Shadowcroft Year 3 - Chapter Four

A NEW SHADOWCROFT CHAPTER EVERY MONDAY!

Logan decided to do some decorating before the real work of the schoolyear began. It was always important to have a space just for yourself, especially after a long day of classes and brutal cultivation.

He added God’s Eye Caps, a fungal growth used in Core purifying elixirs. It gave his cozy quarters a nice blue glow from the bioluminescent spores. He also filled the corners with Ashvein, a mushroom that could be used as a mild anesthetic, but was more often employed as a narcotic. It was one of the key ingredients in a drug called Purple Daydream and there were any number of unscrupulous criminal organizations who would pay top dollar to get their hands of the stuff. Precisely the reason Logan had picked it.

Dungeoneers and Drug Dealers all rolled into one. That was a win-win as far as he was concerned.

And despite it being so dangerously addictive, Logan found Ashvein incredibly pretty—they had pearlescent stem stems with shaggy purple and cream-colored caps. He also germinated some Opal Truffles, which sprouted into dark fungal balls. Not pretty. But very tasty. He’d used them to bribe Professor Arketa during his first year. Every so often, Logan would still slip her some on the sly, because a happy Arketa the Hellgazer meant a happy Yullis Rockheart.

These days the Rector Prime was in a pretty good mood, since he was training two of Shadowcroft’s best students. Rockheart had put Logan and Chadrigoth through their paces during the summer, though that was going to change, since all of the third years would be training with the new Cultivation Instructor Darnol Zeggenerschwar. Logan would never say anything to Rockheart but secretly, he couldn’t wait. The Rector Prime was an amazing teacher, but his style definitely leaned toward the strength-through-pain model. Last Year’s Cultivator Instructor, Moonbow Rainsap, had taught Logan that raw physical conditioning could only advance a core so far.

If Logan wanted to break out of the B-Ranks, getting mauled by Rockhearts Helhounds wasn’t going to do the trick. He sincerely hoped Professor Zeggenerschwar would have some answers.

Logan and the rest of the Terrible Twelfth showed up on the Akros Coliseum, bright and early on the first day of school, ready to push themselves to new heights. Like at the welcome dinner, Chadrigoth and Tet hung out with Logan and his friends, while Lady Elesiel and Jimi Magmarty milled about with the Ninth Circle.

Fractilla, the ice imp, gave Logan a little embarrassed wave.

There was no bad blood between Fractilla and Logan, but it was clear that the lich queen and the earth golem were talking smack about Logan and Chadrigoth and the events of the prior year.

“Too bad Ed the Rot Troll died,” Jimi sneered, loud enough for everyone in a half-mile radius to hear. The magma golem was anything but subtle. Or quiet. “Ed was awesome. But I really miss Melvin. Did you notice? There weren’t any transfer students this year. It’s probably because they’re scared that a certain fungaloid might ‘accidentally’ kill them.” He used air quotes when he said accidentally, shooting a meaningful look directly at Logan.

“It certainly does hurt Shadowcroft’s reputation,” Lady Elesiel sniffed.

It made Logan want to win this intra-school tournament even more. Shadowcroft was a strange school, no doubt about that, but it was also his school. A fact he took pride in.

Rockheart strutted across the iceblade grass with what appeared to be another human following in his wake. The newcomer was built like a professional wrestler—muscles on top of his other muscles—and was dressed like he was coming straight out from basic training. That or an 80s action movie. Camie utilities. Polished black boots and bloused camouflage bottoms. His enormous biceps—like watermelons shoved inside a tube sock—were plastered with camo paint. As was his face. His hair was sandy brown and shorn down into a sharp crewcut.

He wore a black duty built across his belly—the kind of thing Drill Sergeants wore over their camies—and at its center was a green and black tiger-striped core. Slung around his ham hock of a neck was a shiny chrome whistle.

Was this some kind of soldier turned gym teacher dungeon core?

“Okay, people, let me have your attention.” Today, Rockheart was wearing a very dapper purple vest and a red velvet smoking jacket along with a golden necklace. The gargoyle-griffin always dressed to impress, but this outfit was especially stylish. In his right claw was a leather suitcase. The Rector Prime looked like he was just on his way out of town, maybe to a poker tournament in Vegas.

