The Gene of the Ancients (Rogue Merchant Book #2): LitRPG Series

by Roman Prokofiev

  A hundred souls were equivalent to a million gold, according to Panda’s exchange rate. I didn’t really like that idea: the law of Balance had a strange algorithm, and it was quite possible that taking those souls would make matters worse. Still, they had persuaded me that the damage would be insignificant, that a faction war was going on anyway, and basically, that everything would work out.

  “What reward do you want?” Komtur asked casually.

  “Two. I want two rewards. Which would should I tell you first, the small one or the big one?”

  “Let’s start with the small one.”

  “All faction tags that the NPCs drop will be mine.”

  “You mean tokens? That was no problem. Now to the big one.”

  “I need your ‘yes,’ Komtur.”

  “I don’t get it,” the head Watcher asked me again, confused. “My ‘yes’? What do you mean?”

  “Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask you for your hand.” I smirked. “I’ll need a favor. I don’t know what exactly yet. Promise me that you and the Watchers will help me when I ask you.”

  Komtur chuckled, then looked at Olaf. He clearly wasn’t taken with my demand.

  “Cat has come up with a con of some kind,” the Prophet said. “It’s a weird request.”

  “Yes, I sense a catch,” Komtur said, looking at me now. “You could wish anything you want, with these conditions. I don’t like it.”

  “As you wish,” I shrugged. “I’m not going to subject myself to the Law of Balance for nothing, anyway. Deal with the Pandas yourself.”

  Komtur and Olaf exchanged glances once again. I sensed that Komtur barely restrained his rage: some newbie who wasn’t even part of the clan yet was trying to get the best of him, the clan leader. Kick him and be done with it!

  And if anyone else was in my place, that’s what they would have done, no matter the talents. They’d even add that cocky bastard to the KOS list, for his arrogance. But I realized very well that by becoming one of the Seven, the wielding of the flaming sword, the Soul Eater, I turned into a big fish. They needed souls to pay the Pandas, and they needed me — as a phenomenon that could benefit the clan. And right now, I was simply stating the price of a unique commodity — myself. They had no choice.

  “That’s too much, Cat,” Olaf said. “Let’s talk about it. Maybe you want items from the clan warehouse? Money? After all, you’ll soon join the clan. Prove your loyalty. We really need your help now, and when you need ours, we won’t hesitate to offer it.”

  “That’s what I’m asking for. I think that’s fair: you scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours,” I answered, smiling. “Don’t worry. I promise you, my request won’t harm the Watchers.”

  “That’s enough, Olaf. Don’t you see that it’s no use trying to convince him?” Komtur said spitefully. “I agree to your terms, provided they won’t go against the clan’s interests.”

  “Then two hundred souls,” Olaf added hastily. “It will be fair.”

  I sighed deeply. They wanted to negotiate? All right, then. They’d better hold on.

  We left half an hour later. Olaf tried to avoid looking at me, while Komtur was red as a lobster and huffing. I drove a hard bargain, spelling out to the guys that the market was swelling with offers from players with Soul Eater weapons. Why not look around and haggle? If they wanted to save a million gold, they really should accept my rather decent offer instead of presenting themselves as unyielding leaders. A million was almost a hundred thousand terro — enough to buy a top of the line reactive Balt or a small studio apartment in an old district.

  In short, we agreed on Komtur’s “yes,” all faction tokens dropped by NPCs and all loot from the raid. Personally, I thought that they got off cheaply.

  * * *

  The raid was to march out at 5 AM — the time when the enemy would offer the least resistance. The Watchers’ strategists picked our target: a distant rank two outpost belonging to the PROJECT. It was manned by an NPC garrison with a constant party from HELL always on watching duty. Its location was highly inconvenient: a southern swamp between two rivers nicknamed the Woodland Sea for its size.

