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. 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 pit 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 onto 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. 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 nor 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 went on 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 would 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 look like a conventional hero, but he was all the Earth had, and that would have to be enough.
THE END OF YEAR ONE
Dungeon Core Grimoire, Appendix 1
The Heroic Members of the Terrible Twelfth
LOGAN MURRAY was human. Eww, gross. He’s a former army being a radio operator and a combat veteran. He survived Iraq but lost his leg and then was eaten by a strange thrift-store video game mimic. At Shadowcroft, he chose to become a fungaloid, a little mushroom man who has a grand destiny with decay. After Year One he raised himself all the way to an Iron Trunk, Rank 4.
Inga Thosa Therian was the most beautiful, the most talented, and the smartest librarian owl woman on her home planet. Insert tragic back story. Now? She’s an astral moth dungeon core, and after her adventures at Shadowcroft, she’s a Rank 1 Iron Trunk dungeon. This is a luminous being that can bring down a million insectile monsters on the evil dungeoneers to end their plundering. She is Logan’s right-hand woman.