Shadowcroft's Academy for Dungeons Chapter 39

Logan sat with his friends in the Golden Serpent Hall for the graduation ceremonies. The seniors were leaving for their own dungeon assignment… Well, those that had survived their four years. There were fewer than fifty. Far fewer. It seemed the Winnowing had taken out a few of the seniors as well. And the four worst-performing students of each class had been expelled to become wandering monsters on far-flung worlds.

From the Azure Dragon Clan’s freshmen, a couple of the Franklin Four were sent out into the cruel universe. Logan felt bad. At the same time, he was grateful to be sitting there, sipping coffee. Most were guzzling wine, beer, Liverkill from Vralkag, and even some of the Gelatinous Knight’s soonerberry hooch.

Other freshmen had been murdered by raiders, and those villains were sent back to their respective planets. It was tragic in its way, but Shadowcroft had a brutal logic to it—better to lose students before they found themselves in dungeons protecting the Tree of Souls.

The Terrible Twelfth was finishing off the year with far more power than they’d had when they’d first been thrown together back in September. Marko had advanced to Iron Trunk, Rank 5, and Logan had skipped all the way to Rank 4, which gave both of them a bunch of new abilities. Logan wasn’t going to rush to choose his next mushroom powers—there wasn’t a need. He had two months before the next school year started up in earnest. Two months to decide. Shadowcroft needed time to reap new souls and prepare for the new year of incoming guardians.

Marko, as impetuous as ever, wanted to choose, but Inga talked him down.

Treacle ended the year as an Iron Trunk, Rank 3, and he looked forward to spending the summer getting special tutoring from Professor Ronnalg Crucible. Crucible had taken a shine to the minotaur. Both of them could sigh like professionals, and both loved crafting. A match made in heaven. The minotaur was confident that he’d be able to unravel the mysteries surrounding the magic items they’d won in the Winnowing.

As for Inga? She was one rank away from leveling to an Azure Branch cultivator—she was a C-Class, Rank 1, and she was looking at trying out new cultivation techniques to break through to B-Class. That was Inga… unable to focus… and always looking for the new shiny idea. She’d managed to get a job with Madam Orry Gammy for the summer, which would give her access to the bowels of the Codex Athenaeum, and an array of new books. Naturally, she was thrilled.

Logan was a little less pleased about his summer situation.

Most of the third- and fourth-year students would abandon Arborea, sent off into the multiverse on epic quests to hone their skills, help them cultivate more power, and acquire rare items to use in their future dungeons. First- and second-years, though, weren’t trusted with their freedom, so they had to help pull their weight around the academy grounds by helping the staff. Inga and Treacle were both set, and Marko was going to be working with the Gelatinous Knight at the Wayfarer Inn, deep in the heart of the Xiru Forest.

Logan, however, still hadn’t been offered an assignment, which was a little concerning.

Inga pointed, drawing Logan out of his thoughts. “I think we’re going to hear from the rector prime. He’s saying he had a little accident during the Winnowing.”

“Yeah,” Marko spat. “That accident was us—kicking his ass!” The satyr wore the bright, gem-encrusted robes, and he actually was dramatic enough to pull off the look.

Logan wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

Yullis Rockheart leaned heavily on a ruby-topped cane as he limped across the raised dais at the front of the hall. The rest of the faculty sat in their clan robes, in gorgeous thrones, with a smiling Skip Shadowcroft in the center seat. Arketa the Hellgazer was there, in a fashionable scarf and sunglasses, sitting next to the vulture-headed Bartholomew Nekhbet in wrinkled robes, looking as dull as ever. That didn’t stop Inga from crushing on him.

The shark man, John Toothbyte, was grinning and drinking from a big flagon, while the rakshasa, Suresh the Merciless, frowned. His clan, the Crystal Tiger, hadn’t won. Toothbyte hadn’t won either, but the underwater dungeon master was too good-natured, and tipsy, to care. The sharkish professor famously loved GK’s soonerberry moonshine.

Rockheart tapped his cane on the dais to silence the students. “Yes. And now, I have some announcements to make. As you all are aware, the Azure Dragon Clan has won the year, with over four thousand points!”

His core flashed, showing the leaderboard and the cohort standings, as well as the Winnowing grades.

The Azure Dragon = 4379

The Crystal Tiger = 4285

The Vermilion Phoenix = 4199

The Onyx Tortoise = 3956

Toothbyte let out a hoot. “If ye lose, lose big, says I!”

His clan hooted and hollered and stomped on the floor.

