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

Damn it, my life was easier when I just killed anyone who entered my dungeon!

“Waiter Tomlin?” I said. “We’d like the second-course plea-”

A kobold ran into the loot chamber. He wore a white waiter’s uniform that we’d paid a Yondersun seamstress to sew, but the fit was appalling. It must have been hard to create an outfit for a half-lizard half-wolf creature.

Tomlin’s eyes were ghost-white, and spit flew from his open mouth.

The traders looked appalled at the sight of him, but really, we’d cleaned him up the best we could.

“What is it, Tomlin?”

“Heroes are here, Dark Lord!”

No need for the warning. I sensed them now.

A party of four heroes had just climbed down the steps into the northernmost chamber of my dungeon. Using my core vision, I scanned the chamber and sized them up.

A bloke with a massive hammer.

A guy with a club. He looked like he could crack diamonds between his pecs.

A skinny archer with a bow almost as big as he was.

A woman, skin pale as bone. A hood covered most of her face.

“Heroes?” said a trader. “Heroes are here?”

“This is a dungeon,” I said. “It happens from time to time. They’re a pain in the arse, but not much of a problem.” I tried to stay casual, but this couldn’t have come at a worse time.

“We came here for dinner, not to see you fight heroes.”

This was hardly going to endear me to them, was it? Having to slaughter a bunch of sword swingers? I’d just have to make easy work of it. Pretend it was planned. As a kind of dinnertime show, maybe.

“It’s time for the entertainment,” I said. “I take it you’d like to watch a fight?”

“We didn’t come here for…this is inappropriate, Beno.”

They weren’t buying it. I’d just have to make sure the heroes didn’t reach the loot chamber. Kill them quickly and get on with dinner. A minimum of fuss or disruption.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “My monsters…employees… will take care of everything. The heroes won’t bother us. Now, let’s get down to details. Tell me, if I became chief, what could I offer you that would…”

Using my ability to split my mind, I focused on the dinner party, while simultaneously plotting the slaughter of the heroes.

They didn’t look too tough. Mediocre adventurers at best. Much poorer than they pretended to be. The mage’s robe was frayed at the hem, and the archer had been reusing his arrows too many times. The tips were blunt.

That meant they were poor heroes, which meant they were here for gold, not for the thrill of the fight. That meant they were desperate. My job just became easier, because desperate people blunder into the simplest of traps.

Armed with my observations, I made a few changes to my dungeon.

So…a spike pit…just there. 

A pressure plate and falling boulder…here.

With the traps placed, there was just one more touch.

What’s a dungeon without a welcoming party?

“Brecht, Gary, Fight, Death, Kill? Meet our guests in the tunnels. They should be tired and weak by then.”

“Yes, Dark Lord!”

Done. With the heroes’ demise secured, I gave my full attention to the traders. While I had arranged some old-fashioned hero slaughter, they’d chattered on and on. Nonstop. Stuff about taxes, levies, the cost of securing raw materials.

Didn’t they ever shut up? Course, I had enough empathy to realize that actually saying that wouldn’t make me their best friend.

“Taxes are a necessity, I’m afraid,” I said. I had to be sympathetic to their cause, but I wouldn’t offer false promises. “Yondersun is growing, but it’s still in its cub stage. Too young to properly protect itself.”

“We’re being taxed up the arse already, Beno. Other candidates are offering cuts. Riston says he’ll make us rich.”

“The most lethal poison tastes sweet when it’s mixed with honey.”

“Ah. So that’s why you brought us to dinner, is it?”

“Ladies and gents. You have to be realistic. Do you really think trade won’t be taxed if someone like Riston becomes chief? I will work with you on taxes, but I won’t lie to you. I am a pillar of integrity. What’s more, I’m a dungeon core. I can keep you safe like nobody else can. While I’m chief, not a single one of our enemies will get within a breath of you.”

A man charged into the loot chamber and leaped into the center. A colossus of a guy, seven feet tall. He held a giant hammer in his hand.

“You might have killed my friends, core,” he said, “But Ulruk the Strong will not be defeated!”

“Ulruk the Strong? Couldn’t you have come up with a more original name?” I asked.

“Silence!” Ulruk held his hammer in the air. “Behold, the Hammer of Truth! Time for you to meet your maker, core.”

“I’ve met him lots of times. His name’s Gregar, and he’s a forger at the Dungeon Core Academy. Nice guy. Loves drinking tea. Cup after cup of the stuff, and then he always wonders why he can’t sleep.”

“Silence, you evil…thing!”

The traders stood up. One forgot that he’d tucked the tablecloth into his shirt, and when he pulled it, his plate and glass clattered to the floor. The glass smashed, and the hundreds of fragments caught the glow of the mana lamps. They crunched under the trader’s feet as he backed further away.

“Beno, if this is part of your show, we really don’t…”

Ulruk pointed at them. “Ah. These are you fellow dungeon demons, are they?” he said.

“Them? They’re civilians. Leave them out of it.”

“We’re traders!”

“Would you like to buy a shirt? Alternatively, I could just…just…give you one for free? Or almost free?”

“You are all demons!” declared Ulruk. “Demons in gnome skin. You will face the Hammer