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

power of the players. So far, Sphere simply didn’t have enough characters with maxed out skills and gear who could challenge the celestial beings.

The way gods interacted with humans and NPCs was complicated, and one could spend a lot of time digging into that. In short, I learned that gods had temples built in their name, and their power relied on the number of worshippers and sacrifices made to them. In return, they granted formidable long-lasting buffs, and sometimes, items. Players and NPCs with disciple archetypes — initiates, priests, and high priests — received special skills and could pray to their divine patrons, talk to them, and summon them. I remembered the malevolent shadow twice summoned by Svoy. During the battle between PROJECT HELL and the Pandas, it almost managed to shoot down the Steel Guard’s juggernaut — and it was only a “projection,” not a god in flesh.

Tormis. The God of Shadow. None of the deities could match him in guile, in thieving, or in lying. He was an illusionist and a magician, the god of trade, profit, and eloquence who favored beggars, thieves, merchants, and thrill seekers. Tormis was a very controversial figure in the pantheon, a slug in salt. In Earth mythology, his closest equivalent was Hermes the divine trickster.

Eyre had no temples to Tormis; factions that worshipped the gods of Light would never tolerate them in their lands. They could only be found on the border between the Wild Lands and the kingdoms, in the PvP zone beloved by PKers of all kinds. His shrines were usually hidden and scattered across the world. All right, so now to priests, rituals, preferred offerings...

It was a pretty nifty concept. Temples of Shadow were intended to serve as “fuel stations” for groups of adventurers away from civilization. In exchange for offerings, they usually gave out basic consumables, making them unpopular with players. In addition, such spots were pretty dangerous, as campers often attacked travelers right at shrine entrances.

The forums had very little player-posted information about Tormis. Some people did want to worship him, but they either were unsuccessful or didn’t want to share their findings. Personally, I suspected the latter. It seemed just like Tormis to have close-lipped servants. I found a few brief accounts of people catching his attention after big profitable transactions, and that was it. The Guild’s chatroom was also silent. Apparently, it was a delicate topic.

Strange, but I was unable to scrounge up any specific data on Tormis other than common knowledge, even if what I found intrigued me. True, there was a description of several rituals and basic buffs, but it wasn’t anything useful or comparable with the scroll given by him in the temple. I had only one option left: visit a temple myself and present a generous offering to his altar. Who knows, maybe he would deign to talk to me? Or — I shut my eyes, my imagination running wild — maybe I would get another helping of divine perks? I had to try.

An interactive search of the nearest shrine was yet another surprise. Turned out, only a few of them existed. Dorsa boasted ten shrines, three of them on our continent, with the closest one that abandoned temple where we had fought the PROJECT const party.

That was where I headed, paying a visit to the Magister along the way, to mix business with pleasure. Thankfully, I had enough reputation with the Order to use a portal. In Eyre, they were locked due to the war, but the Watchers’ castle had their own gateway, which I promptly took advantage of.

I stood before a half-ruined entrance to an underground shrine. That was a dangerous place, as the kill rating testified, but I was careful and willing to take risks, especially since the coast seemed clear.

Inside, everything was the same: a dark square hall pierced by a few dusty pillars of light from the holes in the ceiling; statues of gods above the altar plates on the opposite end from the entrance; a cracked stone floor and elaborate wall carvings.

Still, a subtle change hung in the air. After looking around, I finally realized what had happened: the room was cleaner, with no more heaps of trash and rock chippings, no debris in the ruined corners, and no moss crawling up the altar stands. It was neat and tidy. The carefree face of Gella, the Goddess of Love, was wreathed in freshly cut flowers, a few thick scented candles stood before the Sleeper, and a pile of silver coins was scattered in front of Tormis himself.

The shrine didn’t look abandoned anymore, as if someone had been looking after it. Had it been visited by the players who had flooded the Order?

I made a few steps and stopped before the altar. Tormis was depicted as a beggar asking for alms. The statue’s face was hidden under a broad cowl, and all I could see was a sharp chin with an acerbic grin on his lips.

I pulled out my offering, stood on tip-toes, and put a necklace with magic gems into the stone palm. The golden chain entwined the fingers of the statue. After that, I untied a heavy purse and poured out several newly minted shiny coins on the altar. Like any trader, Tormis was fond of the filthy lucre.

Nothing happened. The items didn’t disappear, meaning the god didn’t accept my offer. What did he need?

A soft cough came from behind my back. My reflexes worked faster than my fear — I immediately jumped away, reaching for my sword. Being taken unaware in those parts meant nothing good.

Upon seeing a glowing sword, the stranger recoiled in fear.

“I didn’t mean to scare you!” he blurted out. “Put your weapon away, I’m not a threat.”

Holding off on sheathing my sword, I carefully examined him. He was a thin elf or a half-elf of average height with high cheekbones