The Crafter's Dilemma: A Dungeon Core Novel (Dungeon Crafting Book 3) by Jonathan Brooks (miss read books .txt) 📕

your armor is your responsibility, and your foolishness has caused its destruction.  It would’ve been better if you died along with your armor, boy; you’ve dishonored the reputation of the Shieldmen with your actions over the last day,” the older Dwarf continued in disappointment, his voice calmer but hard as granite.  Gerold looked over at the other Shieldmen next to the Second-shield and saw equally disappointed expressions on their faces.  Strangely enough, he had been so consumed with his training that he hadn’t even learned their names – and now it was looking like he never would.  “Now tell, me who is this Sandra you’re blaming for all your failures?”

The question was like a cold bucket of water dumped on his head; the fact that he was just thinking about how he had unfairly accused the dungeon of destroying his armor and axe resonated with him.  Added to that, Gerold hadn’t meant to mention the dungeon by name quite yet, as he didn’t have to guess how the whole situation must sound; giving something that had historically been a source of death and destruction against their people a name and personality went against everything he knew of them.  Truth be told, he was still getting used to it, and here he was trying to convince the others to go there.

“…um…well…Sandra is the name of the dungeon that is fighting against the undead and is here to help us.  She is also the one that healed me after I—”

“—became so delusional after the loss of your armor that you’re now giving a dungeon a name?  There aren’t any dungeons in the wastelands, by the way, or we would’ve heard about it before now; and even if there were, if it’s fighting against the undead – which is even more far-fetched than anything else you’ve said today – then we should just let them do it and stay out of it.  We have enough going on here as it is, which has just been made that much harder by your incompetence.”

“There is a dungeon out there, and she only wants to help.  Where do you think this thing I’m riding came from?  And then there’s Felbar in the—” Gerold began, using his hand to point to the massive machine that was standing still to the right and a little behind him.  He heard a gasp come from someone he was addressing, and a quick look showed that at least one of them had seen the gear and embedded orb in his palm.

“I know what a Gnomish War Machine is, boy – I saw a couple in my youth, though I never thought I’d see one here,” Bregan said, not even bothering to look at the towering construct that could undoubtedly chop him in half.  Then again…I’ve seen the old Dwarf fight before, and I’d probably put my odds on Bregan.  “The more important thing that you need to explain, boy,” he said while putting particular emphasis on the word, “is what that thing on your hand is.”

He tried to explain what it was, but as he had only the barest understanding of it, it all came out a garbled mess.

* Tell him that is a simple bond between yourself and my Core, which allows you to communicate with me and not be killed by my Dungeon Monsters or traps.  That’s the truth, so you should be able to communicate that. *

The sound of Sandra’s voice startled him again, mainly because she had been entirely silent during the entire exchange, though he supposed that it might be because she was translating everything that was said to the Gnome.  Apparently, the reaction to her voice betrayed him, because Bregan became even more suspicious.

“Is there something wrong, Gerold?  Is this…thing…on your hand some sort of brand that marks you as part of the dungeon’s property?  Are you hearing voices in your head?” the older Dwarf scathingly asked.  Then he shook his head slowly.  “What have you gotten yourself into, boy?”

“Look, whatever you might think about me and how—” Gerold swallowed again— “incompetent I may or may not be, there is still a danger to the village!  At least come and visit the dungeon or see for yourself by going through the wastelands—”

“I don’t know what was done to addle your mind, but you’re sadly mistaken if you think I’m going anywhere.  I won’t fall into the same trap you did, and I won’t put the people of Nurboldar – nay, the entire Kingdom – at risk because of your foolishness.  Now, begone and go back to wherever it is you found these things; I won’t have your nonsense here.”

“But I also brought some of these orbs for you to try; they’ll help regenerate—”

“We don’t want anything from you, or this supposed ‘dungeon’ of yours; as far as I’m concerned, you’re dead to us.  I’ll be sure to send word back that you died doing your duty, though, so your family won’t be dishonored along with your name; that, and because I have no idea how I’m supposed to explain how imbecilic you are.”

And that was it.  No matter what he said, even following after for a short distance, none of the others would even acknowledge he was even there.  When he came upon the first of the farm’s fields, Bregan turned back to him and gave him a stare that made even the Jaguar Queen step back – or at least the thing controlling the monster.  He knew from that look that there was nothing he could say or do to convince him or the others, so he gave up.  “Fine…Sandra, take me back, if you would.  I can see that they are too closed-minded and set in their ways to accept the help offered.”

There was no reaction other than the barest twitch in Bregan’s eye that said he even heard what Gerold said.

* I’m so sorry he wouldn’t