“My name is Keldarin,” said the NPC. I could see it by the nickname above his head. Keldarin, priest. “Sorry for frightening you. I just wanted to draw your attention when I realized that you came bearing gifts.”
“You almost gave me a heart attack,” I grumbled. “How did you manage to get so close?”
“Invisibility. My cloak’s enchanted,” Keldarin smiled awkwardly. “Players rarely wander in here, and if they do, they mostly try to kill me. How is it you say, add me to the kill rate? That’s why I have to hide.”
“Was it you who cleaned up here?”
Based on the half-elf’s story, he was a traveling cleric. He had found this temple not that long ago, discovering that it had become active. Somebody, according to Keldarin, had turned the shrine on by offering a huge sacrifice to the Gods of Shadow. Seeing as temples of Shadow were rare, and working ones, almost extinct, he had decided to stay and take care of the altars. It was a good way to become one of the few Shadow disciples, and the half-elf was pleased with his find.
It all seemed odd to me. So it was I who had activated the shrine? Then the puzzle fell into place: a sharp increase in reputation, a legendary scroll as the reward. But why was Tormis silent?
“Silent? Really?” Keldarin smiled. “He has accepted your gift.”
I looked back. True, the necklace had vanished from the statue’s hand, and a line in the system log informed me that my reputation increased by ten. Just ten? I hadn’t come all this way for that!
“I see you’re disappointed,” said the half-elf. “Tormis is an unpredictable deity. Sometimes, he gives generous gifts, but he also takes them away. It is an odd choice of a patron for a player. Why did you decide to serve him?”
“I don’t know. Serendipity, I guess,” I said and shrugged. “I think it was him who chose me, not vice versa.”
“I understand,” Keldarin nodded. “It happens. It means that you fit some of his criteria.”
“And how does one become a servant of Tormis?”
“Oh, it’s a difficult question. This god has no servants in the usual sense. He prefers acting by proxy. If he wants something of you, you’ll know that.”
“So I came here in vain,” I said.
“In vain? Nothing happens in vain,” retorted Keldarin, a gentle smile on his face. “Touch the altar.”
Keeping an eye on the strange elf, I pulled off my glove and put my hand on the rough cold stone. The altar lit up, shining with a soft golden light, and I thought that I saw the statue’s hand move. Was it a trick of light?
It was not. A quest icon with an intricate gold frame appeared before me. I had never seen anything like that before. A legendary quest!
You are offered a quest: The Grand Temple of Shadows.
Attention! This quest is classified as legendary storyline! Refusing it will result in losing all reputation!
Tormis, the God of Shadow, offers you a deal.
Each god has their own main shrine. The one belonging to Tormis is veiled and sealed by his enemies. You must find and liberate the Grand Temple of Shadows hidden in the Endless Paths.
Completion time and the number of participants: unlimited.
Reward: reputation, archetype, (varies).
Then came the warning labels: depending on the completion methods, I could encounter 18+ content, violence, reputation loss, not for children and the easily scared, etc. The only thing missing was “DON’T DO IT” written all in caps.
But I, of course, accepted the mission. How stupid would I be to refuse a divine quest?
“If Tormis marked you, I suggest you continue serving him. For you, it will be easier than for most,” said the half-elf behind me.
“Naturally,” I grinned, turning to him. “Oh, and one more question: do all gods love masquerades? I suggest you alter your tactics. You won’t fool even a baby with this disguise, Tormis!”
Your reputation with Tormis increased by 100. Current value: 3910/5000 (Friendly)
I heard a chuckle. Where Keldarin had just stood, now was only a dark cloak that fell on the floor in a heap, its contents gone, as if no NPC had been misleading me a few moments ago, telling me tall tales about taking care of the temple. I had guessed his real identity from the first second. What a circus.
I bent down and took the gift left by the god, a cloak of disguise woven from dark blue cloth, almost black. It was almost weightless and smooth like silk.
Cloak of Shadows.
Quality: rare.
Durability: 34/48.
Material: moonsilk.
Disguise: upon donning the hood, hides nickname and status.
Shadow Step: activates Shadow Walk. 10 seconds/1 hour
Increases resistance to shadow, light, air, fire, earth, water, and mind magic by 30%.
Wow, that was pretty cool! As far as I knew, common cloaks of disguise had no affixes other than the main one, and most players didn’t particularly care for them. Here, however, I had high resistance scores and Shadow Walk. What was that, by the way? The description said, You can walk in shadow, becoming unseen and intangible in the corporeal world.
Invisibility? Great, even if only for ten seconds an hour. It might get me out of a jam someday. I put it on, feeling the cloth cling to my shoulders. A splendid cape. All right, time to leave. I walked toward the stairs leading up.
But as it turned out, the day was far from done. As soon as I stepped outside, the combat log burst in a slew of messages. I was expected.
A throwing net fell on me from above, not making a sound. It was a vile thing — if thrown correctly, it could bind you hand and foot. I gripped the handle of Aelmaris, but the bunch of hooks peppering the net sunk into my skin, hindering my movements. In the next moment, a harness appeared around my shoulders, and I was immobilized. A heavy body slammed into me, kicking me down, and I felt cold steel against my throat.
