Shadowcroft's Academy for Dungeons Chapter 33

Professor Yullis Rockheart considered the four troublesome students who stood before his desk at an inappropriate time on a Friday night, with an inappropriate request.

“The four of you… a single test… your Final Exam, together.” He gritted his stony teeth until he could taste the dust. “Why?” he growled.

The yellow-headed mushroom man squinted. “Because we’re in this together. Marko messed up his Placement Exam, and we don’t want him expelled. Or dead. It would probably be death for him. And that’s unacceptable. Where I come from, we have this saying. No solider left behind. Marko’s part of my squad and I won’t leave him. Period. End of story.”

Marko scratched his head between his horns. “Let me just say for the record, I agree, Professor. This is a terrible idea. If I didn’t like life so much, I would be very against it.” He shrugged. “Logan does have this way of pulling you into things, though. He’s oddly charismatic for a mushroom.”

Rockheart held up a stone claw. “That is enough from you. You will not talk any more. Not in my presence. Nor will you, Fungaloid.” He glared at Logan. “As bewildering as it is to me, Inga chose long ago to tie her fate to you, and while I fear she is a lost cause, I still have some hope she’ll come around. Actually, my question was directed at the minotaur. Why?”

Treacle Glimmerhappy stood. Somber and serious as a heart attack. So basically, his usual self.

His cohort looked at him as he cleared his throat, coughed, and then said in a loud, powerful voice, “Because I like Marko Laskarelis. I find most people tiresome. I find most of life tiresome. But this satyr has a certain spark. Maybe, one day, I could be like him in some small way. If that spark dims, or if it is snuffed out, then perhaps my own uncertain spark will dim and vanish.”

Tears glimmered in the black eyes of the astral moth. The goat boy had a surprised look on his face. And Logan was smiling at his minotaur friend in silent encouragement.

Rockheart found it all nauseating. The whole affair.

The mushroom pest turned. “So we’re in this together.”

“Despite this ridiculous scheme, the fact remains that you don’t have the power for a sustained bond with three other dungeon cores, Mr. Murray.” Rockheart had studied up on the fungaloid’s strange Symbiosis spores. They were as unprecedented as they were vexing. This whole situation was intolerable.

Inga snorted out an awkward laugh. “You’re telling me. Normally, you’re right. But the Red Lotus Juice works well on an already modified core. It nearly killed him, but Logan has spent the last week tying another knot. He’s boosted his power, tripling the timeframe of the multiple-core Symbiosis. He can bond with up to three cores for a total of six hours. Long enough for us to design and run our dungeon.”

Rockheart stood up from his desk, roaring. “I tolerated you two taking the exams together, but I will not let this travesty continue! All four of you are insane! Insane!”

Treacle popped a clump of grass into his mouth and crunched as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Why was this promising minotaur throwing his life away? Why were the others in the Terrible Twelfth willing to sacrifice themselves for this goatish fool?

The rector prime couldn’t stop himself from shaking. “Well, we’ll just see what Shadowcroft has to say about all this. He couldn’t possibly agree to this nonsense. It’s been pointed out by other professors that it’s not fair to have multiple dungeon cores running dungeons. You’re quadrupling your power.”

“Please, let us consult Shadowcroft as soon as possible,” Inga said coolly, folding her hands together primly. “I would very much like to know his thoughts. From his class, and I quote, ‘The Shadowcroft Academy, above all, is a utilitarian institution, focused on what works, not what’s in style.’”

The insolence of the astral moth infuriated Rockheart further. He swept out of his office, tromping up the steps, to the very top of the castle. The Terrible Twelfth followed him.

The rector prime didn’t pause as he stomped through the waiting room outside the headmaster’s office. He didn’t even knock.

This was madness. Madness and foolishness in equal measure! Shadowcroft could’ve ended the fungaloid’s shenanigans and he hadn’t. That meant he approved because nothing, not a single thing, happened at his school that the headmaster didn’t know about.

Shadowcroft was in his office but not at his desk.

Shadowcroft’s desk dominated the room, strewn with ivy and linked to the Tree of Souls itself. Behind was his pedestal, where his gem spun slowly. The headmaster himself sat in a chair next to his Crystal Terpsichorean, who was sleeping in a plush little red chair. The dancer obviously needed the rest after a long day of pirouetting, but she woke with yawn at the intrusion. As for the Rosaceae Flysnag, she was awake in her pot, watching her Treowen master read with a look of adoration on her flowery face. The flysnag’s fangs looked particularly sharp. It flung the intruders a nasty glare.

