Dungeon Core Academy: Books 1-7 (A LitRPG Series) Alex Oakchest (list of ebook readers .TXT) 📖

an unusual way of seeing the world, for a core. Your clanmates are safe, Beno. Wylie was hurt, but Tomlin has been at his side while the goblin shaman tends to him.”

“And Warrane?”

“This leaf has found his tree again,” said a voice.

Yet another figure appeared in the doorway of my cell. This was getting ridiculous.

“Warrane? I’m glad you’re safe.”

“This leaf’s family came with the rest of the Eternals. He understands now. They have explained why they left; about their dreams. He will stay here.”

“As will I,” said another voice, a female one.

And there was Galatee.

“This is getting quite cramped,” I said.

Reginal and Galatee eyed each other. There was a flicker of hostility in their gazes, but I could see the struggle on their faces as they both fought to bury it.

Bolton addressed me now. “The Wrotun and Eternals have found peace, as fragile as it is,” he said. “But this underground chamber is too small for them, and it is no home for people. If they are to thrive, they need a true place to live.”

“Well, there are lots of places in Xynnar,” I said.

“True, but no lands they could truly claim as their own. The king has allocated almost every fertile land in the world to his lords and dukes, and the rest. The allies he made promises to so he could unify our lands. But there is one place that has no owner. A place that no sane lord would wish to rule.”

“The wasteland up top, I take it?”

“The core is more preceptive than I realized,” said Reginal.

Bolton nodded. “And there is more to a dungeon core than you know. The essence they use to create can be wielded in places other than a dungeon.”

I thought I was begging to see what he was implying.

“Then you mean-”

“Yes, Core Beno. You have proven yourself a much worthier core than the overseers and I expected, and we believe it is time you learned what else a core can do. First-Leaf Galatee remains your owner, along with Chief Reginal of the Eternals. You and Jahn are to transform the wasteland for them.”

The End of Book 2

Dungeon Core Academy: Book 3

CHAPTER 1

 

The Young Hero

The young hero was alone in the dungeon, his party dead, his jerkin and trousers swathed in blood, his hair covered in shards of bone and gooey innards. Not a great day by any measure. Especially when the trousers were a birthday present from his mother.

His family seemed so, so far away now. Technically, they were far away, he knew, but he meant it more metaphorically than physically.

How had it come to this? He wanted to cry. He was close to begging for his mother to help him, whimpering in the useless way people do when they are long past the point of being saved. It was only a vague sense of self-pride that stopped him blubbering.

Yes, he was a very scared hero, and even he would have admitted that 'hero' was used in the loosest sense of the word when applied to him.

And yet…it still applied.

After all, the esteemed Dungeon Core Academy defines a hero as ‘One who is not a core or monster, and finds their way into the core’s dungeon by their own means, for their own motives.’

So, the sniveling, on-the-edge-of-weeping, ready-to-wet-himself teen was technically a hero. Close enough to the definition so that the creatures that dwelled in tombs like this might earn their sport with him.

“If only I hadn’t gotten so drunk,” he said.

It had started with a drink in the Portly Pig tavern a week ago. One drink turned to two, then four, eight…and soon he found himself climbing aboard a wagon, joining a group of heroes who were destined for the eastern lands.

Where exactly in the east he was going, he didn’t know. Penzartium? The Growling Copse? Old Taskden? He didn’t have a clue, but that was the point, really. He’d always wanted to see the rest of Xynnar. He’d also ached for adventure and to be a hero, but had never had the balls to do it.

But that day, after he’d finished his day’s work in the mill, he’d gone for a few drinks in the Portly Pig. There, he saw the group of heroes supping ale, and he’d recognized an opportunity.

The teen was nervous at first. The heroes were mysterious and brave and enjoyed mocking some of the other townsfolk, so he’d waited to approach them. He sat across the tavern and watched as they supped beer, spilling more and more of it on the floor as the night wound on. He watched them tug on the barmaid’s skirt as she walked past. He watched one of them start juggling with four hand axes, terrifying the patrons around them.

It was strange, but he found that the more beer he drank that night, the more courage he had. Yes, it was a curious turn of events. It was as if the beer was enchanted, or something.

Soon, it enchanted him enough that he approached them, announced his name, and asked, “Would any of you fine fellows like a drink?”

That was all it took.

And that was how he found himself leaving town with the heroes in their wagon, traveling east for days and days until they reached a plain of empty wasteland that stretched as far as he could see.

This was a forgotten part of Xynnar. No grass, no buildings, no hint of a duke nor whisper of an earl. It was as untouched as an ocean pearl, yet dry and desolate for as far as the eye could see.

There, in the wastes, the rogue in the hero party started to get a feeling. And you always trusted rogues and their feelings.

The rogue, a half-faun, sniffed the air like a