One, two, three. For some reason, I wasn’t dead yet. Then the unseen enemy huffed, put his blade away — I was able to notice it was a bluish curved scimitar — and scrambled up behind me.
“I had just one kill left to reach the daily plan!” he said somewhere above. “Cripes!”
Somebody gave me a gentle nudge. The effects of the nets and the harness disappeared.
“Stand up, Cat, what are you lying around for?” the same voice continued.
I flipped over and exclaimed in honest surprise, “Thirteenth?!”
“Who else could it be? It’s my domain,” he confirmed loftily. “Jeez, only one kill! So much work for nothing...”
Yes, it was one of the Nonames, the PK clan whose members I had happened upon not that long ago. Back then, we had hit it off well enough. The fact that Thirteenth, a real piece of shit, a kill rating addict, hadn’t killed me right away, spoke volumes. And that was great, because I had an offer for Black Don’s people.
“How did you find me?” I asked, standing up.
“How else? Maura found you,” Thirteenth pointed at a scrawny dark-haired girl huddling behind his back.
“She’s a pawn and my scout,” he explained off-handedly. “Hey, who were you chatting with in the temple? I didn’t hear the conversation, but Maura swears she saw only your signal on the search screen.”
“Talking to myself,” I replied. “Listen, Thirteenth! I have a million terro proposal. I need to talk to Don.”
Thirteenth paused for a second.
“He’s offline,” he informed me. “I wrote to him, he’ll log in soon. Let’s go, I’ll take you to our lair.”
The Nonames had taken refuge in the ruins of a burned outpost. It had been destroyed only recently, going by the scorched soil around it. There were only twelve of them, and their spirits seemed low.
“We’re hard pressed,” Thirteenth explained. “All because Blackie enlisted noobs, half of which skedaddled after the first fail.”
After talking to him, I learned that Wild Field was again in turmoil. A new Attila the Hun had risen. Somebody named Token had combined
a few large clans into a battle-ready alliance and started a bloody vendetta against everyone who had refused to submit to his yoke. The Steppe had seen such attempts more than once, and each time, the coalition had broken down eventually, the clans turning on each other, as the cave was too small for several bears. But so far, war was in full swing, and the Nonames, plus a few other clans, had been driven out of their old haunts, only occasionally raiding their former turf.
After meeting Black Don, I laid down my offer, with Arrow and Thirteenth also present. After seeing their reaction, I knew that I struck home. Their eyes lit up with a predatory glow. Thirteenth even sprang up and walked up and down, excited. He was probably already imagining fat kill scores in the rating, robbing rich caravans, and carebears running away in horror...and the glory, the infamy of the top player killer that so many Sphere die-hards were itching for.
“An interesting proposal, HotCat,” Blackie said, speaking through his teeth. “Very interesting. I need to think.”
“What’s there to think about?” Thirteenth exploded. “Blackie, people are leaving the clan in droves, don’t you see it? They’ll either jump ship to Token or kick us out of here. Probably both!”
“Quiet!” the leader of the Nonames shut him down. “That’s not a decision to be taken lightly. It requires some consideration.”
“I have a question,” said Arrow softly, staring me in the eyes. “The places you’ve marked on the map are controlled by Watchers. They’ll be hunting and killing us.”
“They won’t. Or rather, they won’t catch you,” I sneered. “I guarantee it.”
“We don’t have enough people for that, Blackie,” Arrow narrowed his eyes in doubt.
“I could try talking to the Artist,” said Thirteenth. “His guys will totally be up for it.”
“A couple of small clans will be helping you,” I added. “You’ll need to vouch for them.”
“No problem,” Blackie brushed it off. “The main thing I’m worried about is your agenda in all this, Cat. See, I don’t believe that you’re selfless.”
Typical. Why did people always accuse me of being self-serving? Maybe it made their lives easier? Whatever, I wasn’t going to dissuade them. If the Nonames wanted to fork over a percentage of their future spoils, let it be so. Three percent? Five? Might as well ask for five.
Chapter 12
“HEY OLAF, aren’t you supposed to be smart? Could you explain something to me?”
The clan analyst gave me a cold look. I am smart, it said. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to waste my time on some HotCat.
“Fine, but make it quick,” he finally deigned to say.
“We are controlling our region, aren’t we? Then why aren’t we buying out our tenant’s resources in bulk, right on the spot? We could make good money on this.”
Olaf stopped to think.
“There are a few reasons. Which one should I tell you first?”
“The main one.”
“First, the carebears don’t agree to this. After all, it’s not like they’re our servants. They can sell their stuff wherever they want to. Some of them find shipping and caravans and all that stuff fun. If we made such a condition upon leasing them the territory, nobody would have joined us. It’s kinda like slavery, get it?”
“I see. What are the other reasons?”
