Shadow Seer (Rogue Merchant Book #3): LitRPG Series by Roman Prokofiev (english reading book TXT) 📗

rock. I didn’t even examine the loot: some Hearts of Greord, Glowing Crystals, and other rubbish. Sphere had a lot of items, and all of them were used for something, such as complex crafting chains, rituals, and spells. One could spend years studying the game without learning one-hundredth of its aspects—that’s how big it was.

In the meantime, we reached the bottom of the well and entered the triangular corridor leading to the Crossroads. So far, everything went smoothly, and I was even happy with such luck. Still, the further developments showed that in Helt Akor, you always had to be on your guard. Any moment, it could show its true face to you, and that’s what happened to us.

Strung out in a line, our raid almost finished pulling into the colossal space of the Crossroads with only the rear guard still in the tunnels when Courier exploded with messages from our scouts.

Abel: Check! Signals, lots of them! They’re getting closer!

 

Inker: They’re fast! I don’t get where they’re coming from!

 

Abbot: Analyze, quickly! Who are they?

 

We didn’t need to reply, as the Crossroads came to life, forming an egg-shaped “elevator.” However, it wasn’t empty; I could make out a crowd of some creatures through the furiously spinning arches. Who were those people capable of traveling via the Crossroads?

The spinning slowed down, and we finally saw our guests.

Komtur: Shit! Abbot, I’m the RL! Equip PVP sets if you can!

Chapter 6

THEY WERE PLAYERS—players and pawns, a ragtag team from several clans with the same alliance tag. Through the elevator’s open cells, we saw a closed ring of shields, bristling with spears, steel helmets sparkling above. Most of our opponents were unusually tall.

Olaf: HIRD!

 

I had heard about that alliance. They were considered the largest Russian-speaking community in Sphere and united lots of clans under their wing. Most of them were farmers and carebears, but they did have a PVP wing capable of assembling a thousand hardcore players if the situation called for that. We were neutral to each other, as our interests didn’t intersect; Hird didn’t have any holdings in Dorsa.

Nobody offered to go his way in peace. A neutral encountered in a dungeon was an enemy. Kill or be killed!

 

Komtur: Cast Cloud of Darkness on them! Mages, AOE, AOE in the center! The others, target anyone who runs out! Tanks, intercept!

 

We had an advantage: we had been waiting for them and had the time to regroup, while the Hirdmen were crowded together, as the egg-shaped elevator of the Ancients had only two exit points. They were immediately shrouded in a blob of ink-black darkness and showered with Grand Fire, Rain of Ice, and Great Lightning. Blinded, the Hird raiders found themselves in the midst of hell broke loose. The first person who left the Cloud of Darkness stumbled and rolled down, caught in throwing nets and promptly studded with arrows. The ones who followed met the same fate. The Watchers one-shot all targets, not letting them get closer.

Komtur: Take ‘em, take ‘em, take ‘em! Get to work! Don’t forget to finish them off!

 

Nobody noticed when everything changed. Our mages yelled in Courier like cats in heat.

I’m not doing any damage! It’s useless!

 

They’re under a shield! Purify them!

 

Komtur: Dispel, dispel, dispel! More damage!

 

Olaf: Nothing’s working!

 

I was standing next to our support group when a wave of enemies bathed in a bluish glow burst out of the fading Cloud of Darkness. One of them, a stocky dwarf in splint mail armor, suddenly appeared next to us. Deftly dodging the nets and knocking back Tooth with his square shield, he ran into the crowd of buffers. Our arrows simply bounced back from his armor, and a Stream of Fire shot point-blank splashed around him, not dealing any damage. What devilry was that? I rushed to intercept him, but a sharp blow out of nowhere hurled me aside, pinning me to the wall.

Stun! Daze! I woke up on all fours, shaking my head in confusion. Half of my health was gone; I was giddy, and my vision was swimming. What had they used on me? Swirling Fist? Advanced Telekinesis? A five-second debuff was grimly counting down, and the interface informed me about an injury and reduced mobility. Blurred silhouettes kept darting around me, and when one of them got close enough, he finished me off with a casual stab. I felt a sharp pain, and the screen turned red with a nasty message.

You are dying! 60 seconds left till final death! 59…58…57…

What could I do? Only send a “-” to the raid chat and wait for help while holding out hope for the Soul Forge Gem.

Komtur: Assist! Heal! Nobody should die! You hear me? Nobody! Use Antimagic Sphere!

 

Abbot: It doesn’t help! This crap can’t be dispelled!

 

Olaf: Aura! This is a supreme protection aura!

 

Olaf: They’ve summoned an avatar of Throgg!

 

A translucent blue silhouette towered above the Hird raid, a giant zwerg clad in intricate armor, a warhammer raised above his head. Blue coals of eyes glowed through his elaborate visor. The figure grew in size, and the light coming from it enveloped all warriors of Hird. It made them invincible—neither spell nor steel rained on them by the Watchers could deal more than a hit point of damage. I had already seen something like that. The enemy raid counted a True Priest among them. These guys were capable of very dangerous magic, summoning a projection of their deity via a special ritual. It was just an avatar, of course, not the deity himself, only his reflection, but it could still do a lot.

Komtur: Healers, keep up!

 

31…30…29…

Damian raises you with Resurrection! Your HP: 1/780.

I was raised and almost died again, barely managing to dodge a charging enemy and reflexively jumping to the Shadow Plane.

The scales of battle wavered and froze.