  Yawning, I watched the reed beds and duckweed drift by below me, interspersed with forest groves. The stench was horrible, and swarms of mosquitos hovered above the shores. It was the middle of nowhere, full of dangerous swamp mobs; nobody ever went there alone. The edge of the kingdom, safety level: yellow.

  Our raid glided low, flying on our birdies — thirty clanless players who had left the Watchers just for that raid. According to the agreement between Tao and Komtur, the clans couldn’t fight each other directly, which was why the Watchers had created a special squad of “neutral” soldiers. I wouldn’t be exactly surprised to see HELL do the same.

  In the distance, the morning mist parted to reveal wooden walls with a glimmering surface shining around them. The enemies had had enough time to erect a Magic Shield, a special screen that formed a protective Dome around the fort. While it was up, it was impossible to get into the outpost from outside. It also reflected physical and magic damage of all types. Supposedly, it was powered by special alchemical fuel, which was pretty expensive. To be honest, I didn’t pay that topic a lot of attention.

  Anyway, our strategists had a way to counter the Dome. Upon a prearranged signal, the mages rained down all their might on the outpost, using powerful spells and maybe even scrolls from clan storage. Something resembling a meteorite hit smashed the fort from above: a mass of roaring fireballs, followed by a shower of icy needles. Huge spectral swords fell from the sky one after another, crushing the demon. Mages cast their strongest AoE spells, trying to erase the defensive barrier as soon as possible.

  “Heads up! PROJECT’s here, I saw three of them: Hashem, Aero...I can’t see the third one.”

  “Check their log-ins, they might open a pentagram.”

  “Already done it. Everything’s clear. Only seven of them are online, no raid.”

  “So they’re asleep. Good, it will be easier for us. Dimonicus, take them. First, kill Hashem, he’s a multiclass Druid, he might cast a summon!”

  “Roger that. I’m descending. Groups one and two, follow me. Mages, renew the Swirling Shield, they’re firing at us! Ready Cleansing, on my command!”

  We soared above the burning fort, flying in a wide circle. Twelve players, almost half of our regiment, went down in sync, vanishing in the clouds of thick grey smoke. For a minute, an eerie calm set in the voice chat. Finally, Balian couldn’t handle it.

  “Dimonicus, what’s going on?”

  “Nothing. They’ve retreated into the keep, inside. Actually, they’re escaping via Soul Stones.”

  Somebody cursed, and I heard a few nervous laughs.

  “So much for your celebrated HELL...”

  Raccoon seemed furious.

  “Stop flood! Everybody, quiet! Or I’ll mute the hell out of everyone!”

  Still, if you spared a thought, HELL’s fighters were correct. Why give the enemy free frags defending a doomed outpost while being outnumbered ten to one?

  Our raid descended and entered the walled perimeter in one fell swoop. Everything around was in flames. I couldn’t believe that anyone remained alive after such a fierce bombardment. My companions rained down Grand Fire from the backs of their birdies, starting new fires. Arrows swooshed out from the smoke to meet it — the NPC guards weren’t going to give up the fort without a fight. A few birdies crashed down on the ground, hit by a multi-shot ballista on one of the corner towers. It was promptly incinerated. I saw the NPC soldiers fall down with a cry, engulfed in flames.

  We landed right in the center, right at the entrance to the keep, scattering the rushing guards with the help of our flying mounts. Almost immediately, the battle was in full swing. Four warriors surrounded me: Alex, Argentum, Dimonicus, and Loser. They were tasked with covering me from the flanks and the rear.

  “Come on. It’s your cue!” Olaf yelled. “Let’s go, until everyone’s de
ad!”

  I unsheathed my sword and studied the blue metal of its blade, glowing with fire. I wasn’t exactly anticipating the things I was about to do, but the die had long since been cast. Time to move!

