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

Soul Stone to get away. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t work. I already knew enough about respawn wars in the game to realize that there was a stonejammer installed somewhere close, an artifact blocking portal magic around itself.

Essentially, it was the perfect trap. The killed player resurrected at the nearest resp point, where a special team waited for them, and unlike an ordinary revival circle that you could flee from when the gankers grew tired of waiting, the cage in the depths of Atrocity seemed inescapable. So, what could I do? I wasn’t going to become corporeal — I saw that at least two mages were aiming at me. They would one-shot me in a few seconds, that seemed clear.

HotCat: I won’t forget how you kill those you’ve vouched for. In the back.

 

Jerkhan: Rules are for pussies! Might makes right!

 

Jerkhan: Your sword, the Soul Eater! Give it up yourself, or you’ll be stuck here until we beat it out of you!

 

HotCat: It’s useless. Haven’t you heard about personal items?

 

Jerkhan: Gimme a screenshot as proof and all information about your sword. Then we’ll let you go.

 

* * *

 

Without a word, I exited Sphere and climbed out of the capsule. I needed to pull myself together. Let them wait and grow bored in the meantime, while I’m cooling my head. After ordering Magic Home to brew me the strongest coffee it could manage, I turned on classical music and went out to the balcony, the cup in hand.

We lived on the eighth floor, and Alena had long since created a mini-garden there, with lots of potted plants. There was also a small grill there, so we could arrange a barbecue. I sat in a wicker chair and slowly sipped coffee. It was getting warm outside, with May coming on in full force. I heard the muffled chirping of birds and noticed that the trees were turning green.

So that was the deal: the Pandas had set their sights on my sword and were going to learn everything they could about it, having lured me into a primitive trip. I hadn’t expected them to be so ruthless: they didn’t care about their reputation or the agreement. That’s Pandas for you.

Still, that action seemed way too crude. Were they using scare tactics? Basic gameplay logic suggested that the situation was wrong at its core; after all, it could be used to hold a player indefinitely. There must be a way out. I could contact the Magister, of course, ask him for advice, but it seemed like too small of a deal to bother him, especially since I was already in his debt for Goggy. Nope, I needed to handle this myself.

I pulled out my communicator and went online. The official forum, Pandas, resp point... I didn’t think I was the first to be caught by Pandorum; I had to learn more.

After spending an hour browsing through the forum and drinking a few cups of coffee, I sank back into the chair, weary. In short, owning a resp point in the Astral Plane was a cheat in itself. The developers had never intended for that place to have such points, but they also weren’t going to remove it. That seemed pretty shady. The Pandas didn’t have a damn about the opinions of whiners on the forum and systematically farmed everyone they got their hands on. Escaping the cage was impossible, other than to fight your way out, which seemed pretty far-fetched. Admins did pull Pandorum’s victims from out of there, but only after getting a petition, and reviewing it always took a day or two. Until then, it was hopeless.

Fine. My communicator lit up, showing a message from an unknown contact: “ARCH, 8 PM, L.” For a few minutes, I stared at it dumbly, until I finally realized that L. meant Mr. Leo. Did he have news about Goggy?

Half an hour later, I drove along the avenue, passing by neon signboards and trying not to miss the Arch, a trendy restaurant of British cuisine that had recently come in vogue. It was a place beloved by middle-aged businessmen, rich sports fans, and young ladies who wished to meet the first two types.

The hall was pretty empty, and it didn’t take long for me to notice Mr. Leo’s gray curls. With a faraway look on his face, he sat stirring his tea, while a few raisin cakes rested on a plate next to his cup.

“You’re late, young man,” he said instead of a greeting.

“The parking lot’s filled up, I had to find space,” I replied, sitting down, a question written on my face.

“Your problem’s solved.” With the tips of his fingers, Mr. Leo pushed his communicator, shaped like an old-school rectangular phone, toward me.

“The photos are on the first page.”

I quickly scrolled through the images. A dented trunk of a Hurricane on a roadside. Goggy’s henchman and the blond guy on their knees, their hands behind their back. A close-up on Goggy’s smashed face, demonstrating his bruises, his split eyebrow and cheekbone, blood, and fear in his eyes.

“That’s pretty rough,” I said, returning the comm, my throat suddenly dry. The photos of the work done on Goggy’s gang sobered me up. I wondered if they were still alive. Whom had I gotten involved with?

“Don’t worry, they’re fine. Right now, they’re driving to Moscow at full speed,” Mr. Leo said and smirked as if he had just read my thoughts. With a few taps, he deleted the photos, then looked at me, his eyes sharp and probing. Almost physically, I sensed that despite his college professor looks, Mr. Leo was a very dangerous man.

“They didn’t want to listen. Those guys are pretty cheeky, one of them has a father working for the authorities... I had to be persuasive. They won’t be back. If you wish, I could arrange for them