear. The kobolds, dressed in townsfolk clothing, brandished their weapons and whooped and hollered and charged at the already-terrified, depleted, soldiers.

At the same time as the duke’s soldiers succumbed to my traps below ground, I divided my core thoughts and focused on the wasteland.

 Reginal and Galatee and their warriors arrived on the surface just as my dungeon creatures and I did. Leaving nothing to chance, I had brought most of my creatures to the wasteland surface.

With me were all my new and old beetles, my kobolds, my elemental jellies, Kainhelm and Razensen, and even Tomlin. And, of course, my new melded monster.

Up on the surface we found that the fog was gone, no doubt because the weathermage had finished rendering his service after helping the duke get to Yondersun without him being seen. The thrifty mage had probably sucked the remaining mist back into one of his boxes, ready to sell to some other town who needed fog for whatever reason.

The duke was waiting for us in the middle of Jahn’s Row. His cavalry’s horses had made a stinking mess on the once-clean street, and the door of every house and every shop had been kicked open.

The worst sight was the duke and his men. I realized then that we had underestimated him and his resources.

The duke’s force wasn’t depleted after being split into three. Far from it. With him were two hundred soldiers, all sporting armor with the duke’s sigil painted on their chest. Each of them armed and ready.

“Ah,” said the Duke. “A few more of you than I expected. Still, at least I have drawn you out.”

“You were waiting for us,” said Reginal.

“You are the leader of this town?”

“Chief.”

“Co-chief,” said Galatee.

“I knew you were crafty, once I learned that the lightning strike that turned me away was no natural phenomenon. When you learn that an opponent is crafty, it is wise to expect tricks at every turn.”

“You sent your own people underground to be sacrificed?”

“I sacrificed some of my force to draw you out. Not the worst cost, for a return on my investment like this town. Besides, soldiers aren’t my only weapons.”

A series of booming thuds made the lodges of Jahn’s Row tremble. It made roofs shake, it made a copper weathervane spin around and around. The duke’s men seemed visibly nervous, as much as they tried to keep their dignity.

 Soon, a figure emerged from the far end of the street. A beast bigger than a house, with bulging muscles barely hidden under its thick fur. Two great horns on its head caught the sunlight and reflected it out, and its three slit-like eyes glowed flame-orange.

“Nazenfyord!” roared a voice from behind me.

Razensen thundered past me, stopping just short of the duke and his men. Behind them was a fellow bogan, taller than Razensen yet slimmer, and giving off a much crueler, sneering aura than his brother.

“Good to see you again, big brother,” said Nazenfyord. “I see you are taking in the sights of Xynnar, too. It’s hot here, isn’t it? Give me a nice sheet of ice and a sea to float on. Ah, to be home.”

“That’s why you ran here, no doubt. To see the sights. And not because I would have torn out your guts and sent you screaming back to the ice! Blizzard and snow, you really are a coward. That was your downfall, Nazenfyord. A coward always expects cowardice of others, and so you thought I would not follow