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

“If this is about extending break times again, I already told Tarius that…”

“No, Dark Lord.” He looked at the ground and then took a breath, as if gathering his confidence. “I wisssh to leave the mining team, Dark Lord.”

This was the first time a kobold had ever asked me something like this.

“Excuse me?”

“I feel my talentsss may lie elssssewhere, in thingsss other than usssing a pickaxe.”

I quickly accessed Maginhart’s skill list from within my core.

Race: Kobold

Class: Miner 

Level: 24

Weapon proficiency: Crossbow 

Special Relationships:

Cynthia [Tinker]: Warm Acquaintance

Hmm. Although Maginhart had learned how to use a crossbow and had fostered a relationship with Cynthia the Yondersun tinker after running errands for me, there was nothing to suggest he should be employed doing anything else.

“You’re one of my most experienced miners, Maginhart.”

“You can alwaysss get more minersss, Dark Lord.”

“True, but it would be inefficient for me to move you to something else, losing 24 levels of mining progress.”

“But Dark Lord…”

“I’m sorry, Maginhart. Times are tough for us at the moment, with recent hero raids. I don’t have the luxury of catering to everyone’s tastes.”

“Dark Lord, I mussst sssay…”

“Enough. Our conversation is over.”

Maginhart walked out of the chamber, shoulders slumped. I felt like an arse as I watched him go, and I wished that I could change things around for him. I wasn’t just feeding him excuses; right now, I couldn’t afford to mess around with division of labor. Still, it didn’t feel great to have to disappoint him.

A loud stomping of boots came from beyond the chamber, making the walls, ceiling, and ground shake, and causing a dozen metal traps to rattle. Wylie, standing in the middle of a sea of deadly traps, froze on the spot.

“Easy,” I told him. “No sudden movements.”

“Sounds like you have visitors, Beno,” said Gulliver, who was leaning against the wall with his scribble book in one hand, a feathered quill in the other, having offered Wylie and me no help whatsoever. Then again, that was Gulliver’s way. He simply skulked in the shadows and made notes for his book, while occasionally offering us a sampling of his wit.

“Do you think? Ah. I finally understand why they say writers are so perceptive.”

“Heroes, do you reckon?” he said.

I used my core vision to check the tunnels just beyond us. “No, nothing as interesting as that. That’s fine, Wylie. You can leave the traps for today.”

Stomp-stomp-stomp.

The walls shook again. A bear trap suddenly snapped shut. Wylie jumped on instinct, nudging another trap that also closed shut. Eyes wide in panic, Wylie danced through the trap maze until he reached safety, where he panted to get his breath back.

“Wylie…go…mine…things…now,” he said.

“Thank you, Wylie. Great work today.”

A figure appeared in the tunnel archway, stepping to the side as Wylie darted by. It was a goblin, tall for his species, old, and wearing dozens of battle scars on his face and arms. His muscles were toned but were disappearing through old age and lack of use, and it was impossible to miss that even the scant hair on the sides of his head was sparser than it had been just a fortnight ago.

“Chief Reginal,” I said. “A lovely surprise.”

“Beno,” came a throaty reply. “We will talk somewhere else. Somewhere not laden with traps. Do you really need so many in one room?”

“I was testing trap sensitivity and placement strategies. Every advantage helps in combat, Reginal. You should know that.”

“I need to talk to you. Now.”

The goblin chief clicked his fingers and turned his back on me. He stomped down the tunnel, trailed by a retinue of six younger goblins. I watched them disappear.

“Aren’t you going to follow him?” asked Gulliver.

“Let him wait. That was a power play,” I said. “Coming to my dungeon unannounced and trying to decide where we will and won’t talk. Reginal is a soldier, and he’s learning that leading people isn’t as easy when there are no enemies to point a sword at, so he’s resorting to mind games to make himself feel better.”

“What’s he got to worry about? I thought Yondersun was flourishing?”

“That’s his problem. His Eternals clan was at war with the Wrotun clan for decades. Their feud was all they knew. Now that the war is done and the Eternals and Wrotuns have founded Yondersun together, Chief Reginal is at a loss of what to do next. Take the sword from a soldier’s hand and he won’t know what to do with himself.”

“Why is he here, do you think?”

“For the only reason that he ever comes to visit. He either wants something from me, or he wants to stop me from getting something.”

After waiting an appropriate amount of time, I joined Reginal in a chamber just north-east of my loot room. Blocked off by a door disguised as stone, then a tunnel, and finally another hidden door, I had designed this as a place to entertain guests while keeping it separate from the parts of my dungeon heroes were likely to explore. My lair was like a theatre; most of my dungeon was the stage where heroes and monsters would clash, but I needed space for work behind the scenes.

Reginal was sitting at the head of the table, while his six goblin soldiers were standing to attention against the walls.

The goblin chief stared at me. “There’s something different about you today, Beno.”

“Well spotted.”

He stroked his chin. “Have you been polished, perhaps?”

“It might be the fact that I am floating.”

“Haven’t you always floated?”

“Forget it. What’s this all about, anyway, coming here with an entourage? Is it normal to enter someone’s home with armed guards? You’re losing your manners in your old age.”

“This is a home, is