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

*New* Stone Dwarf Troll [Cost 180]

*New* Bogbadug [Cost 200]

If I was an evil villain, and if I had hands, I’d have been rubbing them together now. Maybe I’d allow myself a cackle or two.

Then again, there’s no if about it. I suppose that to most reasonable people, I really am a villain. At any rate, I don’t have hands, and my cackle sounds like a rat caught in a trap.

Onto more exciting things.

Boss monster construction is a delicate business. By their definition, boss monsters are the toughest creatures in a dungeon, and as such, heroes expect them to provide a challenge. They also must have a weakness. Just one of those pesky dungeon rules, I’m afraid.

The trick was balancing your monster so it could destroy stupid heroes, while still being a fair fight.

How did a core find balance when creating his monster? This was where the melding room was so important.

In a melding room, you can create three separate creatures, and the melding room will combine them into one. It will mix their appearances, strengths, and weaknesses, creating a monstrosity that any right-minded person would flee from. Heroes aren’t right-minded, obviously.

There was a problem, though. Melding is a precarious process, and one that I have no control over. I can only decide which of the three creatures got mixed together.

Say I combined Tomlin with a fire beetle. I would never do it, of course, because Tomlin is my best friend down here, but pretend I did.

I might get Tomlin’s intelligence mixed with the fire beetle’s utter fearlessness and fire damage.

Or, I might get Tomlin’s yellow-bellied soul mixed with a beetle’s stupidity.

I had to be careful. Measure the risks, and only meld my boss monster when I was sure I had chosen the right creatures.

Why not just experiment with it? Just create a boss monster, and then scrap it if it’s a stupid coward?

A good question, with an annoying answer.

Once you create a boss monster, it cannot be replaced until it is killed by a hero. So, I needed to think this through.

I pondered it for hours. I pedestal-hopped through my dungeon while I thought about all the options.

I gave myself a break by locking myself in my core room and meditating amongst the glow of the essence vines. Soon, I heard a pounding at the door. Tomlin reminded me that I owed him some study time, so I obliged him.

By the next morning, if it even was morning, I was ready. Knowing how prone I am to doubt my decisions if I think too much, I hopped straight into the melding room.

Without pause, I spent my essence on three creatures. I had to wait for my essence to regenerate in-between creations, but soon I had all three of them ready.

Creature created: Stone Dwarf Troll

Creature created: Leech

Creature created: Spider

Peculiar choices, to be sure. Especially the leech.

My thinking behind it was this:

I wanted my monster to be tough against melee and minor spell damage, since I was hopeful that the heroes coming into my dungeon wouldn’t be too advanced a level, despite Bolton’s reward.

A troll’s stone skin would repel blades, and it would have increased resistance against the basic mage spells like fire, ice, and arcane.

Throwing a spider into the mix would give my creature more agility, and perhaps would let it crawl over the walls and ceiling, making it harder to hit.

While the leech, though it was a tiny creature, had a useful effect; if a leech latched onto a hero and damaged him, it would convert the damage into health for itself.

Now, with my creatures made, doubt crept in.

This could all go so, so wrong.

I might end up with a leech-sized troll that spun webs from its rump. Or a troll-sized leech that merely had the numerous eyes of a spider. Or a spider that was made of stone, that clung uselessly onto the dungeon walls using its leech suckers.

This damn melding room!

I knew I had to just get on with it. So, I prepared myself. Steeled my mind. Then I gave the order.

Meld boss monster.

CHAPTER 23

“I’m telling you, there’s a dungeon near town,” said Bill.

He was in the Leaky Gutter tavern. The place was usually quiet, with only the regulars like Farmer Yorke and his wife, and old man Teeple drinking there.

Today, there were a few more patrons, and one table of people had especially interested him. There, sitting around a table in the furthest corner of the room, were a barbarian, rogue, mage, and bard.

Heroes!

Bill knew what he had to do, but he needed a few drinks to work himself up to it. After three pints of beer and a throat-burning whiskey, he’d finally approached them. They’d paid him no attention at first, until he cleared his throat and said, “Are you guys looking for a dungeon?”

Then they’d listened.

He explained what he’d discovered underground near town, and he told them about the things he’d heard behind the mud wall. He watched their faces as he explained, and he saw doubt in their eyes.

It was their leader, the barbarian with a big, thick beard and muscles so huge his leather chest piece was almost popping off, who spoke first.

“If there was a dungeon around here, we’d know about it. Dungeons have signposts, kid. We have a dungeon rune that warns us when one is nearby. You’re mistaken.”

“I promise you, I’m not. I can prove it.”

The bard nudged his leader and spoke in a lyrical voice. “I say to thee, twixt me and he…kid might be telling the truth. Might be a dungeon that hasn’t opened yet.”

The barbarian drank a full pint of beer in two gulps, burped, then slammed his tankard on the table. “Well,” he said. “I always