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

Something occurred to me then. “Anna, can you try something?”

“See, I knew this would happen. I’m nice just once, and then the favors start.”

“Try to access the wraiths’ minds. See if you can do your mind-towel thing and…how do I put this…no, there’s no smart way of wording it. Just see if you can remove the wraith stuff from their brains.”

“Mind-blankets, actually,” said Anna. “How many more times do I have to say? I realize that sounds just as stupid, but at least get things right.”

Anna closed her eyes.

Nobody said a word. Even Death, Kill, and the hounds were silent. The tension was the worst I’d ever felt in a dungeon.

Come on, Anna. Do this…

She opened her eyes.

We waited for her to speak.

None of the wraiths moved.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t do anything.”

“So that’s it, then,” I said. “We have fifty wraiths. As soon as it’s nighttime, they’ll become active again.”

“At least this is the wasteland, Beno,” said Gulliver. “As I said, it could be worse. There’s never much nighttime here. Only a few hours per day for the wraiths to run free. They can only do so much damage.”

“I still don’t want to give them the chance. We better find this core.”

CHAPTER 21

Gary

Gary’s lips were dry. His cell was dark, but not the kind of darkness you found in a dungeon. Dungeon darkness was nice and familiar. Even thinking about the place made him so nostalgic that his stomach hurt. He thought about Wylie and his blood paintings. Brecht and the exquisite lyrics he wrote to accompany Gary’s lute tunes.

They’d all be in the dungeon now. They would be at home, doing dungeon things. Mining, killing heroes, eating, killing heroes, sleeping, killing heroes. They were living their normal dungeon life, while Gary was up here.

And not a single one of them had come to visit.

Sure, it was possible the townsfolk wouldn't allow them too, but Beno was part of the town council! He could have pulled strings.

Perhaps Beno wasn’t the delightful chap that Gary had always thought he was. Perhaps none of his dungeon mates were. Maybe Gary didn’t have a place in the dungeon at all. If that was true, then where did he belong? He’d already found out that there was no life for him with the townsfolk.

He heard footsteps outside the cell. Then he heard metal clanging on the bars of the adjacent cells. That meant Muckstremp was coming. Muckstremp was the meanest of the town guards, and he seemed to hate Gary.

If this were the dungeon, Gary would tear the git’s head off and eat it. But this wasn’t the dungeon. Or it was…but it was the townsfolk’s dungeon. Their territory. The guards were like the cores, and their job was to keep Gary here.

“Up, you miserable, eight-eyed freak!” said Muckstremp.

He was leaning toward the cell bars. Getting way too close. Stupid guard.

Gary took his chance.

He slipped his leech legs through the bars and tightened them around Muckstremp’s neck before he could even react.

“I assume you meant that as an insult,” said Gary. “But it’s more a statement of fact. Yes, I’m miserable. Who wouldn’t be, having to see your stinking mug every day? And yes, I have eight eyes and some might call me a freak. But you, Ruckstremp? You’re worse. You have two eyes, and they only see the world around you. Mine show me the differences between us.”

“Help…” croaked Muckstremp.

“My eyes show me that horrible pile of ooze you call a soul. They show me what you’re like inside. What you really are.”

“Please…G…G…Gary.”

Gary squeezed tighter. Stared at Muckstremp. His face was turning purple. He’d die soon.

If Gary let that happen, then he’d prove them all right. He’d confirm that he was a killer. He couldn’t say whether or not he’d murdered his townsfolk friends. He couldn’t remember. But he’d always remember killing Muckstremp.

Yet if he didn’t, then he was stuck here. A prisoner. He wasn’t so naïve as to think they’d ever let him out. What would they do, rehabilitate him? He was a dungeon monster! There wasn’t a chance they would apply the laws of civilization to him. Especially not if Riston won the chief vote.

The choice was obvious. Kill him.

“Please…” said Muckstremp.

He let go so suddenly that Muckstremp fell onto the floor. He lay there, gasping. Gary retreated further back into his cell, tears in his eyes. He cursed his own conscience.

He had to believe that he hadn’t done it. That he hadn’t killed those people. If he could show Muckstremp mercy even at the expense of his own freedom, then surely he wasn’t capable of murdering those people.

Then again, was he just tricking himself with that reasoning? He was a killer! He’d murdered plenty of heroes before now.

No, not murdered.

Fought.

When heroes entered a dungeon, they took the risk of dying. When a hero encountered a monster, it was a fight. Murder was something different. It was when you killed someone who hadn’t gambled their own life.

Gary’s head was spinning. He just didn’t know anymore.

More guards sprinted into the cell. Two of them picked up Muckstremp and helped him limp away. Six of them stood outside Gary’s bars. One of them held a wooden tube to his mouth and blew.

Something sharp stung Gary. He saw a needle in his leech leg. Within seconds, his thoughts began to go soft and fuzzy. He lost his anger. His sadness. He felt nothing but relaxed.

“Let’s get him out of here,” said the guards.

He didn’t understand. The more he tried to, the softer his mind became and the harder it was to think.

Were the guards helping him escape? Were they friends with the three-eyed