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

by Roman Prokofiev

  Still, the main issue was the customers. Retail was important, but only a bulk buyer could really provide a steady income, and there was basically only one option — the state, or, rather, the army. Amidst a faction war, troops needed a constant supply of consumables, especially healing potions.

  I headed straight for Eyre castle and chatted with the soldiers there. Bored while on duty, they were happy to have a conversation, and me being a Friend of the Eyre Nation with a faction medallion to boot implied that I could be trusted. As a result, I managed to find out that the standard kit of a rank one NPC warrior included one Medium Healing Potion and one Medium Antidote and that lately, they were in short supply.

  Finding the head quartermaster wasn’t hard, either. However, that was where I encountered a problem.

  “Your desire to equip the army is commendable,” said the scrawny man with a yellowish face, throwing up his hands. “I won’t lie, after Ciage’s death and the destruction of his lab we had some issues with finding a supplier. However, everything’s been dealt with. We found a manufacturer and signed a contract. I can’t help you.”

  I kept trying to win him over, promising a better price and terms, but he didn’t even want to take a look at my offer. Going by the old fart’s behavior, I realized there was a reason. Most likely, he had his own fingers in that pie. Eventually, he turned blue in the face, yelled at me, and kicked me out, dropping my personal reputation by a hundred points to Disliked.

  Fine. In my experience, in such cases, one needed to forge ahead, contacting actual decision makers. I had a faction amulet, the title of Friend of the Nation, and I went straight to the Err. Were the two days I hadn’t logged out of the game, trying to save His Majesty from Tao and company, for naught? Time for him to pay the debt!

  To my surprise, Endved received me almost immediately, and even looked happy to see me. At any rate, he invited me to the lesser reception hall and offered a seat at the table covered with maps and atlases, sitting down on the other side. He didn’t look well, seeming much older. His features were drawn, dark circles under his eyes. With the crown on his head, he was almost a carbon copy of his late father.

  “What’s up, HotCat?” he asked. “Please make it quick, I don’t have time for chitchat.”

  “Because of the war?”

  “Exactly! The orcs from House of Darkness invaded us from the north! There are thousands of them, and nobody has any idea how they managed to get across so many leagues!” Endved clenched his fists. “We already lost three forts. I don’t even have time to sleep! If you want to help, enlist in the militia, we’ll be grateful for each new sword.”

  “Actually, I’d love to contribute, but in another way,” I replied. “Tell me, are you supplied well enough?”

  “Our supply? It could be better, I suppose. Knowing you, I’m sure you aren’t altruistic. Tell me, what’s your plan? And stop beating around the bush!”

  “This time, all I want is to help one of your subjects, Your Majesty,” I said, staring him right in the eyes. “Ciage’s niece resumed elixir production and wants to supply your troops, just like her uncle used to.”

  “A niece? I didn’t know about her. Fine, so what’s the problem?”

  “Your quartermaster refuses. He has a new supplier.”

  “You merchants...” Endved drawled wearily. “Listen, I don’t have time for such little things. HotCat, the quartermaster’s in charge of that, go talk to him and don’t bother me with this anymore. Dismissed.”

  I stood up and went all-in.

  “So you don’t care about your subjects deceiving you?!”

  “That’s a very serious accusation,” Endved said through his teeth, standing up in turn.

  “Just look at what price your quartermaster’s buying common Healing Potions. For reference, I’m offering fifteen silver per vial.”

  The young Err focused and froze for a few seconds. Just as I had expected, a more powerful AI took over when a more complex situation arose.

  “Thirty-five,” he said softly. Then he raised his voice. “Get me General Laort!”

  “Tell everything to Laort!” he said, turning to me. “Let him check. It does look suspicious, our treasury’s all but empty, anyway. And thank you!”

  Completed hidden faction quest: The Weakest Link!

  You discovered a weak link, a dishonest person inside the Eyrian army, and revealed his treachery, making the faction stronger. Find all weakest links, and the people of Eyre will be thankful!

  Your reputation with the nation of Eyre increased by 50! Current value: 300/5000 (Revered)

  Your reputation with Endved Elyon, the Err of Eyre, increased by 50! Current value: 160/1000 (Respect)

  Attention: you unlocked a hidden series of faction quests, The Weakest Link. Discovered: 32/100.

  You receive 25000 XP! You receive 1 free attribute point!

  Rare achievement unlocked: Anti-Corruption Crusader! You are the seventeenth player to have obtained this achievement with the Eyre Nation!

  In an hour, I signed a contract with the new quartermaster, while the former one was chained up and escorted to the dungeons beneath the castle by two “barleys.” My guess turned out to be right; he had been overcharging for potions, lining his own pockets.

  The rewards heaped upon me, including the rare faction quest, were only a nice bonus to the feeling of fulfillment. The first delivery was to happen in three days.

  “Five hundred Healing Potions? Three hundred Regeneration Potions?!” Weldy’s eyes widened as she read the contract. “In three days? But where will we get them, HotCat?”