  The first enemies charged at us from inside the smoke, screaming wildly. They were Daigor armigers, I recognized the lion on their triangular shields and their striped red-and-black cloaks. It is during fights such as this, when a bearded brute with a drawn sword comes down at you, that you realize the true beauty of total immersion. Like a snake shedding its skin, the world around you comes out of its shell, and soon, there is no Earth, no twenty-first century, only you against the enemy. Adrenaline starts pumping through your veins, and you sense the pleasant weight of your weapon in your hand, just like your forgotten ancestor back in the Middle Ages when going into battle. That’s why Sphere was so addictive and why anyone hooked on it would never get off that needle — because, in moments such as this, the world seemed more than just real.

  When the first soldier attacked me, I countered with a burning strike of Aelmaris. My opponent’s weapon disappeared in a bright flash. I reached the shocked armiger with a long lunge forward, and he transformed in a cloud of smoke, ash, and pieces of equipment falling on the ground.

  Souls eaten: +1!

  I saw a line in the log and checked the counter in the sword’s stat block — now it had 19. I had earned the previous eighteen during the battle at the Old Crossroads, rescuing the young Err of Dan-na-Eyre from his plight.

  “Cat, finish him!” Dimonicus shouted from the right, stepping back so I could access a stunned NPC writhing on the ground.

  Souls eaten: +1!

  The five of us went around the keep. The Watchers lured NPCs to me, and I one-shotted everybody without even wasting the Fiery Lightnings. It felt like cheating, as easy as taking candy from a baby.

  The only problems arose inside the keep, the fort’s central fortification. Turned out that the Daigorians had managed to hire a Guardian, a rank 4 NPC. That lord, together with his retinue, had barricaded themselves in the keep’s main hall and even sent a few overly careless players to the resp point. Such a lord was a tough nut, and cracking him single-handedly was impossible. I remembered seeing the Eyrian lord general Laort, an NPC of the same rank, easily fight off three pro players at the tiltyard. Such NPCs had off-the-scale Strength and inhuman reflexes. I still couldn’t quite figure out how Tao had managed to kill the Err, who was even more powerful, without any help, but that was Tao...

  We had an ace commander, Balian the Raccoon. Upon encountering resistance, the raid regrouped, and the tactics changed. Melee fighters didn’t matter here; it was time for magic, scrolls, and ranged damage. I was kept in the middle and protected, which is why I didn’t get to see the details — only hear fireballs exploding and the Great Lightnings thundering around. They picked off the knights one by one and knocked the Guardian on the stone floor, snaring him with nets. The hulk, clad in magic armor, tore them with his hands, refusing to stay down, and tried raising his serrated two-handed sword.

  “HotCat! Come on!”

  My flaming blade cut through his armor like a knife through butter. A flash, a sigh, and the Keeper crumbled in a cloud of grey ash.

  “How many?”

  “Eighty-nine!” I replied, frowning.

  The raid leader commanded the others to clear out the remaining NPCs, leaving them for me to finish off. The situation grew more distasteful with each minute. I was no angel, but killing defenseless NPCs with a fiery sword brought me no pleasure. It was no battle, more like a travesty. After all, Sphere’s NPCs felt almost like living people, and I wanted no part of being a butcher. Two Watchers were holding the latest bloody victim, waiting for me, and suddenly it dawned upon me — right now, I was no different from the Pandas in invaded Eyre, killing slaves in the square. That thought ruined my mood for good.

  Souls eaten: +1!

  Attention: you have eaten 100 souls!

  Rare achievement unlocked: Soul Eater! You received a free attribute point! (Unspent points: 6)

  You received 10,000 XP!

  Current XP: 66102/150000

  Attention: your reputation with all NPC factions decreased by 5%!

  After those lines appeared in the log, I decided that was enough for today. Faction reputation was much harder to earn compared to personal one — pretty much only by handing over special items (different for each faction) and faction quests. A five-percent decrease meant that I was now disliked by previously neutral NPCs. Thanks to my rescue of the Err, I was Revered by Eyrians, but I hadn’t even seen most of the other factions yet! That sucked.

