The Gene of the Ancients (Rogue Merchant Book #2): LitRPG Series by Roman Prokofiev (ebook reader for comics .TXT) 📗

“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 dead!”

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