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

“Screw them!” the zwerg exclaimed, thrusting out his jaw. “This isn’t the upper worlds. They’ll have to find us and chase us down, too. They can’t do anything to us at sea—we’d simply go down, and that’s it. We’ll have to be careful in ports, true, but I’ll put out the feelers to my friends so they warn us if anything happens.”

“Where are we going now?”

“Past the Mushroom Seat and to the Crown of Ice. Don’t miss it—you’ll never see anything like that in the upper worlds.”

* * *

The Mushroom Seat really turned out to be a curious place. As soon as we came closer to it, the water started changing color. Formerly dark green, like a bottle of vintage wine, it turned into thick purple slush. The upper layers were chock-full of flickering dust motes, and disgusting feelers resembling hairy caterpillars slithered across the surface. From time to time, we came across local flora sticking out of the water—giant mushrooms with eroded caps, their lamellas glowing pale blue. The distinct smell of triumphant mildew filled the air.

“Spores and spore-puffers,” Rocky told me, apathetically looking at the villose, whip-like tendrils probing the Abyssal’s iron broadside. “They’re mostly harmless, but I don’t recommend you try to swim.”

“By the way!” He perked up and looked at me, hope in his eyes. “I saw you fight. Mostly, you did everything correct—someone had clearly trained you.”

“Correct? That Panda made short work of me,” I snorted.

“I hate to say, but you have no idea how to move in battle,” the Gravekeeper continued, unfazed. “I could give you a few pointers, just for a couple of coins. The first lesson’s free.”

He gave me a gallant bow, the plumes on his hat sweeping the deck, drew his rapier, and switched to fencing stance. Well, why not? I had free time and gold to spare. I recalled Rocky swiftly dealing with two Asian players in the serpentfolk town. Maybe he really could teach me a few tricks? He was an NPC, but Gravekeepers were people who had died lots of times, meaning a lot of combat experience.

We clashed in battle. I often took part in duels with NPC trainers and players alike and considered myself a pretty good fighter. My One-Handed skill had already reached five hundred points, and Swords was well above three hundred. I doubted that the Gravekeeper could surprise me.

Yet I was wrong. In less than ten seconds, the blade of his heavy rapier chilled my neck. The second duel ended the same way, and so did the third. Neither had lasted more than half a minute. The Gravekeeper moved like a shadow, slipping away from me in a breezy dance and always appearing somewhere I didn’t expect him to. Feints, misdirection, and other tricks I had learned with Liberty didn’t work. Rocky wielded his heavy rapier in a simple, straightforward, and incredibly quick manner, overpowering me every single time,

“Esperanza, the fencing school of the First House of Heft!” he said when I finally ran out of breath. “It’s a secret art, yet to be surpassed. Some of you players know it. So, do you want to take a few lessons?”

I nodded, not saying anything, and Rocky came up to me, adjusted my shoulder and my elbow with his strong fingers, and showed me the stance I was supposed to take.

“I’ll show you the ropes. This is the basic stance fit both for attack and defense. Extend your sword. Imagine that you’re in the center of a circle contained within the reach of your sword. The main rule is never leave this circle during battle...”

He showed me things that we had never talked about in Liberty. His technique, which Rocky called Esperanza, was not really about fencing but rather correct movement, controlling distance, and picking the right time to attack. The Gravekeeper demonstrated two- and three-step moves, swinging the enemy like a pendulum and figuring out the best angles for making unstoppable attacks. It all seemed easy, even primitive, in its implementation, but I couldn’t repeat anything.

He fiddled about with me until Mildew appeared on the horizon, its ugly silhouette dispelling the hazy darkness around us.

It was a huge magenta-colored growth the size of an island, and it was alive. It seemed to be a conglomeration of giant mushrooms that fed off the oldest one among them. Dimly lit by the phosphorescent gills of the humongous cap, the entire cluster kept moving, stirring and budging both above and below. Dwellings and staircases were cut right into the petrified flesh of the giant mushrooms, and strange creatures bustled about next to them. The water became as thick as cream soup, and the Abyssal waded through the webs of hairy threads, revolting-looking creatures scurrying among them.

Right in front of us, a slow vibration reverberated through the colossal growth, as if Mildew started gasping for air. Then we heard a loud clap, a roaring sound, and whistling as loud as a train horn, and the largest mushroom, shaking and contracting, released a cloud of purple spores in the darkness above. Slowly swirling in the air, these flecks fell down.

“Tough luck, we got under a spore eruption,” Rocky said calmly. “Mother Mildew’s saying hello—I guess she missed us.”

Thrainul hurriedly raised the armor plates. Why, though? Submerging there was impossible.

“They’re not dangerous, but they’re unpleasant,” the Gravekeeper explained. “They take root on any organic matter. It’ll be ages before we scrub the ship clean. Be careful ashore. You could easily get a free myconid follower. You’d never be allowed anywhere respectable with something like that, though.”

Thrainul assured us that the coast was clear. Not a single ship was moored to the long berth—vessels rarely visited Mildew. I decided to go ashore with the Pioneers and some of the Abyssal’s crew—a sight like that shouldn’t be