Arketa paused for dramatic effect. “It’s not just about protecting the Tree of Souls, it’s about attracting high-quality raiders, murdering them mercilessly, and siphoning their energy. A quality dungeon core will cultivate only what they need, while giving the rest of the energy back to the Tree. Which is why dungeon design is such a delicate balance. We want to stop the dungeoneers, but we also need to attract and kill them in order to rebalance the universe. Make your dungeon too difficult and no dungeoneers will ever come. Make it too easy and they’ll butcher you where you stand. We are like the Deadly Fly Trap—emitting an enticing smell while simultaneously arming ourselves for the kill.”
The professor pointed at Logan. “Believe it or not, but I happen to think you were smart to choose the fungaloid form. You can attract high-level raiders by growing any number of interesting mushrooms. Others of you, like Yellsa here”—she motioned to the Lady Ice Dragon—“can craft serious loot and imbue it with powerful spells and abilities. I’ve heard about your winter diamonds. Oh yes, I have. We’ll talk.”
Yellsa was in her half-dragon form at the time—a woman with a mostly serpentine body, except with long ice-white hair.
“But be careful,” Arketa warned. “As I said, it is a delicate balance. A dance of sorts. If you draw in raiders too powerful, they might take your loot, kill you, and keep going.” She threw Logan a glance. “For some of you, this will be the more pressing concern.”
Logan steeled his resolve. He was the weakest core in the class, but he was determined to change that.
Arketa wasn’t about to let up on her endless encouragement. “However, for weaker dungeon cores, you need to get creative. It’s not the size of the dungeon, but how you use it. For example, you can multipurpose rooms by mixing treasuries with trap rooms and putting them near your minion barracks.”
Logan nodded. “Do more with less and utilize even the smallest space. Like a murder-y trip to Ikea.”
Arketa laughed. “I don’t get it, but you expected a laugh. I want to be polite.” She shot him a wink. “Okay, class, we are walking.”
She led them deeper underground. They passed a collection of natural caves. “Sometimes, you want a more natural look. The stalactite and stalagmite combo is a classic for a reason. Also, such caves can branch off to house your minions. The trick there is to make sure your minions have their privacy but are still able to get anywhere in the dungeon as quickly as possible.” She shook her head and sighed. “We really shouldn’t have merged these courses. Well, maybe next year I can find a volunteer to teach the intro minion class. These professors can be so prickly.”
Arketa took them to what was obviously the center of the dungeon, with waterfalls of slimy root water gurling through channels in an ornate stone floor. The walls were a mixture of mud, vines, and stone carved into monstrous faces. Torches sputtered in the damp cavern. A familiar-looking pedestal rose up from the central dais.
Professor Arketa walked to the pedestal, turned, and waved her hand. “One cliché that you must embrace is the placement of the inner sanctum. Believe me, we’ve had dungeons try to hide their sanctums near the entrance. It simply doesn’t work and always, always, always ends in ruin. You want to protect your gem at all costs. Also, you want your raiders to work for their ultimate reward, which will be your destruction.”
“One question I’ve always had,” Logan said, sticking a spongy arm into the air, “is why not just wall off the inner sanctum? I mean, if they’re trying to destroy your core, why even give them a chance? I can build walls. Why not just cement myself behind ten feet of stone?”
“An excellent question,” she beamed. “You see, no matter where you position your inner sanctum in relation to the rest of the dungeon, the inner sanctum itself always connects to the Celestial Node. It is the energy that flows from the Node that makes Endogenous Apothos Manifestation possible. But more importantly, the Apothos that flows from the Tree and through the Node is the same Apothos that keeps the connected world from withering and dying. If you block off the inner sanctum, the Apothos will well up, doing great damage over time. For that reason, it must never be done. Now, who wants to take ownership of this dungeon?”
Ed the Rot Troll raised a hand. “Me will, Professor Pretty. Me will try.”
Arketa tilted her head. “Aww, Ed, that’s sweet, but Professor Arketa is fine. Just come forward. You’re a C-Class guardian, if I’m not mistaken. This should be easy for you. Fairly straightforward.”
Logan watched as Ed took the scratched-up gem from his belly and let it float above the pedestal. A ripple of unseen force washed out from the pedestal in a wave. Light flashed along the pedestal, and the walls seemed to glitter briefly with arcane power.
Arketa nodded. “This is good, Ed. Now, do you want to try some changes? This isn’t your crafting class—that’s going to be Fiendish Fabrication with Ronnalg Crucible. He’ll show you how blueprints work and how to craft items as well as architecture. Ron can be abrasive, but in the end, he’s a real sweetheart. For now, I’ll impart you a bit of my Apothos to give you a bump.”
Ed lifted his hands, and four stone columns rose from the black water. He added torches at the top.
The professor adjusted her glasses. “The columns are useful in hiding you, but if that were the case, you wouldn’t want the torches. Yet this is good, Edward, a simple improvement. Your columns create a bit of mystery, and also, you have both cover and concealment from potential ranged fighters such as archers. Oh, I hate archers. Arrows are the worst.”
Since Logan’s Ikea joke had fallen flat, he wasn’t going to attempt a Clash of the Titans joke.
After a few more tweaks, Ed took his gemstone and slipped it back into his belly.
One by one, the students took their turn connecting their core to the dungeon and crafting little changes to the room.
Marko added gorgeous paintings to the columns and a fountain that smelled suspiciously like beer. When Ed the Rot Troll saw that, he produced a flagon crafted from a hollowed-out yellow horn. He stood sipping the brew. Marko’s magic was impressive, but wouldn’t really do much to repel raiders. Though maybe a beer fountain could be a good lure.
Treacle crafted a steampunk-looking machine that flung little copper spheres like ping-pong balls at an alarming rate. It was a good piece of crafting for the former gnome, though Logan couldn’t see the boiler or flames that a normal steam-powered machine would have.
Inga summoned huge centipedes that crawled out of the water and skittered around the columns, tearing the canvas of some of Marko’s paintings.
The satyr scowled. “No one appreciates fine art like they should. Beer me, Ed.”
Ed passed him the flagon.
Finally, it was Logan’s turn. He approached the pedestal, trembling.
“So I just take the gem out and put it up there?” he asked, licking his nonexistent lips.
She nodded. “Remember, you are the gem, not your body. The body is just an Apothos-manifested version of your guardian form. Now, relax, little guy. This will be fun.”
Before dying, Logan had been well over six feet tall. He hadn’t been called “little guy” since the sixth grade.
He took a deep breath of courage and touched his gem, and it easily came out into his hand. He then placed it on the pedestal, where it floated upward to spin lazily around.