Shadow Seer (Rogue Merchant Book #3): LitRPG Series

by Roman Prokofiev

  “What do you mean, you used to? Where can we find them?” I asked. The zwerg’s words changed everything. If someone had already reached the Isle, I needed to find them and figure out how to get there.

  “Where can you find them? There!” The captain pointed at the black water overboard, smirking. “That’s where they are now.”

  “Hey, you, get away from the broadside, stop staring at the water! Get to work!” he yelled at two bored sailors and turned back to us. “You are passengers, but I suggest you stay on your guard, too. The sea here is alive and full of nasty things. Got it?”

  “Got it,” Fayana replied, not blinking. “How about our pawns, Captain? Will they fit in here?”

  “I don’t care in the least. Let them out if you want,” Thrainul said, waving. “But know that any scars they get here will last forever. You’ve heard about that, right? So if you’re willing to risk your NPCs’ pretty faces, you’re welcome.”

  “Then it’s not worth it,” the Pioneer said, her expression turning harsh. “What’s your route, Captain?”

  “At the moment, we’re destined for the Rat Isles. It’s too dangerous to moor there, so we’ll just pass them by. The next waypoint is the Stone Forest. We’ll come ashore and visit the local cradle of filth. Then we’ll skirt Mildew, the Eye, visit the Crown of Ice, drop HotCat off at Scale, and finish our trip on the Dusty Shore. All the sights of the Hole at your disposal.”

  “Didn’t you agree to let us hunt the local deepwater monsters? The elite ones. They’re barely researched,” Bonus spoke up.

  “You’ll get your chance. I’ve yet to voyage without a hunt like this,” Thrainul grumbled. “One thing you’ll never lack for are those beasts, I promise.”

  “What about that...Isle of Madness? Can’t we go there, too? It sounds interesting.”

  “NO!” Thrainul let out a banshee-like wail.

  * * *

  What an odd world. The sea was ink black, green haze swirling above it, while shadows flickered inside the pitch darkness. I noticed something strange—despite the perpetual gloom, day and night still existed. At day, the sea seemed to glow, and we sailed in the midst of a translucent greenish fog. When Thrainul deigned to turn on the artifact-level searchlight on the bow of the ship, it illuminated the area well ahead of us. At night, however, the darkness seemed impenetrable.

  The Rat Isles loomed in the distance—a mountainous shore broken by fjords, empty and bare at first sight. The ship lights revealed jagged cliffs sticking out of the black water and tarnished with a slippery coat. We slowly sailed past the coast, and I noticed the crew take up battle positions without warning.

  “See? There, on the right! Storm, point the flashlight!”

  An unusual construction on a flat plateau emerged from the darkness ashore—something like a huge pyramid haphazardly put together from black boulders of different sizes and shapes, all covered with scarlet inscriptions. Either pictograms or glyphs, the ugly characters peppered the entire surface of the pyramid. They were a dreary, depressing sight, almost like the Ancient drawing in Helt Akor.

  “This is the main landmark around here!” Thrainul announced. “The entrance to the Flooded Temple.”

  “I’ve heard about it. It’s a raid dungeon,” Bonus said with a nod. “Why isn’t anybody farming it?”

  “Raids are rarely assembled here,” the captain replied, shrugging. “I visited it, and so did others. Inside...ugh, it’s full of nasty things—Ratlings, ratling cultists that summon various crap. Then you need to go underwater and fight the drowners. You can’t simply walk in there without a powerful air mage or deepwater equipment. We did go all the way through. At the end, the path to the Drowned King opens up, and that’s the Deep factions, a real clusterfuck...”

  “I’d love to explore this instance. At least the entrance,” Fayana said. “Thrainul, could you drop us off here?”

  “Don’t. It’s very dangerous,” Thrainul said, shaking his head. “You don’t see it, but there’s an ambush. Wild ratlings are guarding the coast. It’s an unnecessary battle, and these creatures are fast and nimble; I can’t guarantee your safety.”

