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

I was certain she’d had the opportunity to swim in a mana spring at some point in her life. If that was true, she could be hundreds of years old, given what mana springs could do. Maybe there was one nearby, and that was why they settled underground beneath that hell hole of a surface.

“Bearers, you may leave for the moment,” she said. “Thank you, Warrane. First-leaf Godwin will be most impressed that you have begun such an important service.”

Warren blushed, then did a sort of awkward half-bow. Not really sure what he was trying, to be honest. It was strange.

“Honored, Second-leaf Godwin.”

He and Jahn’s bearer – was I starting to call them that now? – left, and now it was just Jahn, Galatee and I.

She focused on Jahn first. He’d gotten lucky guessing where her name came from, and she’d pegged him as the wiser of the two of us. Ah, well. I’d let him enjoy it.

“Core Jahn,” she said. “You have no doubt guessed why we have brought you here.”

“Yes…yes, quite,” said Jahn, using his sagest voice.

“Then you may like to clarify this to your friend. Perhaps an explanation from you, rather than me, will make him more at home.”

Jahn faced me. “Core Beno…it’s…it’s quite simple. Uh, these people-”

I really didn’t want to embarrass Jahn. “Let me try and guess,” I said. “I’m obviously the dumbest core here, but I won’t learn anything having things handed to me.”

“Ah. Failure is the first path to mastery, both in deeds and knowledge,” said Galatee.

I wanted to get this right. I don’t know why; I suppose having failed my first evaluation as a core, and seeing how much these people seemed to have invested in me, I didn’t want them to think they’d wasted their money. Which they probably had.

“If I had to make a guess,” I said, “You already know that a dungeon core can convert essence into physical objects and beings. You live underground, but maybe you’d like to spread to the surface. So, perhaps you believe that Jahn and I can use our abilities to transform the surface.”

She arched an eyebrow now, but said nothing. I sensed I was off the mark.

“Or, you wish to spread your underground civilization further. Maybe there are more tunnels to be made, more caves to be populated, and you see a dungeon core as a perfect fit for the task.”

Her eyebrow arched higher. Higher than I thought an eyebrow could go, really. That’s gnomes for you.

“Or that is what I would have guessed if I was trying to guess wrong. No, you bought us for another reason. You’ve mentioned a few times that we’re a salvation for you, and salvation implies a threat. There’s something down here that you believe a dungeon core can rid you of.”

“Three guesses,” said Galatee. “Three arrows missing their target and thudding into the dirt.”

Okay, now I was perplexed.

“They want us to kill things,” said Jahn, his voice back to its overeager self.

“Ah, Core Jahn understands, just as I thought.”

You kidding me? It’s that simple? They want us to kill something? Maybe there was a lesson for me here; don’t overcomplicate things. In fact, it was a lesson Overseer Winterroot had drummed into us again and again in his dungeon design class.

“Clever for a purpose is good,” he’d say. “Clever for clever’s sake can get you killed.”

Galatee sat down and sat with her legs crossed in a position that Overseer Tarnbuckle, who loved yoga, used to adopt in class.

“The reason I presented you to our people up on the surface, is because the surface is a hallowed ground for us. It was once our home, but as you can see, it isn’t home to even the toughest of weeds. Soon, if the Seekers have their way, the sanctuary you see before you will meet the same fate.”

CHAPTER 3

It was there, in that lightorium lit by the spectral glows of the dome above, that Galatee told us about her people, and why they had resorted to selling anything worth gold just to buy a couple of failed dungeon cores.

Her people were called the Wrotun. In a rather strange fashion, they were not a people of a single race, but instead were made up of several races all banding together. Each family was called a tree, and the generations were named leaves, gaining rank and authority the higher they climbed.

There was an orc tree, merkin tree, even a kobold tree. Though all trees had a say in community matters, the deciding vote was always cast by the Godwin tree, who were gnomes.

I found it fascinating. People in Xynnar were way too secular most of the time. I mean, obviously, the major cities like Westex and Guranhai had a mix of races living there, but almost every isolated community stuck to their own race.

The Wrotun lived as travelers for a long time, roaming Xynnar in their wagons and carts, staying by fresh springs and in forests full of game, never laying their hats for longer than a month at most. It was in their blood, to walk the plains and hills and mountains and forests of Xynnar as the seasons changed around them.

On one journey, they had the misfortune to make a series of false turns, and their wagons soon rolled over this horrible stretch of hell. Even back then, nothing grew here.

“It was strange,” said Galatee, staring at me. “We each checked our maps, and even with the false turns, we should have been nowhere like this. There was no sign of it on any map in our possession.”

“Could it be the maps were old and whatever blight fell on this place hadn’t happened when they were drawn?” I asked.

“Core Beno, it was two hundred years ago when we first rolled into this place.”

“What? Does it have a