Logan noticed something else that was strange. A second utility shed had been erected—right next to the shack where Rockheart stored his exercise equipment during the schoolyear. It had served as Logan’s home away from home during the summer—he’d suffered many a hot, dry night on a cot in there.

Darnol Zeggenerschwar blew his whistle. “Guten tag, students. Listen to me now, but believe me later, I’m here to train you. It will be good training, ya, it will. It will be PAIN training. Who knows what that stands for?”

Logan blinked. The action movie dungeon core sounded exactly like Arnold Schwarzenegger.

While Logan stood there dumbfounded, Inga raised her hand. “It’s stands for Progressive Apothos Intensity N-energy. I have to say, the acronym seems rather forced and redundant.”

“No one asked your opinion,” Lady Elesiel hissed, glowering at Inga while she folder her arms across her chest.

Inga glanced around. “It’s obvious that no one else memorized the syllabus, so I answered the question and offered my opinion.”

Darnol blew his whistle. “That’s enough. The name of the class doesn’t matter. PAIN training matters. We’ll be doing many of the exercises here, on this field, ya, but we will also be exploring PAIN training in other places. Locations where you can maximize your Apothos. We’ll use the BYE portal. Off-world. Every exciting. For you, lich queen, we’ll find a nice necropolis. There’s a volcano world for the earth golem. Each of you will try different places. We’ll have elixirs, we’ll have new cultivation techniques, and you’ll see many very beautiful places. Listen to me now. Believe me now. This class will be challenging, ya, but it will be your best class.”

Logan shook off his shock. Okay, so his new Cultivation Trainer Darnol Zeggenerschwar looked and sounded like a cheap knock off of a renowned action star. Weirder things had happened since coming to Shadowcroft. Not many. But a few. It was a big universe, he reminded himself. The important take away was that he and his friends were going to get to explore the multiverse and do on-site cultivation. He’d loved the field trips that he’d been lucky enough to go on. And his experiences at the Sacred Hallow, in the Tree of Souls itself, had been life changing.

“Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself, Professor Zeggenerschwar?” Rockheart nodded at the professor.

Darnol didn’t pause. “Ya. Listen to me now. I’m originally from Ogeratz. I grew up in the ogre culture, but I wanted more from life than just dung beer and fried swamp cheese. I got recruited a couple hundred years ago and attended Shadowcroft. Graduated with honors, then found a job teaching cultivation at The Waldorf School for Strategic Learning. But it was always my true dream to return here.”

“And he’s come back in a very triumphant way,” Rockheart said. “Professor Zeggener…”

The gargoyle-griffin stumbled on the name.

“Professor Darnol is fine.”

Rockheart looked relieved. “Professor Darnol has a very good reputation among the schools, but his PAIN techniques, a kind of work-study cultivation, has given him so many honors, we’ve lost count of his awards.”

Darnol hadn’t lost count. “Seven, Yullis. I’ve won seven awards. And I hope to win eight this year.”

Logan had a zillion questions. He raised his hand. “Can I ask what kind of dungeon core you are?”

Darnol tapped on his green and black striped core gem. “Listen to me now. As I said, I was born an ogre, but I have assumed the form of Human Variant with a little-known Class-Type. The Alpha Solider. My class excels in ranged weaponry, survival techniques, hand-to-hand combat, and slowing down time.”

“So you can do slow-motion action sequences?” Logan asked.

“Ya, precisely. We also have a specialization in heavy armor, though I don’t go around wearing my kit. Typically, when not on the field of combat, I like to wear comfortable clothes with good breathability, especially when I’m traveling, which I do all the time. Ya, and we’ll be travelling today. I want to show you all the splendors of Paradeesos. It’s what’s known as a myriad world since it has a myriad of Apothos energies. It has sunset waterfalls and sunrise rainbows, every day. The forests echo with the laughter of cosmic pixies.”

Logan squinted. Really? An Alpha Solider class specialization who could perform slomo action sequences. That sounded… Dubious, at best. The fact that he was also clearly cosplaying Arnie from the 1985 classic movie Commando also didn’t help ease his suspicions.