A reading lamp hung over Shadowcroft’s shoulder, illuminating his book with dancing candlelight. Reading glasses were perched on his wooden nose. Shadowcroft didn’t seem a bit annoyed—likely because he knew this debate would end up on his doorstep.

“Yullis!” Shadowcroft was smiling. “I heard both your enthusiastic shouting and your passionate footsteps. Careful, friend. Don’t crack your gem core over this. We’ll suss out this matter like we always do. We’re alive, so we can do wonderful things.”

Rockheart stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed, wings folded back like a stately cloak.

Behind him, Inga and Treacle looked vaguely uncomfortable because they were disturbing the headmaster on a Friday night between exams, which was stressful for everyone, especially the person in charge.

Logan and Marko, however, were their usual arrogant selves. They didn’t know their place in the grand scheme of things—that was their real problem.

The satyr raised a hand and waved. “Hey, Skip. Kinda cool I know your first name. I’ll call you Headmaster, or Mr. Shadowcroft, don’t worry, but I had to call you Skip at least once before I die.”

The mushroom stood with his hands on his hips. A power stance. It was ridiculous because the fungaloid had little of his own strength—he was shamefully relying on his friends for everything. “Headmaster, I want to use my Symbiosis power for the Final Exam. All four of us would like to take the exam together. We’ve talked about it extensively and we understand the risks. Either we all pass together, or we all fail.”

“Or we die,” Treacle pointed out in a morose voice. “Remember death is an option.”

“Or we die,” the fungaloid agreed. “But we die together. We’re the Terrible Twelfth.”

“And sitting at the bottom of the leaderboard.” The headmaster gestured to the image of the clan rankings shining from his gem. “And yes, without help, it seems likely Marko would fall prey to the Winnowing.” He seemed genuinely concerned. A skull flower drooped.

Of course he was concerned. Shadowcroft loved his students. He played the kind headmaster and left all the unpleasant tasks to his rector prime. Rockheart would never complain. Their work was important. Vital. For the good of the universe.

“We have the Winnowing for a reason,” the gargoyle-griffin insisted. “If Marko cannot rise to the occasion, he should fall. It is our way. Has always been our way.”

“But he has risen to the occasion,” Shadowcroft replied serenely, arching a leafy eyebrow at Rockheart. “His entire demeanor has changed since the field trip to the Slaughter Pits. And, even more importantly, he has acquired friends who are willing to risk their lives for him. It is impressive.”

No, no, no!Rockheart saw this was a losing battle, and that Shadowcroft, ever the utilitarian, would side with Marko Laskarelis and his wretched comrades.

“If we allow this sham,” Rockheart said, “then we will be brutal about it. They will be given the SandScream. They will have four hours to prepare. Then they will face the most difficult dungeoneers we’ve captured. That includes the Jade Leaf spell-caster. Normally, we would reserve that for Prince Chadrigoth, but if you combine the ranks of the Terrible Twelfth, all four of them, it would be almost equivalent to a Rank 1 Azure Branch Abyss Lord. Suffice it to say, the Terrible Twelfth will be given no mercy.”

Shadowcroft rose, his stately robes billowing out around him.

Both the Crystal Terpsichorean and the Rosaceae Flysnag gazed expectantly at their master. The headmaster combed twig-like fingers through his mossy beard. “A splendid idea, I think. And pragmatic. Yes, yes, four cores have access to a variety of skills, and with their Apothos pooled, that does give them a certain advantage. Some of these professors won’t think this is fair. But what is fair, Yullis? Raiders attack dungeons all the time that are beyond their abilities. And dungeon cores are murdered in return, by dungeoneers several times their level.

“It seems to me that Logan and his cohort are simply doing what we taught them to do—using their abilities to the utmost to protect the Tree of Souls. You are right, though. We must show no mercy. I want them to succeed, but it is true that there must be an impartiality to it. Your terms, old friend, seem like an excellent crucible in which to forge these four.” He rubbed his hands together. “Yes. We will try them, and perhaps they will fail and die. But what if they don’t? It is a grand experiment, worthy of the finest dungeon academy in the multiverse.”

Yullis kept silent.

