Battle for the North (Rogue Merchant Book #4): LitRPG Series by Roman Prokofiev (best beach reads of all time .txt) 📗

“He tried to accuse you of killing him in real life,” I replied. “Said you set up the plane crash. Tried to win me over to his side.”

“I see. Has he contacted you after that battle?”

“No. But I think — ”

“No need to think. Listen carefully, Cat. If he gets in touch with you again — and he will, they need your Key — you must agree to work with him,” Balabanov said, staring me right in the eye.

“Why? Who are ‘they’? Actually, I’d like some answers!” I flared up. “Your words contradict each other. I used to think he was your friend...”

“Svechkin’s a complicated man,” the Magister said. “He and I worked together side-by-side and probably knew each other better than brothers. We’ve had a personal...misunderstanding. As for the plane — I hope you didn’t believe that drivel?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t have tried to bring him to you — inside the sword!” I touched the grip of Aelmaris. “Unfortunately, the trick didn’t work.”

“I expected him to be in stasis,” Balabanov said thoughtfully. “So he covered all his bases, made preparations. Too bad you allowed him to take the Key. I’ll have to find a way — ”

He stopped mid-phrase and fell silent, giving me a scrutinizing stare. I decided to remain quiet as well — the ball was in his court.

“Oleg, you’re no fool,” the Magister finally said, his voice stiff and dry. “Unfortunately, Sphere makes it impossible to track your movements, and you know this well. I can see that you’re keeping something from me. The battle for the Keys is starting, and the one who gets them first will take hold of Sphere. I hope you chose the right side. You realize that your life might significantly change if you go against me, don’t you?”

“Are you threatening me?” I grinned.

“Just warning you,” Balabanov replied without a smile. “You’re smart enough to understand everything without many words.”

“Actually, I’m on your side, but at the very least, I’d like to know more. I hate playing in the dark,” I said, returning his stare.

“As for the plane crash, it’s pure nonsense. I was on board with them — there are lots of witnesses. I don’t like airing our dirty laundry, but there really was a conflict inside the developer team that split it into two pieces,” Balabanov finally spoke up reluctantly. Apparently, this discussion brought him no pleasure.

“We had different opinions about the future of Sphere. It’s hard to explain it to an outsider. In short, we realized that we let the genie out of the bottle, accidentally creating something that transcended its creators. Have you seen video recordings of my conferences? I spoke about that.”

I nodded, and the Magister continued.

“It all depends on the level of technology. Our predecessors were limited by energy and capacity. Smith’s synthesis crashed the oil market but gave us a source of infinite energy. Takiyami’s equations allowed us to create powerful artificial intelligence. The processes we recreated in Sphere are barely less detailed than the laws of the Universe. An infinitely complex mathematic formula became reality. Our own world might have been designed the same way once. Essentially, we became the creators of a new reality. It was hard to believe that, to recognize our responsibility, to differentiate our approach. That’s what our internal conflicts were about. Some had a utilitarian view: Sphere of Worlds was our brainchild, so we should use it in our interests. Money, scientific research, et cetera. You shouldn’t know that, but Sphere was the basis for eleven innovative projects, some of them still top-secret. The research that is led there might eventually turn — ”

He stopped, interrupting his speech. I didn’t say a word. The subject broached by Balabanov was quite interesting, even if it blurred the line between conspirology and madness. I sensed that he might tell me something important.

“Basically, Sphere started defending itself,” he finally resumed. “Taerland, the NPC rebellion, the Cloud of Bones. They were all the ghosts of things to come. The procedural AI, subject to the Law of Balance — the key to Sphere’s very existence — recognized players as invasive elements that unbalanced the world. Admins were considered the opposing side. It might sound contradictory, but the game became dangerous for players. As a result, we split into two factions and created the Keys and digital copies of ourselves in NPC bodies. Some of us wanted to keep using Sphere, and some wanted to cancel the project and destroy it. Svechkin, by the way, is a staunch advocate for its destruction. Just imagine — deleting hundreds of unique worlds, millions of living creatures virtually indistinguishable from humans! In my book, this would be the biggest crime in human history.”

“Like you’re a humanist…” I couldn’t help but comment. “What’s your goal? Power and money?”

“Transhumanist,” Balabanov replied, not taking his eyes off me. “I need the Keys, Sphere, power, and money only for one purpose, and I’ve already said it. Dammit, I just want to get out of here!”

“It sounds impossible,” I said.

“Yet a project like this is real. It’s up and running, even. If you can transfer consciousness one way, then the reverse should be possible as well. Death isn’t the end. Digital immortality is feasible, and I’ll prove it by my own example.”

“If you’re right, why don’t Svechkin and your other opponents want the same?”

“Ask them!” The Magister chuckled. “They need your Key as much as I do, and they’ll try contacting you, trying to bring you over, promise you the world. But all of their words are empty. They’re nothing.”

“What are my actions?”

“You’ll have to play this game. Agree to meet them, agree to work with them. I need information about them, their plans, and their Keys. Try to get them to