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

“A monster is usually defined as a large, ugly, and frightening creature,” I said. “Or as a thing of extraordinary or daunting size. Am I either of those things? I’ll take a compliment where I can get it, but let’s be realistic.”

“How’s this for realistic? We will never vote for you. In fact, we will use our influence to make sure nobody does! We cannot have a beast like you in power. Never! We will not suffer it.”

I watched the traders leave, deciding there was no point trying to change their minds. They’d come here for dinner, they’d watched a hero pummel a bunch of monsters, and they’d seen him get devoured by a set of giant teeth. Could I really blame them for their reaction?

“I should have booked a table in a lodge in town,” I said. “Why didn’t I just do that?”

With the battle over and all the heroes finally dead, post-fight information rushed into my core.

Leveled up to 27!

- Total essence increased to 4738

- New dungeon chambers available for construction

- New monsters available for creation

- New trap and puzzle options

Items Received:

Hammer of Truth

Iron armor x2

Steel swords x2

[Standard] bow x1

[Blunt] Arrows x12

“Dark Lord,” said a voice.

Brecht the bard was standing next to me, his tambourine slung around his back.

“Are you okay, Brecht? Were you hurt?”

“I’m fine, but one of the new kobolds did not make it through the fight.”

“Damn heroes to hell! We will make sure our fallen warrior is given a place in the remembrance chamber.”

“This would not have happened if you weren’t spending all your time with the traders, Dark Lord. You could have been ready for the heroes.”

“Are you saying this is my fault?”

“Some of us feel you spend too much time trying to win votes, and not enough in your dungeon.”

“Were you hit by the Hammer of Truth, Brecht?”

Brecht walked away without answering.

CHAPTER 2

Gary (The Spider-troll-leech monster)

Gary was more nervous than he’d ever been. Forget the furious battles he’d had with heroes. Forget all the fights Core Beno had dragged him into. Tonight, all his leech legs were shaking.

Everyone in the Scorched Scorpion was staring at him. They’d all bought their drinks and settled into their chairs. The innkeeper, with no customers to serve, wiped down the wooden counter with a rag. He watched Gary as he made soapy arcs over the oak.

Gary felt alone on the stage. Just him and his harp, a battered old thing he’d bought with his dungeon wages. Beno, the delightful core, had given him a bonus last week for decapitating a ranger. It was a thoughtful gesture.

“When you’re ready, lad,” called an old bard, leaning against the bar. He wore a straw hat, and his hands and fingers were heavily calloused. His lute case was propped up next to him. He was waiting for his turn.

So…time to begin.

Why did he feel so nervous? He’d played in the tavern plenty of times.

It was never this busy, though. He usually had Brecht with him. Today he was alone.

And the most nerve-inducing thing was that his new friends were watching.

Ever since Core Beno had allowed dungeon monsters to spend their free time in the town, Gary wished he could feel more included in things. Not just as a strange monster from the dungeon, his presence barely tolerated in town. But as a real resident. A part of the community.

He decided the first step was to get some townsfolk friends. After many failed attempts, many conversations cut short by their fear of his big, swollen abdomen and his leech legs, he’d finally done it.

There they were, sitting around a table. Right in the middle of his eye line. There was George, the baker. Flour crusted under his fingernails. Eyes baggy from having to wake up so early in the morning. Next to him were his two lads Fred and James, their hands soft and flour-free because they had no desire to bake. Then there was Clarabeth, the Old Hag Psychic, as she styled herself. She’d admitted to Gary that it was an act. A guessing game.

One person was missing, he noted. It made his heart sink a little. Core Beno had promised he’d be here tonight. He rarely ever came to the tavern. He hated things like laughter, fun, and joy. But he’d promised he’d come tonight.

Still, his four new friends were here, sitting with eight drinks on their table. They’d ordered two drinks each, so they didn’t have to go to the bar mid-set and miss one of his songs. How thoughtful of them. They were here, waiting for Gary to play.

And it wasn’t just any old song. They’d asked him to write this one especially for tonight. It made Gary proud to be asked this by his new friends.

“Write a song about what you reckon it’d be like to be human,” said Fred.

Gary had done that. When he wasn’t killing heroes or training in the dungeon arena, he pondered what it would be like. What his life would be if he wasn’t a spider-troll-leech hybrid monster created in a dungeon. He spent hours, days, weeks on the lyrics.

And tonight was the night to play it to them.

It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. He did hear a pin drop, in fact. Bagatell, the seamstress, had brought some of her work to the tavern and she had just dropped a pin.

The innkeeper squeezed his sodden rag into a glass. Filled a quarter of it with murky water. He arched his eyebrows, telling Gary to get on with it.

Gary, a slayer of heroes, a veteran of dozens of dungeon battles, gathered all his courage.

He tried to remember the advice his dungeon friend, Wylie, had given