  “We could inspect the pyramid on birdies, flying around it,” Bonus suggested.

  “There are many signals on the shore. The captain’s right,” Fayana said slowly, putting her index fingers on her temples. “And there’s another one, big, descending on us from above. What is it?”

  As soon as she said that, I heard the warning shout of the ship’s seeker—a fishman, a weird tall and fragile creature with translucent eyes. I still didn’t know his—or her—name, as that NPC spent most of their time in the water in front of the ship.

  “What?” Thrainul’s face twisted. He immediately turned the steering wheel, sending the vessel into motion, and pulled a lever. Screeching and clanging, the armored plates folded along the broadsides moved up, covering the ship in a hemisphere. The captain had activated the submarine mode that I hadn’t seen yet.

  “We’re going to submerge,” he told us curtly. “Birdies, you were saying? Look!”

  Through the rapidly closing gap above us, we saw a large white silhouette fly out of the darkness, almost as big as our ship.

  It was a moth: most of all, that creature resembled a pale nocturnal insect scaled up a thousand times. It had translucent wings, each the size of an astral ship’s sail, long antennae, a segmented abdomen, and bulging amber lenses of compound eyes. Black curved claws viciously glistened on its six stretched paws. Fear makes mountains out of molehills, but each of them seemed as tall as a human.

  Silent and graceful, the monster glided down, almost falling on top of the ship, and we recoiled in horror when its shadow covered us. But the gap between the plated hemispheres grew smaller and smaller until they finally closed, and a blow reverberated through the vessel, making it reel—the moth rammed into the armor. After that, we heard a dreadful screech, like glass cutting steel, and a thin, barely audible, ultrasonic shriek that made us automatically cover our ears.

  We were turning around and submerging at the same time, and the emerald-black water of the underground ocean pressed against the thin glass of the portholes. The sounds of blows died down, and so did the shrieking. I peeked at the combat log full of “1 point of damage” lines—the creature’s acoustic attack could harm us even through the armor!

  “Did you screenshot it?” Fayana quietly asked her assistant. “This monster’s not in the Almanac. It’s epic and unidentified!”

  “I recorded a video. Captain, what monster is this?”

  “Whole colonies of such moths live above, among the stalactites under the dome. There are even worse creatures... That’s why nobody flies here on birdies other than around the inhabited lands. They’ll swallow you together with your mount and won’t even notice!”

  His words shattered one of my hopes—reaching the Isle of Madness on a winged mount. So flying was out of the question. I would have to find another way, questioning all information sources—thankfully, the ship was full of them.

  “We’re bound for the Stone Forest!” the captain announced as the vessel reached the required depth. “You can go ashore there. For now, rest. You can log out—nothing interesting will happen until then. Well, if we don’t stumble into another monster, of course.”

  All of us gathered around the front hemisphere, large portholes displaying the Hole’s underwater attractions. The cone of light emitted by the bow projector dispelled the inky darkness, illuminating web-like clumps of black weed and the translucent coils of long fish that seemed closer to tapeworms. At first, those sights seemed exotic, but soon, I grew tired of them and stepped aside to talk to Rocky. The Gravekeeper was wistfully polishing a monstrous jagged harpoon—a projectile for the chain cannon installed astern.

  “Hey, Rocky, could you enlighten me about something?”

  “You’re a curious one!” the Gravekeeper exclaimed, snickering. “Fine, go ahead. You’ll treat me at the Pirate’s Heaven.”


  Half an hour later, I knew a lot about Dagorrath, ranging from the political background to the trade routes of Thrainul’s ship, which, incidentally, was called “the Abyssal.”