  “Don’t worry, it’s all set. Just sign the contracts!” I pulled out several rustling scrolls, putting them in front of her. “See, here’s the transportation contract, and that’s the agreement with the alchemist workshop...”

  I could be proud of a job well done. In truth, Weldy didn’t even have to do anything, the scheme worked by itself. The hired NPC transporter would deliver the batch of elixirs from Davna to Eyre, not even visiting the shop. All she had to do was accept the orders from the quartermaster and tell the alchemists the required amount, while also arranging delivery. The markup was quite small, only a few silver coins for each unit, but considering the size and the stability of commissions, it made up a tidy profit.

  “Also, take this, to start with,” I said, producing a mountain of scrolls I had bought out from the auction the previous day for a bargain price. Mostly, it was trash, quest loot that players didn’t need; I had spent only a few coins for them. But the shop needed some stock, and NPCs weren’t especially discerning.

  “HotCat! You know I don’t have anything to pay you with!”

  “Don’t mind it. You’ll pay me face value after you sell all of it. Friends should support each other, or why else would you need them?”

  “Thank you, HotCat. I hope your plan works,” Weldy said, lost in thought as she studied the contracts. “Hey, what’s that knocking?”

  And true, loud noises were coming from outside: hammers banging, saws screeching, voices. Something was clearly being constructed.

  “It’s your new sign. The old one was no good. Since you appointed me your crisis manager, I decided to take charge.”

  “Crisis...what? Are you making fun of a poor girl, again?” Weldy tucked up her skirt and raced out from behind the counter to have a look.

  “Well, I’m not sure about that. I liked the old one better!” She said, narrowing her eyes and examining the fruits of our labors, mine and the local marketing agency’s that consisted of two carpenters and an artist. “It’s too big, too gaudy, too conspicuous...”

  You bet. We replaced a plain-looking unremarkable plaque with a colorful openwork sign plate that had images of vials, scrolls, and magic gems drawn on it and a logo, “Potions, Scrolls, and Magic Items.”

  “What are those glass cylinders on the edges for?”

  “For illumination. Light a magic candle inside, and your sign will be visible even
in the dark! No customer will pass by without seeing it!”

  Advertising is the engine of commerce. It wasn’t hard for me to help Weldy set her own small business up and running; all I had to do was to give it a good push, so it would pick up and hit the stride. Her shop was situated in the Upper Quarter, on a busy street on the way to the Err’s castle. Lots of people were passing by every day; if she made her presence known, while maintaining a good stock and a competitive price, she would have no shortage of customers. Behind Weldy’s back, I also planted a few announcements in the trade chat and general chat of Eyre, attracting players to her shop. Even if they didn’t buy anything, they might pass the information to others through the grapevine: word of mouth marketing worked in all worlds.

  “Hey, what’s that shop? Is it new?”

  “I passed by here the other day, I don’t remember anything...”

  Three players stopped by the entrance. Going by their appearance, they couldn’t have spent more than a couple of months in Sphere. They looked at the flashing signboard with some interest, then went down to the basement, one after another.

  “Oh, HotCat, will you take the elixirs? They’re ready and packed,” Weldy suddenly remembered.

  The Tincture of Fire? Why would I need it now? I had achieved my goal, making money on it.

  “I don’t need them anymore,” I said, smiling. “You can sell it and give me a cut of the profit. And if you don’t, I won’t hold it against you, you need to get your shop running.”

  “You’re so...nice, Sir Cat!” Swept away, Weldy flung her arms around my neck and gave me a passionate kiss on the kips. Whoa! It wasn’t chaste, at all. A real lover’s kiss, even if fueled by gratitude.

  Your reputation with Weldy Nialit increased by 100! Current value: 540/1000 (Respect)

  In a few seconds, she broke away from my lips, blushing, and said sheepishly, “I have clients there, I need to work!”

  Then she rushed off inside.

  Chapter 10

  MY ASTRONAUTS finally returned. The New Tokyo flight arrived at 10 PM. Alena, tanned and smiling, cuddled against me, while Victor handed me a huge traveling bag, not saying a word. Two weeks passed so quickly I barely noticed, as I had rarely left my capsule. On the other hand, I had done a lot in Sphere, making quite a bit of money — the perfect husband. A thorough inspection of the apartment didn’t reveal any evidence of parties, items left by strange ladies, or cigarette butts with lipstick on them. Everything was fine, and even our account boasted as much as six thousand terro: our budget for two months. I had thought about withdrawing more money from the game, but pretty soon, I would need the gold. I had another plan. We spent the day and the night together, with Alena gushing over the Star, showing me videos and photos, and readjusting to each other after the two-week separation. Late that night, when she fell asleep, exhausted, I looked at the silvery VR capsule standing in the drawing room. Weirdly, I didn’t think of it as a cool entertainment device anymore. To me, it was now a door to another world that wasn’t all too different from ours. I was leading another life there, and apparently, the game stopped being just a job for me. Slowly but surely, I was transforming into one of the junkies who got off on the magic of total immersion.