Rockheart nodded. “As you know, for most classes, you won’t start your off-world instruction until second semester. This will be the exception. Cohorts, please follow Professor Darnol, and he’ll take you to the BYE portal.” The assembled dungeon cores started shuffling after the new cultivation teacher, talking excitedly amongst themselves in hushed whispers.

Rockheart pulled Logan back as he made to leave. “Not you, Murray. Not the rest of your cohort either. I have something special for you four. It won’t have the beauty of Paradeesos, and yes, it’s a shame you won’t be seeing that wonderful world any time soon, but trust me, what I have in store for you will push you to your very limits. Far more than anything Professor Darnol could do to you.”

“But I like my limits, “Marko complained. “I’m very comfortable with my limits.”

Rockheart didn’t even dignify Marko’s outburst with a response.

Chadrigoth and Tet paused before they left the practice field. Both looked confused and a little sad to be leaving the Terrible Twelfth behind. But they turned and followed Professor Darnol and the rest of the students out of the Akros Coliseum.

Rockheart walked over to the first row of arena seats and set his suitcase down. “All of the cultivation professors met to discuss your training regiment for this year—myself, Darnol, Moonbow Rainsap, even the headmaster—and we all agreed that you four need something a bit more this year to really push you to the next level. What we decided upon might break you, and if it does, then you never deserved to be in this school in the first place. This is a gamble. We understand that.”

The more Rockheart talked, the more Inga’s bushy antennae shriveled. She looked terrified.

Treacle opened one of the compartments on his arm and retrieved some long stalks of hay wrapped in wheat. He offered some to Inga. “Would you like something to eat to calm your nerves?”

She shook her head.

Treacle munched down. “We should’ve known we’d not be able to go to this Paradeesos place. My hopes were raised for a moment. And now I reside where I am the most comfortable. Crushing disappointment.”

Marko was a bit more dramatic. He took a few running steps toward where Darnol and the rest of the Cohorts had gone. Then he ran back. “But, it’s a paradise planet, professor. You don’t understand. I was made for paradise planets. It’s my thing. Are you sure we can’t go?”

Rockheart scowled at the goat man in clear disgust. “Laskarelis, you get back with your cohort and stand at attention. Of course I understand. You four might be nervous about the training, and we understand that. We are nervous giving it to you. But like most things at this academy, its’s succeed or die. Your potential demise is a price we are collectively willing to pay—especially if it might in any way contribute to helping us win the tournament this year.”

Logan knew complaining or fighting wasn’t going to do a thing to get them out of whatever torture the Rector Prime had in store for them. He steeled himself. He’d been torn apart before. He expected to be torn apart again.

Rockheart looked into his eyes. The gargoyle-griffin smiled “Don’t worry, Murray. You might have lost out on a field trip to paradise, but I have twine.”

He pulled out a huge, gnarly, nasty tangle of twine the size of a basketball. He tossed it to Logan. “You will unravel that ball of twine. You will work on it in this class, and you will work on it outside of class. You will not pass this cultivation training until you’ve completely untied every inch of that ball of twine. I want it coiled up nicely as well.”

Logan rolled the ball of twine in his hands. He couldn’t even find a single strand that was sticking out.

Marko laughed. “Don’t worry, man. You can Gordian knot that mofo.”

Logan chalked up Marko’s knowledge of the Gordian knot to the weird Earth stuff that seemed to permeate the universe. Like Marvel movies and J.R.R. Tolkien. Apparently, he could add Arnold Schwarzenegger to that list as well.

“No!” Rockheart snapped. “You can’t simply cut it. Every inch of twine needs to be in the coil once you get it unraveled.”

Logan realizes his six fat fingers were going to be terrible tools for such a task. It would be like trying to untie tennis shoes while wearing oven mitts.

It was an impossible task. Logan just smiled, though. He thought he understood what Rockheart was doing, so he didn’t say a word.

Next, the Rector Prime took out a multicolored, bespeckled candy ball from the suitcase. “For you, Treacle, I have an everlasting mouthball, otherwise known as a Jovian Jabberknot jawbreaker. Using your own masticatory abilities, you will melt this jawbreaker until it is completely gone. You can’t soak it in water. You can’t crack it apart.” He paused and glared at the minotaur. “We’ll know if you do. You must use your own mouth juices to accomplish the task and nothing more.”