  It really was a hole, no other way to put it. There were no auctions, no Golden Hamster offices; teleportation magic or connecting pentagrams didn’t work there. You couldn’t summon anything from another world or open an Astral Portal. That’s why it was impossible to get a common flying ship into the Hole, and locals had to make do with pseudo submarines assembled using artifact blueprints. Extremely aggressive flora and fauna, unfriendly NPCs, grotesque lifeforms... The majority of local monsters seemed vomit-inducing. The depths of the sea were home to creatures capable of destroying the ship with one blow. The rewards weren’t especially generous, either, and required a lot of effort and risk. Naturally, the number of players who hung around there wasn’t high (no more than a thousand visits a day for all time zones), and they were scattered. There were no powerful clans, other than an unofficial community of free captains whose ships prowled the underground ocean. Sphere generally didn’t count any saints among its players, and the locals held no scruples about killing and robbing all outsiders. Still, they let each other be and sometimes even helped—in this inhospitable world, mutual responsibility was necessary for survival. Rubbing his hands in satisfaction, Rocky told me that we were about to reach their lair in the Stone Forest. Other than farming sea monsters, Thrainul also dabbled in trade with the upper worlds. I understood his scheme as basic profiteering: finding out the demands of NPCs in certain ports and delivering small batches of relevant goods. Going by the volume of his cargo, I doubted that he made a lot of money.

  The sharp tooth of a stalagmite announced that we were getting closer to the Stone Forest. The further we sailed, the more of them emerged from the water, sticking out in sharp columns like Christmas icicles the size of a cliff. The navigator had to maneuver around the obstacles under the water or above it. It really did look like a forest, a forest of stone spires protruding from the black depths, a chilling maze. Watching the captain, I realized that only an experienced pilot could get there; that place was accessible only to those who knew the right waterways.

  Lights shone in the distance—a circle of buoys and a pale-yellow shimmer somewhere far above.

  “Here it is, my darling,” Thrainul purred under his breath, slowing down the ship. A large stalagmite came out of the fog, its flat surface covered with many buildings sticking to it like swallow nests. I saw berths and walkways, a mishmash of various structures, and the chains of hoisting winches that held ships hanging in the air. The Stone Forest had no harbor. Several vessels were anchored next to it, while others had been raised to the wharves above the water, probably for repairs or unloading. Our ship seemed to be the largest of them all.

  “I’m buddies with all the locals, but you aren’t. So this here’s rule number one: stick with me. You’re only safe when you’re close to me. This place has unwritten PVP restrictions, so it shouldn’t be too dangerous,” the captain told us after assembling us on deck. “Still, never go wandering about without any of the crew. The resp point’s close, but I don’t really want to get anybody out of there. Rule number two: don’t touch unfamiliar items, don’t eat strange food, and don’t accept gifts from strangers. Have I made myself clear? Then come with me!”

  A horribly screeching elevator carried us upward, two clay golems pulling the hoisting winch that held the rusty cage. On our way there, we passed gaps and growths on the giant cliff covered with houses, pathways, and staircases. Curious faces peeked out of the windows by the railings.

  Shaky platforms trembling beneath their feet, the unmoving sea far below, clear as glass... How could they live there? The stalactite stairs led us to the top, to the lively streets lit by rows of yellow lanterns. Among the crowds, I saw players, NPCs, and mounts—even a birdie shot by us in the sky. Despite the vast array of races present, all of them had one thing in common: low karma.

  “Storm, drop by the wharves and tell them to send us drinking water. Globber, find engineers to repair the ship. We need to replace the third gear in the handwheel, remember?” Thrainul ordered his crew around. “Drumba, you’ll take care of stevedoring. After you’re finished, find us in the tavern...”

  The tavern was a building with a pointed roof and a garland of lanterns that invitingly gleamed at us from the distance. The sign said, “Pirate’s Heaven.”

  “The lair of local smugglers and pirates,” Rocky whispered to me. “The liveliest place in all of the Hole!”