Shadowcroft wasn’t wrong—no, his recruiting practices were wrong. He’d gotten lucky taking in the Urothling. Logan had proved himself exceptional. But the Sangretta satyr? Never.

And if the astral moth and the minotaur could be so easily swayed? They deserved the same fate as their ridiculous goat-friend.

Marko raised a hand. “Uh, Rector, shouldn’t you be happy about us doing well? It does help the Azure Clan and the leaderbread.”

“Leaderboard,” Treacle corrected.

The satyr thrust out a finger and said, “Points!” as if that explained everything.

Rockheart ignored the fool. He lived for the Azure Dragon Clan. Yet, the standing of his clan paled in comparison to preserving the sanctity of the school. Even if the headmaster couldn’t see that.

The gargoyle raised his hand to show four claws. “Four cores. Four hours. They will face six heroes. And I will not be overseeing their exam. Zhen Ikgix can do the proctoring. I refuse to be anywhere near this travesty.”

The rector prime turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, wings flaring out behind him.

He knew what he had to do.

The Final Exams started that Monday. With thirteen dungeons to use, they could go through the students far faster than the Placement Exams. The school buzzed with the thrill of the exams, with students chattering in the Golden Serpent Hall, discussing how they’d undid the evil plans of the raiders, or toasting fallen cores who were killed. It happened every year. It was part of the Winnowing.

Freshman, sophomores, juniors, and seniors, all died. Of course, the freshman class lost the most. This year, Rockheart would see that Logan, Inga, Treacle, and that insufferable fool Marko were among their number.

Forty-eight hours later, on the eve of the Terrible Twelfth’s misguided efforts, Yullis Rockheart used the DIE Pavilion to whisk him to the entrance of the Chaos Oasis. Its sandstone corridors were empty for now, the various traps and minion rooms quiet and lifeless. At the bottom, in prison cells, were the most powerful dungeoneers. The raiders didn’t have their weapons or their armor, and their cores were temporarily crippled with powerful elixirs, so they couldn’t cast spells or use any of their cultivated powers.

The grimy men and women glared at Rockheart. They saw him as the evil monster.

The gargoyle-griffin strode up to the bars of a cell. He glanced around at the six wooden beds, their mattresses thin, but their blankets clean. There was food and water for them, even some wine, because they wanted the would-be heroes healthy for the trials to come. Iron sharpens iron, and the only way to improve was to be pressed.

At the back, sitting at a table, was Linraist Erejam, the cowl of his cloak pulled up to conceal his face. He was a Jade Leaf raider—the very same Vampiric Runecaster who’d failed to plunder the Slaughter Pits. Kyvandry had captured the impudent dungeoneer and delivered him by hand for use in the finals.

The Runecaster sat with a silent, scowling dwarf, Orem Leadblade, clad only in his filthy underwear. Near them was a half-elven druid, a woman with short blonde hair, a scarred eye, and a missing ear. She was Ekli Oreniel, and her scimitar was sharp and her healing spells powerful. Near her sat a she-orc warrior named Lyndagg the Skinner. She was dressed in hardened leather that didn’t cover much. She was missing most of her normal armor since that had been confiscated along with her obsidian skinning knives.

But his real quarry slept on one of the beds, purring softly. A type of cat man, called the Ferox. Tetsukya “Tearclaw” Cratris was a B-Class Azure Branch cultivator who hailed from Kitterxob. The fur-covered War Sentinel could cast a myriad of deadly spells as well as fight with his long claws. Tetsukya had a Terra and Mallus Affinity, like Rockheart himself. The perfect dupe. He had the markings of a jaguar, gold and black, with cat ears, no hair, and feline features. Shirtless, he was a thick, muscled creature, attractive, except for his pants, which were very, very red. Too red.

He needed to die.

The midnight-haired rogue of the party, someone with better fashion sense than the cat man, approached the bars. He wore fine silken clothes with muted colors, so as to emphasize his bright smile. “Well, now, a monster. I’m Flynn Corry, and I’ve been told by a tall, tree sort of person we can win our freedom if we plunder a dungeon. I’m assuming it will be this dungeon. Can you offer any more details?”

“It won’t be this dungeon,” Rockheart said. “I’m here to discuss something with Tearclaw. Wake him for me. Now.” Not a request.