Rockheart didn’t like that at all. “Now, now, no sore losers.” He turned to give Suresh the Merciless a long look.

Suresh grimaced and licked his big tiger chops.

The rector prime turned. “For winning the year, all members of the Azure Dragon will each get a turn in the Sacred Hollow, which as you know, is a wonderful gift. I’m sure.”

Logan had no idea what the Sacred Hollow was. He threw Inga a questioning look. She rolled her eyes and mouthed: We’ll talk later.

Rockheart cleared his stony throat. “Yes, and we have Soul Powder elixirs for the cohort who won the overall rankings. That would be the Azure Dragon’s First Cohort, led by Prince Chadrigoth of the Eritreus Elite!”

The Abyss Lord, the Archduke Jimi Magmarty, Her Lady Elesiel of Everstar, and Tet-Akhat of the Coptic Champions all rose and walked up to claim their prize. Of course they would win. Logan was pretty sure Chadrigoth was within spitting distance of becoming a Jade Leaf cultivator, which put him well ­ahead of the rest of his year.

A Vermillion Phoenix cohort won the second prize, which was Purple Animus Potions for all. Professor Arketa was thrilled that a group from her clan had done so well.

Rockheart paused. “This next cohort has been troublesome.” He glanced down at Logan. “They were in my clan, and yet, I will openly admit that I have loathed them to their cores. I know many of you have pitied them and their various weaknesses.”

Marko rammed an elbow into Treacle. “He’s talking about us. I mean, you guys. Everyone pities you guys, though I’m still super popular.”

Rockheart pounded his cane on the floor to silence the murmuring. “On a personal level, I would’ve expelled them all. Don’t think I haven’t tried.” That required another glare.

Shadowcroft put a stick hand up to his face and sighed so hard a skull flower lost a petal.

“However,” the rector prime said after an overly long pause, “I was wrong about Logan Murray, Inga Thora Therian, Treacle Glimmerhappy, and even Marko Laskarelis.” Rockheart nodded. “Yes, even the drunken satyr won me over. All four have worked harder than anyone at this school to improve their ranks and to embrace their mission to protect the Tree of Souls. Truly, their solutions have been innovative, their strategies sound, and as I have said, their work ethic beyond compare.”

“What’s a work ethic?” Marko asked.

“It’s what we make you do,” Inga snapped. “Now hush.”

Rockheart stared into Logan’s face. “Logan Murray, the headmaster and I are excited to see what the future holds for you and your friends. Most fungaloids die early. But those that find friends, good friends? The future is theirs for the taking. Come, you four, come and receive your hard-won prize.”

Logan couldn’t believe it. They’d risen in the rankings to become the third best cohort in the school. Mostly it was due to how much they’d leveled, but there were also teacher evaluations, which meant Rockheart must’ve given them glowing marks for his end-of-the-year evaluations. In the end, it had taken killing the rector prime to win him over—who ever would’ve guessed that would be the solution?

Shadowcroft, Rockheart, and all the teachers gave Logan and his friends smiles as they applauded. The First Cohort hardly clapped. Except for Tet. The cat woman was practically beaming at Logan. Which meant she had the faintest ghost of a smile on her lips. It was still a victory.

Logan and his friends were given something called Psuche Powder in little ornate golden tins.

When Rockheart handed the powder to Logan, he nodded. “I meant every word I said, Mr. Murray. From here on out, I will be your cohort’s biggest advocate.” He tapped his rocky nose with one finger. “I have seen how powerful and merciless you can be. And to that end I have decided you will be my intern for the summer break. Prepare yourself to be honed into a weapon of unimaginable power.” He clamped a hand on Logan’s shoulder and pressed down. “Great things are in store for you, I think. Great things indeed.”

Logan offered him a thin smile and mumbled some vague platitudes. Prepare yourself to be honed into a weapon of unimaginable power. Logan was glad he’d finally earned the prime rector’s respect, but he couldn’t help but wonder whether having Rockheart in his corner was going to be more difficult than having him as an enemy.

After the ceremony, they left the Golden Serpent Hall. Banquet tables had been set up in the northwestern fields, near the DIE Pavilion. It was a warm night, but torches still burned, and a big bonfire was lit. A band of dungeon core creatures struck up a rhythm which brought out the dancers.

Of course, Marko was the first person to shake his groove thing.