  Somebody put their hand on my shoulder. It was Olaf. With his fair hair and light beard, he looked like an intelligent Viking, only lacking the requisite wire-rim glasses. He hadn’t even drawn his sword once, sticking to commanding the battle, but his gleaming armor was splattered with blood.

  “Let’s go. There are more NPCs there.”

  “It’s done. I have a hundred,” I replied, sheathing the sword.

  “More souls, more profit from the Pandas,” Olaf insisted. “Let’s farm more of them while we have a chance; it could come in handy later.”

  “Listen, Olaf!” I said, my blood starting to boil. I was fed up with the pesky analyst and his nagging. It sure looked like he saw me as nothing more than a walking appendage to the miracle sword that had its own opinion — the wrong one.

  “Listen, Olaf! I just lost five percent of reputation with ALL Sphere’s factions, and who knows what might follow! Or do you think I should totally ruin my character’s rep for the good of the clan?”

  “That’s exactly what I think,” the Prophet answered calmly. “In terms of clan development, it’s the correct decision. Each of us should... Anyway, if you don’t agree, you can refuse. It’s your right. If you have a hundred souls, the contract is fulfilled. We’ll call upon Pandorum — they’re rushing us.”

  * * *

  The outpost burned like a giant bonfire, casting a huge pillar of black smoke into the sky. We left it behind and flew off on the backs of our birdies, fresh wind blowing in our faces. When the smoke turned into a trickle on the horizon, we landed on the bald top of a huge green mountain.

  Olaf produced an odd item from his pocket. It looked like a horn twisted in a spiral, its bronze surface covered with an elaborate engraving. He gave it to me, and I felt its weight in my hand.

  Small Signal Horn

  Quality: rare.

  Material: bronze, ellurite, silverite.

  Durability: 14/30.

  Upon activation, creates a long-lasting sound that travels through air. The source of the sound acts as a beacon to create a portal from another dimension.

  Attention: can only be used outside!

  “How should I activate it?”

  “Just blow hard enough.” Olaf smirked. “But first, fly up. Take my roc, then let it go. And don’t forget to return it to clan warehouse later.”

  “Won’t you go with me?”

  “Me? To the Pandas? Of course not,” he replied, and I noticed a shadow of fear on Olaf’s face.

  I blew the horn when the silhouettes of the Watchers on the ground grew minuscule, and the system helpfully informed me that going higher was dangerous. Nothing happened at all, but the thick sharp sound emitted by the horn hung in the air. A minute passed, then another.

  A massive bubble of folded space surrounded by a rainbow glow swelled up so abruptly that it was scary. Right next to me, the monstrous body of the juggernaut came out of an astral portal. The huge demonic skull on the keel advanced at me, malevolent flames burning inside its eye sockets. Lightning bolts passed through its sails, woven from the mist itself, and the cannon muzzles looked at me from the deck. A few birdies accompanied the ship, but next to it, black protodragons seemed no bigger than insects.

  I felt myself shiver. The very appearance of Pandorum’s vessel inspired fear. Yet somebody was waving at me from the bow. Get
down here.

  * * *

  The soccer field-sized deck of the ship had only a few people. It made sense; early morning wasn’t exactly the favorite time of most Russia-based players to log in. They kept lazing around, throwing me odd looks, and exchanging jokes. Somebody yelled just behind me, “Scouts, goddammit, hang on! We’re raising a Dome!”

  Blue glow enveloped the juggernaut, encasing the ship in a protective sphere of the same nature as domes of stationary outposts. The way back was blocked now; nobody could enter or leave.

  The Pandas, or, rather, the members of Steel Guard, their Russian-speaking branch, turned out to be uniformly red-colored thugs with karma in the lowest margins. Judging by their crimson nicknames, NPC guards of any kingdom would kill them dead in an instant. Reaching such a level required thousands of murders and other crimes. Still, Pandas seemed to wear their PK status as pride and treated players with blue or green karma with barely hidden disdain.