  It really was lively inside. The swirling puffs of tobacco smoke made Fayana cough, and I heard the sounds of a violin and a slightly tinkly piano. NPC waitresses scurried around the tables, deftly evading the customers’ pinches, and a half-naked beastgirl writhed around on the stage, clearly a professional. Almost twenty heads turned to us at once, and Thrainul got more than a share of mumbled greetings and attempts at handshake as he walked to the bar counter. Around us were players, NPCs, and pawns of all shapes and sizes, including rare races like ogres, fishmen, and serpentfolk. I even noticed an odd creature fully decked in a deepwater suit with a round diving hood.

  “Thrainul! You old beard, did you bring me my wine?” the barman, a large bald orc with a big belly, yelled across the hall.

  “I did, just as promised. Send a boat to the Abyssal,” the zwerg boomed, content. “Fifteen, I mean thirteen cases.”

  “Have you guzzled down two along the way?” the orc asked, grinning. “Well, at least it’s something! The guys here are sick of that mushroom slop, and we’re running out of rum!”

  “What’s new around here?”

  “New? Nothing, really. As usual, everyone’s whining about the horrors of the Hole and dreaming of leaving for the upper worlds, but nobody does anything. Britt managed to get a two-headed mutated shark. Oh, and one more thing... Just before you, Mancurt brought three bounty hunters. They are Pandorum; these guys mean business. There they are, sitting in the corner, looking for someone named HotCat. Have you heard about him?”

  Slightly confused, Thrainul glanced back at me and gestured at a table not far from the counter. I noticed him slip the barman a large envelope with a wax seal, and the orc quickly hid it somewhere under the bar. Secret dealings, faction quests, missions?

  The trio of bounty hunters was perfectly visible from the chosen table. They were wearing cloaks of disguise, just like ours. Going by their figures, two men and a woman. I couldn’t make out their gear or weapons. How had they managed to track me down so quickly in this godforsaken world? Did Thrainul turn me in? Quite possibly. I had a hefty bounty on my head; it might have enticed him to secretly contact the Pandas’ mercenaries.

  Thrainul: You didn’t say that Pandas were hunting you!

  HotCat: So you’d turn me in back at the Iron City? How much did you get for the information, Cap?

  Thrainul: Are you confusing me with someone else? I don’t give a damn about the Pandas. I don’t betray my passengers.

  HotCat: Then, how did they find me here so quickly?

  Thrainul: A seer or an oracle, lots of options... They’ve already made us. Get ready. I’ll try to cover for you.

  A seer or an oracle? I hadn’t thought about that at all. The Pandas must have something like that. Actually, almost every large kingdom had NPCs with epic archetypes such as Fortune-teller, Oracle, or Seer. For a fee, they could track down a player. It wasn’t cheap, and they didn’t do it for everyone, but it was possible. All you needed was a nickname. A high-level Clairvoyance skill allowed them to pinpoint the target’s location with varying precision: the world, the area, the town... The strongest could give you specific coordinates down to a house. It was rumored that even players could become Oracles, and some might have already done that, but nobody knew the details.

  The cloaked trio simultaneously got up and headed toward us. A fight seemed inevitable. I put my hand on the silver cross-guard under my cloak. The Pandas
knew me, knew the properties of my sword, and must have been prepared for battle.

  “Hyvaa yota!” their leader said, his voice muffled under the hood. The multilanguage pack helpfully informed me that it meant “Good evening” in Finnish, but a moment later, I realized that the stranger had simply introduced himself as he removed his hood to reveal his nickname.

  The cloaks of disguise fell on the floor next to all three Pandas, and they deftly split, gracefully surrounding our table, weapons gleaming in their hands. Ran Dom was a sword-and-board tank. The woman, a gorgeous elf wearing violet clothes, seemed to be a battle mage, going by the fireball manifesting right in her palm. The third, the aforementioned Yota, glowered at me. He bore a slight resemblance to a Japanese, either due to his almond-shaped dark eyes, his hair tied in a ponytail and a bun, or his unusual weapon—a sharp sickle with a short handle, its blade matte-black.

  Weapons clanged as they were drawn, and the music stopped, the heads of other customers turning in our direction at once.