Logan didn’t sit to eat. He was still digesting the dungeoneers he’d stuck in the digestive pits. Rockheart allowed him to keep one in the SandScream until he’d chewed through all the adventurers. Since he wasn’t eating, and he wasn’t ready to dance, he wandered up to the northern castle walls. There he was given a fine view of the ice-capped Grimjour Peaks and a starry sky.

A tall figure swayed down the ramparts, coming toward him. It was a mixture of limping and shuffling, kind of like how General Grievous walked in The Revenge of the Sith. That would be the headmaster. Shadowcroft towered over Logan.

The yellow mushroom man glanced up at the towering tree guy. “You know, I was super happy to get taller. But still I feel so short next to you.”

The headmaster chuckled. “You’ve come a long way, Mr. Murray. I wanted to congratulate you personally. You’ve won over the rector prime, which I thought would not be possible your freshman year. And I know Yullis well enough to know that he cares more about the students at this school than clan or cohort standings. Yes, the leaderboard is fun, but your ultimate destiny is far more important. You have done well. All of you. Again, my sincerest congratulations.”

Logan grinned and touched his mushroom cap. “Thank you.” He paused, to remember his long, very strange year at the academy. It had started in the teeth of a Reaper Box, and it had ended with him not only passing all his classes but saving his friend from certain death. He thought of home… his dogs, his business, his uncle Bud.

He pondered aloud. “So, Shadowcroft, one of the reasons why I’ve worked so hard this year is because I’m worried about Earth.”

“Erf?” The headmaster opened his mouth but butchered the pronunciation. “Ert? Urth? Oh, you mean Uroth. Yes, Mr. Murray, it will be up to you to save such an out-of-the-way place. I’m afraid no academy, no dungeon core, cares much about it.”

That stung Logan. But it also hardened his resolve. “I’ll get there, Shadowcroft. I’ve come this far. But what kind of wicked hijinks am I going to be facing my sophomore year?”

The headmaster laughed. “I do enjoy you, Mr. Murray. You, Marko, Inga, even Treacle, have brought a certain life to my old school. There will be both highs and jinxes in your sophomore year, granted, but I would hope there will be far less wickedness.” Shadowcroft paused, and it was like he knew about Rockheart’s various gambits to undo the Terrible Twelfth.

He stroked his mossy beard. “Things won’t get easier, though, I’m afraid. We need you as strong as you can be. For in the span of three short years, which will fly by, you’ll find yourself holding the Tree of Life in your hands. Have a good night, Mr. Murray. And again, congratulations.”

Shadowcroft swayed away, his limbs creaking a bit, like a stiff wind against a tall cottonwood.

Logan inhaled, taking in the scent of the night. The world was alive around him, in the peaks, in the forests, on the castle grounds. He turned to gaze down into the courtyard, where the party was in full force. Hundreds of monsters danced, drank, and feasted. He saw Rockheart dancing with Arketa, despite his weakened body.

Tet-Akhat stood back from the First Cohort, looking alone, but happy, at the party. Chadrigoth and Magmarty were clearly talking smack about their fellow students, with Lady Elesiel standing there to chortle at their terrible jokes.

The Abyss Lord caught Logan looking. Chadrigoth pointed at his eyes with two talons, then pointed them at Logan. Yes, the prince would keep his eyes on Logan. Well, Logan could handle anything the asshat threw at him. He wouldn’t be bullied. If he could beat Rockheart—even in a weakened state—he could take Chadrigoth, too. Maybe not in a toe-to-toe fight, but he would find a way. Guys like Chadrigoth relied on their formidable strength, and as a result, they never thought outside of the box because they never had to.

Logan lived outside the box and that was his greatest strength.

Inga and Treacle shuffled and twirled near Marko, who danced up a blinding storm in his jeweled robes.

Inga noticed Logan up on the wall. She waved him down, and by the look in her eyes, it was clear she wouldn’t be denied.

Logan took in the night air one last time. He’d get himself a beer, he’d dance a little, and he’d enjoy his victory. Then? Maybe he’d take a week off, study up on the Psuche Powder, and then he’d get back to work. He was sure Rockheart would push him, and he intended to be ready.

Shadowcroft had said it. The next three years would fly by, and in the end, Logan would be in a dungeon, stationed at a Celestial Node, protecting the Tree of Souls from the foul dungeoneers bent on destroying the universe. Logan swore that he and his friends were never ever going to let that happen. And along the way, he’d find the means to restore Earth. In a very real sense, he held the fate of the planet in his thick, three-fingered fungal hands. He might not have looked like a conventional hero, but he was all the Earth had, and it would have to be enough.

No. He would be enough.

THE END