The Crafter's Dilemma: A Dungeon Core Novel (Dungeon Crafting Book 3) Jonathan Brooks (me reader TXT) 📖

be ideal for the Dwarves to live in.  With easy access to the “farms” she was going to make, they would hopefully feel more in control of things – and it would free Sandra up from having to do the whole process of planting and harvesting and whatnot herself.

Before she could really start that, though, morning arrived, and her Visitors were up and raring to go for the day.

Chapter 24

Gerold rode on the back of a large metal cat, feeling relieved, vulnerable, nervous, and hopeful all at the same time.  His position on the back of the monster wasn’t the most comfortable, because the large…Jaguar Queen, I believe the dungeon called it…was essentially a skeleton made from some unknown metal; he had his short legs wedged between its ribs and he was holding onto its spine with his hands.  When it moved – even if the movements were relatively smooth – the spine of the Jaguar rubbed roughly against his lower body, causing a little pain after a while.

Nevertheless, it beat having to walk and got him quickly across the wasteland.  He felt extremely vulnerable without his armor and passing through the dangerous land was something he never thought he’d have to do, so having a giant cat to help him flee from danger was a bonus.  Gerold had refused some basic leather armor that Sandra had said she could craft for him fairly quickly, mainly because it didn’t feel…right…to wear something that wasn’t his old armor.  He did take a small battle-axe that she apparently had lying around somewhere, though it wasn’t nearly the same quality as his old one – and couldn’t absorb and use his energy, either.  It was a poor substitute – and he almost refused even that – but he felt a few degrees safer with at least some sort of weapon at his side.

Relief washed over him as he looked up and saw Nurboldar in the distance.  Despite the fact that the Core of the dungeon had saved him from death, given him two powerful objects that helped to restore his elemental energy (at the expense of temporary unimaginable pain, of course), and offered his people a refuge when the threat of the Undead dungeon became too much, Gerold had never felt comfortable being in there.  The thought that he had been in a dungeon at all was hard to believe, let alone that he had survived after seeing things he’d never dreamed of seeing before.  Honestly, he thought, I don’t even know how I managed to sleep last night, considering where I was.

To be fair, he barely remembered collapsing on a bed made from leather material last night; he had been so physically exhausted that he didn’t think he could’ve stood up for much longer.  The only thing he remembered was waking up the next morning ravenous, his stomach threatening to eat itself from the inside.  He belatedly remembered feeling some of the same hunger the night before but had been too focused on staying alive by doing what the dungeon wanted; he had followed the strange metal ape at first because he wasn’t sure what would happen to him if he refused.  Well, that, and because of the slim hope that he could find a way to regain his former honor after losing his armor.

He was still a little mad at the dungeon for that, but reflection during both the tour of the miraculous rooms and his current ride on top of a big metal cat made him realize that it really was his own fault.  He had interfered with something that wasn’t any of his business and paid the price for his stupidity and curiosity; if he could take back the decision to investigate the source of the Nether energy, he would, but now he had to live as well as he could with the consequences.

Speaking of Nether energy, he could vaguely feel some sources of the element out towards the southeast; the very faint sense of them meant that they were likely fairly distant, so he wasn’t too worried about them attacking him on the way back to his village.  At least, he hoped it was still his village; he was nervous about the response he would get from the villagers and the other Shieldmen…especially Second-shield Bregan.

Will they shun me?  Will they cast me out because I lost my armor on what was essentially my first day?  Will they even listen to me?

Regardless of his nervousness, he was hopeful that they would listen and believe what he had to tell them.  By taking refuge in the dungeon, they’d be able to survive the undead that were sure to make their way to the village as soon as they could; in fact, the closer he got to the forest to the southeast of Nurboldar, the more he could sense faint traces of Nether energy.  It reminded him of the amount that one of the skeletal rats had possessed, so he was sure there were more scouting out the border of what Sandra had called an “Area of Influence”.

I better convince the others before it’s too late.

To help with that, he was bringing along the large cat he was riding that the dungeon had graciously allowed him to borrow.  That wasn’t all he was bringing, however, as he had a small bag of the same things that were embedded in his palms – “Energy Orbs” he was told they were called; his case was apparently unique, because others could use the orbs to regenerate their elemental energy by just holding them against their skin.  It was what he saw with the other people in the dungeon he saw – which still confused and shocked him, with there being two Gnomes and an Elf living there.  It was that, as well as the fact that they looked like they were well-fed, comfortable, and hopefully not slaves of some kind that