Treacle investigated the candy ball. He sniffed. Licked it. Then sighed mournfully. “Candy. Why did it have to be candy? I never liked sweets much.”

Rockheart scowled. “Was that complaining, Glimmerhappy? I thought the goat and the fungus cornered the market on complaining.”

“Not complaining, sir.” The minotaur put his hay back into his arm compartment. Without another word, he popped the jawbreaker into his mouth. It immediately made a loud clacking sound. Treacle looked disgusted. One cheek bulged.

Marko had a dizzy, confused smile. He was clearly loving how weird this all was.

Inga’s eyes were wide. She was trembling a little. She had no idea why Rockheart would be giving them such strange tasks. She’d obviously not seen a certain movie from the 1980s. Nor the remake in 2010. Clearly this was some sort of Mr. Miyagi wax-on, wax-off cultivation-style training. They would have to perfect some seemingly mundane task in order to unlock some sort of grand secrets of the universe.

Rockheart lifted a toilet brush from the suitcase and held it like it was Excalibur. “Don’t look so tickled, Laskarelis. Your job is to clean all of the bathrooms on Arborea, one at a time. While it’s true, most dungeon cores don’t have such pedestrian needs, we have an entire village, the inn, and certain bathrooms here at the academy itself—for our less evolved entities, you understand.”

Marko blinked his weird goat eyes. “Wait. I’m one of those lesser evolved entities. And just so I’m totally clear, you want me to use cultivation class time to clean toilets, right?”

“No!” Rockheart thundered. “All the bathrooms must be cleaned each week.”

Marko’s smile was gone. He stuttered. ‘”I didn’t even clean the bathroom at the Wayfarer Inn, and they were paying me. You expect me to clean all the bathrooms in the entire realm? For free. I’ve never cleaned anything. Ever. Logan saw my room last year. He can attest to that.”

Rockheart glared at the goat. “Weekly. All bathrooms must be clean. Period.”

Marko folded in on himself, his face drooping in despair. You would’ve thought Rockheart had just given him the death sentence. “Now I wish the Gelatinous Knight never told me about his irritable bowel syndrome. Please, can I eat the twine, or lick the candyball, or whatever? Anything but cleaning!”

Again, Rockheart ignored Marko’s pleas.

The Rector Prime returned one last time to the suitcase. He pulled out a file folder and waved it. “As for you, Inga. The Department of Universal Dungeon Efficiency is coming to audit us. We haven’t had anyone look at our financial records… Give or take five hundred years. You will go through the files to make sure all of our numbers line up. They’ll also want to see our mortality rates for students per year. One of your electives is to work on archiving Shadowcroft’s papers. This will align nicely with that.”

Inga let out a sigh of relief. She took the file folder from Rockheart and bowed. “I will not let you down. I will not let our school down. I will complete this task with a smile on my face and a spring in my step.”

She opened the folder. “This is the tax documents from five hundred years ago. Where are the rest of the papers?”

Rockheart launched himself into the air and soared over to the new utility shed which stood next to the shack. With a flourish, he opened the doors. There were papers alright Papers everywhere. Stacked floor to ceiling. It was like an episode of Hoarders about a lunatic tax accountant.

“Here you are, Ms. Therian. Every expense. Every receipt.” Rockheart pulled out a slip of paper. “This is for sunglasses that Arketa bought. It was a business expense. Without them, she’d turned students to stone. They were vital. However…” he pulled another receipt. “This is for a chartreuse scarf she bought. This is not an expense. Shadowcroft made it clear that professors can’t expense their wardrobe. I find that annoying myself, but the rules are the rules.”

In an instant Inga was sweating, her antenna drooping. “Sir, I’m not sure I have the skill to…”

Rockheart took to wing once more, hoovering in the air before them. “There won’t be questions,” he said ignoring her. “I will not have office hours. We will confer at the end of the year. Please arrive here during your normal cultivation class, rain, snow or shine. If you die or are driven to insanity, you will receive failing marks for the class.”

Without another world, Rockheart pirouetted midair and flew off, wings pumping as he quickly vanished into the distance.

The only sound was the jawbreaker clacking against the minotaur’s teeth.