The cat man rose, swept his legs to the side of the bed, and stood. With a flick of his hands, he exposed his enormous talons. “I am here. I will talk with the gargoyle.” He padded across the floor to the bars in silent feet.

Flynn Corry grinned. “Please, Mr. Gargoyle, tell me something. When we go a-plundering, will we get our effects back and will our cores be restored to full strength? We won’t have much of a chance if we feel like hell.”

Rockheart nodded. “You will have your spells, your skills, and all of your armor and weapons. Now, stand back. If you don’t, I will kill you where you stand.”

Rockheart knocked some dust off his arm, and the dust grew into his Rockling Bonebreakers, a dozen of them, in seconds. The gem in his belly glowed with a dark light as Rockheart felt Apothos drain out of him to create his faithful underlings.

Flynn winced. “I’m guessing you’re a Jade Leaf cultivator, at least. Maybe even a Heartwood.”

Rockheart was rather flattered, though the man was far from his mark. He was a high-level A-Class cultivator. He’d been stalled out at Rank 2 for the last ten years. Gaining even a single rank at his level was a chore of years—part of the reason it rankled so to watch Logan advance by leaps and bounds. Even if Rockheart could make it to Rank 1, the chances of advancing to S-Class were minuscule. That shift required more than mere power. There was a mental and spiritual component to it that few ever understood or overcame. It required Revelation to forge the knots necessary to complete the task, which was the very reason there were less than fifty S-Class dungeon cores in all the known multiverse.

Shadowcroft was certainly among their number—as were the other dungeon academy headmasters—though it was rumored he was actually an SS-Class Crown cultivator. Whether that was truth or not, no one could say for certain, and Shadowcroft only laughed whenever someone asked him about it.

“Tell me the dungeon we’re facing isn’t going to be an S-Class dungeon,” the rogue said. “How’s about a bit of bloody good news, eh my rocky friend?”

The man was smarmy. Normally, Rockheart would’ve wanted to watch him die slowly and horribly. In this case? He had definite plans for Flynn Corry and the rest of his ilk. “Don’t worry, Mr. Corry, the dungeon you face won’t be an S-Class. There will be four C-Class dungeon cores, all working in concert with one another. If you succeed in plundering the inner sanctum, you’ll get all their Apothos and your freedom. I wish you well in your endeavors.”

Flynn scratched his head. “Really? Multiple cores in a dungeon? I’ve not heard of such a thing.”

“And you won’t ever again,” Rockheart growled. “Not if I have a say in the matter.”

His Rockling Bonebreakers led Tetsukya “Tearclaw” Cratris out of the prison, down a hallway, and then down a set of steep stairs to the very bottom of the oasis, where a swampy room full of alligators waited, a central pedestal rising out of the swamp water. It was nice having thirteen dungeons on Arborea—they always had plenty of cells for their captives.

For now, the pedestal was empty. It would stay empty, so no one would get suspicious about why Yullis Rockheart was at the bottom of the Chaos Oasis.

The rector prime’s Rockling Bonebreakers latched onto the cat man in a flash, gripping his legs and arms in their stony grip.

“Why have you brought me here?” Tetsukya asked in a silky voice, unafraid.

Rockheart approached the cat man. “To kill you. Your pants are far too red.”

He drove his stony claws into the heart of the cat man. Tetsukya was dead in seconds. Rockheart inhaled the dead raider’s Apothos—his own gem gleamed.

As a gargoyle-griffin, he could alter his shape, and while he hadn’t used his stone mimic ability in eons, becoming a copy of Tetsukya Tearclaw was easier than he would’ve thought.

His bonebreakers all grinned at him. One came forward with a shirt for him so he could cover the core gem gleaming in his belly. Another offered him the core cripple potion.

Rockheart took the vial in his cat paw. Logan and his cohort were cheating, even if Shadowcroft couldn’t see it, but going against them as a Jade Leaf cultivator would arouse suspicion. But with this nasty elixir he could temporarily cripple himself, dropping his level to Azure Branch for the length of the exam. He would be considerably weaker, with the same general abilities as the Jade Leaf cat man. Still, he had no worries about his chances against Logan and the others. Not even as a lowly B-Class.

After all, he knew everything there was to know about dungeons.

With that knowledge, he was going to help those raiders destroy the Terrible Twelfth.

A bonebreaker held up the red pants.

“The things I do for this school.” Rockheart sighed and put on the wretched garments.