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

I was right.

“You created us, Beno,” Shadow said. “You made us so we could serve the dungeon. Your bond as our master means we cannot refuse your orders…well, unless someone has the power to override that. I know that you try to treat us fairly. That you say the dungeon is ours and not just yours. Even so, you created us to serve you. In doing so, you made sure we do not have a will of our own. Not with the big decisions. But our personal thoughts are supposed to be the one thing that belongs to us. So when someone seizes control and stomps over your desires and makes you do things you do not want to do…”

She trailed off then, and I sensed she was done.

She’d given me something to think about.

I was a core. I killed heroes, and I created monsters to do it. It was in my nature.

But what about their nature?

They served me, they helped me fight, but how much of that was because they had to, and how much because they wanted to?

It wasn’t as if they didn’t have other interests.

Gary had his music. Wylie liked to paint using hero blood. Tomlin was so scared of violence that even the word made him break out in hives, but he loved cultivating essence vines.

“Let me ask you something,” I said. “What do you think would happen if, hypothetically, I let everyone choose what they wanted to do?”

“What do you mean, ‘do’?”

“If I gave them the choice to serve me, or leave and do what they want.”

She thought about it.

“The dungeon would not be as full, Beno.”

Damn.

That wasn’t exactly the answer I needed.

I was just hoping to make an insincere gesture that didn’t cost me anything, yet kept everyone happy.

Right now, I didn’t have a dungeon to fill, and that was what I needed to fix. Destroy Riston so I could get my home back.

Shadow and I silently crossed the wasteland until we drew nearer to the crater. I saw lights. Dozens of them. At first, I wondered if the giant insects’ arses lit up at night, or something.

But then I began to realize what was going on.

I saw guards. Lots of them. Some carrying torches, others gathered around fires to keep warm in the bitter wasteland evening. All of them were in the crater, and they could only be there for one reason: to guard the hole into the cavern.

Shadow could have been the greatest rogue in Xynnar, and she’d still have no hope of getting past them.

We were going to have to turn back.

Hours later, expectant faces watched us re-enter the tunnel.

“We didn’t expect you back so soon,” said Gulliver.

“When a plan ends early, it means trouble, as far as I reckon,” said Eric.

“Not necessarily. It might have gone really well…”

“Eric’s right,” I said.

I explained about the guards, and how there was no way we could get into the caves. It seemed to me that their spirits deflated with my every word. I didn’t like having so many people depend on me, and then disappointing them. That was the thing about leadership. After a successful hero battle, when hero innards were smeared all over the loot chamber walls, things were great. I basked in their complete adulation. But when things went wrong, I had to take the hit for that, too. I couldn’t have it both ways.

“Damn it,” said Gulliver. “Riston thinks of everything.”

“I’m hungry!” said Wylie.

Gulliver shrugged. “You’re a while away from starving to death…porky,” he said, with a friendly grin.

That was the thing with Gulliver. He always knew what to say when it mattered, and few things ruffled him. Though he was a scribe and had little fighting experience, nobody could criticize his worldly knowledge. He’d traveled everywhere. Been in all kinds of horrible places. He might dress like he was always heading out to a nobleman’s ball, but he was tougher than he looked. He knew how to weather discomfort.

Wylie and my other dungeon creatures were strangely they opposite. It was funny to think that, given that they lived in a dungeon. But really, they’d lived in relative comfort. Back in the dungeon, we had multiple grow rooms where we bred worms and other insects for them to eat. They never wanted for food.

I could see how bad things were not just by looking at them. At the expression on Wylie’s face. Tomlin’s. Shadow’s. Poor Death and Kill, who were so upset at losing Fight that their feelers drooped like wilted flower stalks.

I was their leader, and I was failing them. I’d created them all for the purpose of protecting the dungeon, but I hadn’t done enough to protect it myself.

Gulliver reached into his satchel and took out apple after apple. Must have been a dozen of them. The little red ones. I don’t know what they’re called. Granny’s Arses, or something stupid.

He passed them around. Wylie took a bite out of his.

“Eurgh!” he said and spat it out. “Tastes sweet and nourishing! Disgusting!”

Tomlin patted his kobold friend’s shoulders. “Here, Wylie,” he said. He began scraping at the wall until he reached mud. “Might find worms.”

Jahn and I watched as the rest of them chomped on their apples.

“Music, anyone?” said Brecht.

Nobody answered.

I felt bad for Brecht, but I understood why they weren’t in the mood for his music today. All he had was a tambourine. Without Gary’s lute and his sweet voice, the tambourine just sounded like a heartbeat pounding faster and faster.

“So we can’t get into the caverns through the crater,” I said. “But this is actually a good thing. I’ve been thinking. Even if we got into the caverns, there are miles and miles of twists and