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

my vision returned, I was on the ground, surrounded by the smashed remains of Hardere’s glass table.

“I’ll take two coins for that,” said Hardere. “Not to be a penny pincher, but that was a nice table.”

Gulliver went to pick me up, but I floated up on my own.

“Are you okay?” he said.

“I’m fine.”

And I was fine, right then. But I hadn’t been. Seeing another core in that sorry state had given me the strangest feeling. It was as though someone had reached into me and grabbed hold of raw nerve endings, ones that shouldn’t exist in a core, and gripped them tightly and wrenched them out like roots from the earth.

“Is she alive?” I said.

“Are any cores alive, Beno? Truly?”

“That’s rather insensitive,” said Gulliver.

The mage shook his head. “It’s an honest question. A core’s body is not flesh. No heart, no blood. Can such a thing be alive?”

“What is consciousness,” I said, “if not life?”

“To answer that question; I do not know. Namantep has rested in my tower for sixty-six years, ever since Sir Dullbright destroyed her. Sometimes I sense something coming from her. Other times I’m quite convinced that there’s nothing inside that ruined gem.”

“What do you need from me?” I asked.

“Dullbright has gotten wind of Namantep’s existence here. I need her taking away, and I imagine a dungeon way across the wasteland is as good a place as any.”

“How would Dullbright find out about her being here? Did someone betray you?”

Hardere nodded. He took two jars from his robe pockets. He unscrewed one. “Gulliver, this is your hair,” he said, giving it back. He unscrewed the other jar and took out another strand of hair. “And this belongs to Chip-Chap. I’ve been meaning to do this for a few days now, but I just haven’t gotten around to it. You know how these chores are.”

Hardere clicked his fingers, sparking flame from his hand. The fire took hold of the hair and melted it in an instant.

From outside the room, from somewhere higher up in the tower, came the sound of a goblin screaming.

CHAPTER 7

“People have spotted the monster somewhere around here, the bulletin board said.”

“You’re sure?” asked Gulliver.

“As sure as I can be. The directions on the job posting weren’t the best.”

We were outside of Hogsfeate and back in the wasteland. Not too far, but enough that the town walls were in the distance. The heat didn’t affect me at all, but looking at Gulliver, it was clear to see that the middle of the afternoon wasn’t the best time to be out here.

“I’m going to have to do it, Beno,” he said. “I have no choice.”

“Do it?”

“May the gods forgive me.”

Gulliver took off his hat and stuffed it in his satchel. He rolled his shirt sleeves up, revealing pale forearms that were surprisingly muscled. On his right forearm was a scar that zigzagged from elbow to wrist.

“Think of the creases,” he said, shaking his head. “Dear gods…”

“You were a warscribe. You covered dozens of battles. You have traveled with merchant companies in all kinds of weather. How in Xynnar did you cope, if a few creases are such a disaster?”

Gulliver displayed his scar to me. “That was from a blunder wolf.” He unbuttoned his top shirt button and showed me another scar on his chest. “That was from following a duke into a serpent nest. I’ve spent weeks in the Howsi jungle, getting drenched until my skin wrinkled like a frowning elephant. I’ve been so dehydrated that I tried catching my own tears. I’ve been with caravans where disaster struck suddenly and hard, and we were a day or two away from cannibalism. I’ve done my time in the gutters, Beno, and now I like to enjoy the rewards that hard work should bestow. So I like nice things. Not such a crime, is it?”

“I suppose not. But you’re not likely to keep your wardrobe intact following a dungeon core around. You know that from last time.”

He sighed. “Sometimes I wake up and I put on my silk pantaloons and my favorite winkle pickers and I think Gulliver, how did it come to this? How did you let yourself become softer than a eunuch’s bum cushion? That’s when I resolve to get back out there. Go find a warmongering duke or duchess and follow them and write their story. Other times, I just want to buy some nice things, go to a nice place, and have a nice, relaxing time. Nobody ever got a horrible scar by lying on a beach. Yet, people don’t read the stories of folks who just lie on their arse all day. I don’t know, Beno. I can’t settle down, but I also don’t want to keep on crawling through the mud.”

“Maybe there’s a happy medium somewhere.”

“Perhaps I just have to accept that as much as I want a quiet life, it bores me.”

“You’re not going to get the quiet life following me, you can bet on that. Come on, we better hurry this up. We have the portal stone already,” I said. “Let’s get the monster, and then go home. I’ve had enough of towns and wizards.”

“Aye, I can’t say I’d be happy to speak to him again. I had heard that Hardere made unusual bargains sometimes,” said Gulliver. “But nothing like this. Is it worth it, Beno? Having to hide this old, deranged core for him just so you can have the portal stone?”

“I didn’t have much of a choice. If I just sit around waiting for Cael to recover from his wounds and come to me, I’m begging for a beating.”

“At least Namantep is dead. Crazy is crazy, and I don’t mess around with things that are both crazy and capable of destroying half a town. But a dead lion is just a rug, and