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

“Well… thank you, I suppose.”

Brenda spread her wings again. “You don’t have to thank me. Do you know why I had my epiphany this morning? Last night I was drinking in a tavern called the Two-Headed Swan, and who did I meet? A lovely man named Overseer Bolton. There’s a man who knows how to live his life! I recognized him from accompanying you here. We got chatting, and he told me about his exhilarating attitude towards things. And you know what? It made me rethink my life. So you go ahead. Good luck in the tournament. And please, tell Bolton to come and see me whenever he likes.”

Chapter 15

After filling out form upon form in the star lodge, our dungeon was finally registered. I was itching to get started on my preparations. Every academy competing in the tournament would be older, richer, and more prestigious than ours. That already put us at a disadvantage.

The only consolation was that the other academies would be sponsoring their students as cores. It was a way to show the quality of their institutions by putting forward their most talented pupils.

This was probably my only advantage. I hadn’t been a student for a long time now. I had maintained a real dungeon, and I possessed combat experience that none of the other cores would. That was what I clung to. It was the reservoir of hope that I would have to drain dry if I was to stay upbeat.

With our academy registered, we were permitted entry to God’s Fist mountain. A giant pair of durinium doors were set into its base. These led to various tunnels, which in turn led to the portdoors. Each core had their own portdoor that gave them access to their dungeon, no matter how far away from Heaven’s Peak their own dungeon was.

I didn’t often find myself in awe of things, but God’s Fist was one of those rare sights that inspired it. I hesitated a moment before entering, staring up at the landmass towering above me and reaching to the heavens as if to summon the gods. There was no doubt that this place was worthy of a prestigious tournament. That its great mounds of stone were steeped in history, glory, failure. It was said that halfway up the mountain, there was an inner chamber where masons carved records of every tournament onto the walls. What would it say about me when this was done?

I guessed I would know the answer soon. Or maybe it was better to say, I would write the answer myself. Our academy might have been the lowest on the ladder, but our destiny was our own. I would make sure of that.

Our portdoor was one of thirty-two inside God’s Fist. Thirty-two academies who would battle it out in the arena in the skies. That seemed overwhelming to me. I vowed right then to stop thinking about numbers. It wouldn’t do any good to dwell on the overwhelming odds.

The portdoor was a rather ancient construction. Steel, with runemarks etched all over it. When Bolton and Gulliver approached it, nothing happened. But when I floated along the tunnel and joined them, the door glowed and creaked open.

“Reassuring,” said Bolton. “At least nobody will be able to steal their way into your dungeon, Beno.”

“And if they do, I’ll simply murder them. One of the perks of being a dungeon core.”

Floating through the portdoor, I found myself back in my dungeon, in those familiar chambers and tunnels, where Wylie, Klok, Maginhart, Rusty, and the rest of the dungeon clan were waiting.

“Time to get ready,” I said. “The first round is a couple of days away, and there are lots of things we need to do. So, let’s get to it, and then we can go destroy some other academy’s pathetic chump of a core.”

“You sound rather positive, Beno,” said Gulliver.

“I’ve been thinking about the tournament a lot, and I have various strategies we can put in place. So yes, maybe I am feeling a little upbeat. For now, I want every dungeon monster except Tomlin to go to the arena, choose the weapon you’re most proficient with, and spend a few hours training. In the meantime, I’m going to watch the other cores.”

The main tournament arena was a stone bowl that sat at the very peak of God’s Fist. It was known as the Saucer of the Gods, and every core wanted to battle there.

 But given that thirty-two academies would fight in the first round of the tournament, it was necessary to have several smaller arenas. Right now, these were open for cores and their monsters to spar in.

I accessed the arenas by a set of portdoors further up the mountain. Like the doors that led to my dungeon, there were sixteen portdoors, and each led to a different arena. The arenas themselves twisted away from the mountain like branches from a tree trunk, though each one was lower than the Saucer of the Gods.

I chose one that was already occupied by an academy, and I floated into the spectator section. That was one of the drawbacks of using the arenas to spar in: anyone was allowed to spectate. Today, I planned on spending a few hours watching as many cores as I could.

The spectator section was more crowded than I’d expected, with many residents of Heaven’s Peak and travelers occupying the seats. Some had beers in their hand, others were eating goods bought from the city bakeries. Some even wore white shirts with various academy emblems crudely drawn on. That was a good point. Our academy didn’t have an emblem. I’d have to fix that.

In the arena itself, were two cores, a gaggle of overseers, and plenty of monsters. Only one of the cores would be registered to compete. The other was probably a