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

Morphant’s day began in the way most humans began theirs, by covering his naked frame in various cuts of cloth. Only, when he tried to put on shirts and trousers from Dullbright’s wardrobe, he had to struggle to fit into them. He tugged on a pair of trousers, only for the seam around his arse to tear.

He could no longer deny it. He had enjoyed himself all too much while spending time in Dullbright’s form. He had taken on hunger for human cuisine that was almost like an addiction, and he had found that a bottle of red wine was a delightful medicine to round off a night, even if it turned to poison in his stomach throughout an evening’s sleep. After waking up feeling like Eric the barbarian had pounded his head with the blunt end of his axe, Morphant had taken to leaving Dullbright’s form before he slept, thus avoiding the toxin effects of a good bottle of claret.

There were three taps on the chamber door.

“Yes?” he bellowed. That was a touch he was most proud of in his act; he had assumed a pompous, rich oaf like Dullbright would bellow a lot, and he had been right. People seemed almost disappointed when he talked to them in a normal volume of voice.

The door opened to reveal a guard in the doorway. “Sir, I apologize for the earliness of the hour, but-”

Morphant threw the torn trousers at the guard. They hit his spear and hung from the top like a flag of surrender.

“Get my tailor here at once!”

“Yes, mayor.”

“Mayor?” said Morphant, eyebrows arched in a way he spent hours practicing in the mirror.

“Lord Duke Mayor.”

“That’s better.”

Never mind that the title made no sense. Morphant just enjoyed being called it. He enjoyed the idea that people were so scared of his authority that they’d say anything. Even people like the guard, who was not only taller and more muscled than Dullbright but was wearing metal armor and carrying a spear. He could have just stuck Dullbright in the belly whenever he wanted! Yet, as Morphant was discovering, this invisible sword of authority seemed to make people more scared than an actual, real spear. Bloody humans and their stupid ways.

Morphant knew that as long as he shouted and blustered and acted like he was supposed to be in charge, nobody would question things too deeply. They would never rumble the fact that he was a mimic, and not Dullbright himself.

“Now,” said Morphant. “Why is it that you disturb me so early?”

“Sir Lord Duke Mayor,” said the guard, “Your…lady…uh…companion is here.”

Morphant couldn’t help but smile. “Send her i-”

A lady strode into the chamber, bringing a waft of tobacco smell with her. Light from the yawning sun crept in through the window and shone upon her face, illuminating the pox scars on her right cheek. Her clothes were tattered and dirty, and Morphant caught the guard softly shaking his head at her.

“That will be all, Rufus,” said Morphant.

“I’m Jerome, sir. I mean, yes, Sir Lord Duke.”

The door shut, leaving Morphant alone with his favorite person in the whole of Hogsfeate. When he first took over Dullbright’s life, a handful of rich ladies called in on him. One almost every night. It seemed that the old Dullbright had an arrangement where he would give them gifts and favors, and they would in turn show him their bare skin and give him a close approximation of affection. The problem, Morphant found, was that they didn’t really mean any of the nice things they said to him.

Though Morphant found their duplicitousness sickening, something was comforting about their presence in his chamber, and he decided that there might be a way to keep that comfort while ridding himself of the posh harlots who wore smiles to hide the deceitful thoughts they thought he couldn’t see.

One morning, in Dullbright form, Morphant was walking through the plaza. Everyone smiled at him, called his name, moved out of his way. Merchants fell over themselves to give him samples of their wares. But behind all the smiles, he saw their lies.

It was only when he walked past a delightful lady who was sitting on the street with a cap by her feet and just one coin in it, that his luck changed.

She had scowled at him. “What the feck are you looking at, Lord Lard Arse?” she said.

His guards, obviously, were in uproar at the insolence, and Morphant heard the ring of steel.

“Settle down,” he told them.

“Yeah, listen to Lord Lard Arse,” said the beggar woman.

And with that, Morphant was enchanted.

The honesty of her. The bluntness. The face she showed the world, though blighted by the pox, was genuine and not a mask.

“Madam, I would be honored if you would come to my house at the top of the town hill tonight.”

“Wha’?”

“What?” said the guards, behind him.

“I will have my cook prepare us a dish of lovely human food. Of food, I mean.”

“You cruel son of a rat, joking with me like that.”

“I assure you that it is no joke. I will wait to receive you at my home tonight.”

Since that morning, Kargot the street lady had visited him every day, always giving him the truths that he craved. If he looked fat, she would tell him. If she thought he said something stupid, she made sure he was aware of it. Morphant began to enjoy his time with Lady Kargot – as she insisted that he call her – more than any of his other duties as Sir Dullbright.

He had not, of course, told Core Beno or Gulliver about her.

“You look especially tubby today, m’lord,” she said. “Your waist is like a pie crust spilling over the sides of