  The next morning, I ate my usual breakfast and climbed into the capsule, while the robovacs circled the apartment, buzzing, and Alena hummed a tune while washing something in the kitchen. At last, life returned to its course.

  * * *

  Day by day, I continued working at a leisurely pace. I met my clanmates, visited the clan warehouses, and sent deliveries to the Eyre auction. Twice more I went to the Bazaar, buying and selling the stuff the clan needed. My latest visit turned out especially well. Komtur told me to purchase a huge batch of expensive magic gems with Estel affix, to be inlaid into PvE sets, probably intended for farming Helt Akor. I managed to buy them directly from an Upper World trader whose contacts I got via the Shadow Guild chat, shaving off almost a hundred thousand from the expected price. The Watchers Council were so happy they gave me a bonus, five thousand gold.

  Roughly speaking, while working just for the clan, I earned around ten grand as my salary, a Silver Spark, basic consumables, and compensation for the equipment lost during raids. I also got as much for small errands, such as fetching items from the Bazaar and reselling them. I could live on that money, but I wanted to live well, being used to good food and never bothering to look at price tags while buying stuff. And then, I had loans that needed to be paid. I had already calculated that to maintain status quo, I had to withdraw around seventy or eighty thousand gold each month. Playing the Bazaar stock market was interesting enough, but I wanted a separate source of income — or why else I join the Watchers?

  Taking my time, I studied all the available information, examining the transactions of clan accounts, reading the bulletins, the alliance mass messages, chats, and forums. For my actions to become truly efficient, I had to become a part of that system, grasp its inner workings, and understand its mechanism.

  Eventually, I came to a few conclusions. I estimated the clan’s budget, monthly turnover, and the approximate sums used for various needs, like salaries for officials such as myself, buying Sparks to prolong subscription, allowances for crafting or buying consumables. Most transactions covering such expenses were made from several accounts I had no control over; only Council members and Komtur himself could handle them.

  The first account, called Alliance, apparently stored funds for mutual settlements with the alliance and related transactions. The second one was more interesting. It was called Rent, and it was the biggest source of Watcher’s income. The amounts were truly impressive. Intrigued, I started digging.

  Turned out, it was the monthly payments of the tenants: clans that rented part of the Watchers’ territory. The Northern Alliance controlled a big part of the Wild Lands, the entire northwest of Dorsa — almost a quarter of the continent, stretching from the Windy Sea to the Wild Field. It was made of twenty-two clans with more than a hundred thousand in-game accounts, more than half of them active. It was always surprising that with such numbers, the Watchers had gathered less than four hundred players to fight the PROJECT. Where were those thousands of allies?

  It took me a while to put my finger on the reasons. There were only five PvP clans, the core alliance members. It was them who had helped each other a year ago, restoring order in the northwest with an iron fist and taking control over the vast territories.

  Yet they hadn’t gotten the numbers to populate and hold the piece they had bitten off. That is why the Northern Alliance, keeping the richest area, opened its domain to settlers, or “carebears,” small and big farming clans preferring PvE to PvP. Those clans could live in the Wild Lands, farm dungeons and mobs, build outposts and mine resources, and in return, they paid rent, the size of which varied and depended on how rich and big their area was. The warriors of the alliance, in turn, guaranteed the farmers’ security and protected them in case of aggression. Strange as it may seem, the Watchers, a PvP clan with just five hundred members, mattered more than thousands of small fry.

  I realized that it was serious business. The rent money was enough to pay the core members a salary and cover all expenses, probably with plenty to spare. The Watchers’ leadership was definitely far from poor, and now I knew where it was coming from. With those sums in mind, it became clear why the screening process was so hardcore; there was too much money involved to invite random people.

  I also realized that I was entrusted with small potatoes. Six available accounts were not bad, but mostly, it was routine buying and selling through old schemes. Well, it would be stupid to expect the Watchers to let me manage all of their funds straight away. Essentially, it was a decent source of steady income that allowed me to deal with my real-life problems. Let’s start with the small before going at full throttle.

  Despite my tasks, I continued training hard. A hundred duels per day became part of my daily schedule. After reaching ran
k three, my melee skills increased at an annoyingly slow pace, and earning new SP required performing elaborate techniques. My personal skills also grew, and I didn’t even notice how I became a regular patron of the Eyre arena. Clan training under skilled teachers and constant arena practice bore fruits, and progress was inevitable.

  Newbies and clanless players didn’t pose any danger to me anymore, and most of my duels were against pro fighters of the alliance. I came to grips with not being a champion, but was on the verge of becoming an all-around strong fighter able to keep up with veterans. Even masters such as Balian, Loser, and Dimonicus had to make an effort to defeat me.

  One day in the arena, I suddenly bumped into old friends, Diareus and Svenn. After failing the Watchers exam, they had dropped off my radar. To my surprise, both former Liberty recruits had joined some clan and flaunted pale yellow nicknames, indicating low karma. They had been violating justice. They were on the brink of becoming red, which would make even visiting kingdoms risky. Guards would attack them on sight, forcing them to wear cloaks of disguise all the time.