The Crafter's Dilemma: A Dungeon Core Novel (Dungeon Crafting Book 3) by Jonathan Brooks (english readers txt) 📗

He supposed he should still distrust that whole unbelievable premise, as well as question her insistence that his people come to the dungeon to take refuge; thinking about it, however, he couldn’t find it in himself to disregard what he had seen with his own two eyes.  Sure, it could be an elaborate plot to lure the 115 Dwarves – including all of the villagers and Shieldmen presently there – to their horrifically painful deaths inside the dungeon…but what if it was all true?  For all he knew, the Creator may have sent Sandra there precisely to help them all out, and it would be foolish to dismiss the possibility that everything was exactly the way she said it was.

The delicious breakfast consisting of all the meat he wanted that morning didn’t hurt, either.  If it was a bribe of some sort, it was a good one.

The Jaguar Queen and the bag of Energy Orbs weren’t the only things he was bringing with him, however.  Gerold looked to his right, where Felbar – the older Gnome – was bringing his large machine along, to hopefully give a little credence to his claims.  It was still a longshot, but he was aiming to get as much help as possible in convincing his brethren of the importance of what he was going to convey to them.  Short of some Undead attacking them, or the willingness of some of the Shieldmen to journey through the wastelands to see the source themselves, he was limited with what he had to work with.

Unsurprisingly, he and the machine the Gnome was piloting – which was nothing short of amazing, he could easily admit – were seen from a distance away.  Just as he had feared and was expecting, Second-shield Bregan was right out front with two other Shieldmen that had yet to leave for the day.

* I’ve told Felbar to wait until you need him, though I’ll be translating everything that’s said so that he can understand what’s going on. *

Sandra’s voice in his head surprised him, as he wasn’t aware she could speak to him outside of her dungeon.  It surprised him so much that he nearly fell off of the metal cat he was riding, though a quick grab of a rib kept him from sliding off and likely sending a horrible confirmation of his incompetence as he fell to the ground.

Before he could say anything, Bregan spoke first in his gruff voice, sounding somehow angry, curious, and cautious all at once.  “Gerold?  Where have you been?  Where is your armor, boy?”

Gerold hated when the Second-shield called him boy, but then again he called everyone that; when you were as old as the old Shieldman was, almost everyone could be classified as a boy or a girl to him.  White hair streamed out from the helmet that Gerold thought was never taken off, even to sleep, and his equally white beard was so long that the end of it had to be tucked away inside his armor to keep the Dwarf from tripping over it.  The lines on his face were so deep that Gerold thought he could put his pinky in one and it would disappear, which was in complete contrast to his own jet-black hair, short beard, and unwrinkled visage.

Despite his older age, the armor he was wearing was the original one he had received as a brand-new Shieldman a couple hundred years ago – or so the rumors said.  Unlike what the older Dwarf’s body had undergone over the years, the armor – and the battle-axe attached to his side – appeared unblemished, like it had just been crafted and hadn’t seen a day of battle.

“Second-shield Bregan, I have some dire news that you need to hear.  Yesterday I discovered that there is an undead-filled dungeon that is threatening to expand into our lands—”

“That didn’t answer my questions, boy.  Where have you been and where is your armor?” Bregan cut him off, his voice louder this time.

“Sir, that’s what I was trying to tell you.  I sensed a great surge in Nether energy out in the wastelands and went to investigate—”

“You deliberately deserted your duty here to go chasing some sort of sense you had?  And I suppose this is where you left your armor?”

“No, sir…I mean, yes, I left, but that was after I found a skeletal rat in the forest here—”

“So, because you saw a rat, you went off into the wasteland to see if there were more of them?  And were there any?”

“Uh…any what, sir?” Gerold asked, confused at the line of questioning but slowly dreading what it was leading to.

“Rats, boy.  Skeleton rats, if that is indeed what you saw.”

“Well, no, I didn’t see any more rats—”

“And if you didn’t see any more rats, then what was the point of your travels out there?  Everyone knows there’s nothing out in the wastelands; it sounds as if you deliberately went into an area that is off-limits without permission, leaving us wondering if you had died fighting Golems – which we’re going to have to double our culling today, thanks to you,” Second-shield Bregan again cut him off with a curt, admonishing, and accusatory tone, before his voice went soft and somehow…cold.  “I’m not going to ask again, boy…where…is…your…armor.”

Gerold swallowed a lump in his throat.  “You see, there was this big undead army, and then there was a metal ball that started to suck up everything – including the ground beneath it – and then I—”

Bregan’s face turned so dark with anger that it looked like he was going to explode.  “ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL ME YOUR ARMOR WAS DESTROYED?”

“…uh…yes?  But it wasn’t my fault, it was Sandra’s use of the—”

“I don’t care who you want to blame for it,