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

could replicate them. Say them again to another person, then another and another…

Yes, psyche-talk was much cleaner.

But…it left him feeling so tired that he could have rested his head on a dragon’s arse and he’d be asleep before the count of ten.

He needed a nice, long sleep. Only the gods knew how long it had been since he had one of those.

Since sleep wasn’t possible with so many plates to keep spinning, he would have loved a pinch of headroot essence. But no. There was still more psyche-talk to have, and only with a clear head could he accomplish that. Headroot essence interfered. Messed with the strength of his powers.

He walked around his lodge, checking that every window was locked and covered with blinds. He gave one last look at the mana-torches casting a cozy glow on Jahn’s Row outside his lodge. It was being patrolled by five guards, on his orders. All seemed well. Satisfied, he covered the last window.

Now he was ready. He brought to mind the spell’s requirements. It was funny, but even decades later, he still heard his old master’s voice when he recalled spells. Riston was no longer the nervous boy mage learning his craft, but his master still ordered him around, even if in an imaginary way. He missed the old git.

So, how did the spell go?

Only in near darkness can you see the way.

Darkness, yes. But not full darkness. His lodge was pitch black now. He lit six candles and set them in a circle around him.

To mind-cast, you must have a physical link to your target.

Next, he placed the object within the circle. A shard of a nail that came from a claw.

Blood will make the link.

He cut his thumb and let the blood drip onto the floor.

Suddenly, there was a loud snap in his ears.

His vision faded.

The wind rushed at him, as though he was soaring through the air at a frantic pace. He felt heat. Saw the moon, the brightest one he’d ever seen.

Then he was underground. Everything was cold and dark.

Finally, he found himself in his target’s mindscape.

He saw colorful shapes. Giant beasts with three eyes that glowed red hot. He heard discordant music; a badly tuned lute competing with the erratic thudding of a tambourine. The shapes and sounds danced around, changing the scene quicker than he could keep up with.

Have I entered the wrong mind?

In a second, it came to him.

His target was dreaming. That was why this seemed such a strange place.

Good. Very good.

Dreams were like a shortcut to a person’s free will. Giving a psyche-mage access to dreams was like escorting a bank robber to a vault. Riston’s job just got easier. Maybe he’d get an hour or two of sleep after all.

He spoke quietly now. With an act of will, he let mana seep out of his physical presence that was still way back in his lodge. It took seconds for the mana to join him in the mindscape. He made the mana gather around his voice.

“Wake from your dream, but do not wake up fully.”

Gradually, the sounds and sights began to fade, until there was darkness.

The target was in a half state between sleeping and waking now. The perfect place to manipulate their will.

“Hello,” Riston said.

The word echoed in their mind. At first as a sound, and then as letters that spiraled around, getting smaller and smaller.

“Who…”

“Hush.”

He put all his mana into the command.

They fell silent.

He could sense their consciousness. Half-awake, half-asleep. Listening, yet silent.

Releasing even more of his mana, he said, “You belong to me now. I know you are with the core and his friends. He is not your master anymore.”

Silence. Good.

“You will kill them all. Do you understand? When you hear two bells, you will kill them all.”

Silence.

A less practiced mage might have taken that for failure, but Riston knew differently. Silence meant he’d dominated their mind completely and that they were his. A weapon ready for use.

Now, it was a matter of choosing the right time.

When he broke the psychic connection and found himself back in his own body, the candles had long gone out. Though the whole thing seemed like mere minutes to him, it had been longer. Much longer. For he had been in their dream, and time moved differently in dreams.

He took off his robe. When he was seen around town, appearances were important. The townsfolk expected a respectable chief, so that’s what he gave them.

But in his own lodge, he wanted comfort. So he put on his coziest trousers and his loosest shirt. In the kitchen, he boiled some water for tea. He used the rest of the water to splash his face and wash his armpits.

While the tea brewed, he lit another candle and settled into a chair and began reading Argon’s almanac. Such a dry book. But important for a mage like him. It was vital he broadened his mind. Learned new spells. Studied his craft.

But the longer he stared, the less focused words were. The less the sentences seemed to make sense. The more he thought that Argon was a bore and his Almanac was dryer than five-day-old crackers.

Oh, to hell with broadening. His mind could stay the width it was for now.

After everything he’d done so far, he just wanted a cup of nettle tea, a romance book, and a little Riston time. Was that too much to ask?

He tossed Argon’s Almanac across the room and reached for his copy of The Spellbard and the Naughty Sorceress.

He’d just taken a cup of tea. Turned a page.

A voice spoke in his mind.

“Is it done?”

It was an old voice. A faint one. A voice that hadn’t been used for a long time. And also a voice