“Well, it’s a real drag. You’d have to make the rounds, take everyone’s cargo...the territory’s huge, it would take days. And we don’t have our own Astral carriers. Who’d do all of it?”
“I would. Provided properly arranged logistics, it wouldn’t take long.”
Olaf laughed out loud, quite sincere.
“Do you really think you’re so clever?” he asked me though laughter. “That nobody had this idea before, buying carebear goods cheap on-site and selling them at the Bazaar? Seriously?”
I didn’t think myself especially clever. Olaf was probably projecting. As I saw it, an idea wasn’t worth anything. It didn’t matter who had it first; the important thing was who could make an effort and achieve the goal.
“Those who don’t care are already selling their stuff to Phoenix,” said Olaf. “Their cargo barques buy out our tenants’ goods. It’s agreed that we don’t touch them. We vouched for their traders, even if we’re neutral to Phoenix themselves.”
So that’s how it was. Phoenix, the Red Alliance, were a huge aggregation of clans who inhabited the center of the continent, the rich territories around Golden Fairs. They had a diverse lineup, but gravitated towards farming. As for their military power, they outnumbered us, but their soldiers were weaker. The Watchers looked down on the “Reds,” but were eager to do business with them. I had a suspicion that our alliances had a secret mutual assistance pact in case a third party attacked us.
“So Phoenix buys out their goods. Why not us?” I asked.
“Because nobody cares about that, neither we, nor the carebears.”
“We, or rather I, care. Here, take a look at this when you have the time,” I said, sending him my calculations via a personal message. “As for the other party, we’ll make them care, too. We could arrange a situation where they won’t have a choice.”
“Interesting. And good for the clan, too...” After going through the data, Olaf threw me an interested look, like a professor looks at a caged monkey that suddenly learned to multiply. “But unattainable. How will we persuade the tenants? How will you remove Phoenix? And most importantly, it’s unlikely Komtur will ever agree to your scheme.”
“I’ll take everything upon myself, the tenants and the Reds,” I said. “As for Komtur...I have an idea, too.”
* * *
After obtaining Olaf’s consent, I proceeded to step one of my plan. First, I needed to get rid of Phoenix. The whole situation was infuriating: why were outsider peddlers buying stuff from our tenants? It was our cow, and we were supposed to milk it! However, I anticipated that negotiations and petitions wouldn’t produce any results, other than fuel tension between the alliances. Snatching a swallowed morsel from the mouth was way too hard. I needed a different approach.
First, I gathered information. The player in charge of the Reds’ trading was Zampotil, my old friend. It was really a small world! It was he who had sicced the Brotherhood of Whip on me a couple of months ago in response to the profits reaped by me at the Fairian auction. That knowledge added a special touch to my revenge. Pumped, I headed to Fairs and continued digging.
The Phoenix Alliance controlled the heart of the continent, the areas around Dorsa’s biggest trading hub, the City of Golden Fairs. It was a rich NPC kingdom, the most populated place of our world, and the starting location of most newbies. The local auction was owned by their traders, with the majority of lots belonging to them. No wonder they had perceived my attempt at speculating in arrows as a personal offense.
Zampotil, thankfully, was no Diamond player, and wasn’t hiding his nickname and stats. Evidently, he had been living there for a long time and felt completely at ease. More than a hundred of his lots were up for sale on the Fairian auction — the best, most in-demand items. More than half a million in goods, a pretty large sum: ammo, consumables, weapons, elixirs, lots of stuff. I carefully wrote everything down and entered their names on the website with Bazaar prices, also checking their prime cost via craft calculators.
As a result, I got a list of thirty-eight lots that earned eighty percent of my victim-to-be’s profits. His mark-up ranged from thirty to two hundred percent. The remaining lots were unimportant. From the looks of it, Zampotil was one of the greedy traders who put up everything they could up for sale, hoping to make at least a penny.
My next destination was the Bazaar. After passing through the frenzied crowd, I found myself inside the familiar VIP apartment, and the NPC doorman smiled at me, like I was an old friend.
I spent almost two hundred fifty thousand gold and two days to buy out all of the items on his list via buying lots. Then I found a ship — it was an Astral nave,
as the cargo size was impressive — and sent all of it to Fairs via a contract.
A day later, without declaring a war, I started fighting. Dozens of lots appeared at the Fairian auction at the same time, the same as the items sold by the Reds, but with a lower price. I decided to pull the plug on Zampotil and strip him of his main source of income.
The Diamond account helped a lot, of course: as the seller’s name was hidden, so nobody could find me. The only thing clear — and I knew very well about it — was that an anonymous player had challenged the Reds in the heart of their domain.
The main battle started a few hours later: right and proper, with archers shooting from afar, the vanguard attacking, and the cavalry outflanking the enemy. I had reserves, too. Competing with Zampotil was a real pleasure. Still, I had an advantage. He wanted to drive the competition out, while my goal was to keep him from making money. I was willing to sell the goods at prime cost, so he wouldn’t get any clients.
The Gene of the Ancients (Rogue Merchant Book #2): LitRPG Series Page 17