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

Phantom slightly raised his eyebrow.

Snow-white bastions, silver spires, the iridescent glow of a protective bubble that transformed the citadel’s outline into a blurry haze... The flying fortress was a wondrous structure magically hovering in the Astral Plane. The epitome of grace, beauty, and hidden power, the Silver Stronghold lived up to its name.

It was time to make a choice — fight to the end or flee the battlefield like cowards. Intuition told Phantom to choose the second option, calling it a tactical withdrawal. The enemy and their capabilities were unknown. Surprises were assured, and two thousand of his troops were locked at the resp point with a fortress full of other enemies at their rear.

It was the worst-case scenario, and he couldn’t calculate the odds. On the other hand, he had the ellurite deficit, the alliance reputation, and the promised revenge. Six thousand players out for blood, the best warriors of Sphere, and an astral fleet that nobody had defeated yet. An NPC faction? A flying castle? Sphere was a game where large groups won.

Phantom’s lips turned into a thin line. He ordered, quietly but firmly, “Forward. Take the birdies. Release the pawns. Focus on the flying castle. Fire only on command!”

A cloud of dragon riders shrouded the fleet. Ignoring the attacks from the rear, the armada surrounded the strange citadel, forming a hemisphere around it. That formation allowed them to deal maximum DPS.

Opening the fleet interface, Phantom watched the red line indicating its firing range slowly crawl to the blue oval of the Stronghold. There, something was moving beyond the rainbow glow, the mysterious Maidens preparing for battle. Whatever. Three Colossi and concentrated fire from the fleet would destroy their dome in a matter of minutes, dragon riders immolating those who dared to leave the barrier. They had only themselves to blame if they tried to interfere. The Pandas were known for completely eradicating in-game factions, removing them from Sphere. Often, it was easier than overcoming player resistance. NPCs respawned only after 24 hours. If they weakened them enough, Gor’s raid would break through, and the others would join the fun later.

“Prepare ten more strike teams. Attack only on command!”

The red circle touched the blue oval. One after another, the captains reported their ready status, but Phantom waited for the Silver Stronghold to enter the range of the Colossi, the all-destroying eye of the juggernauts. One discharge of that dreadful weapon could tip the scales of battle. When all three flagships finally announced their readiness, he curtly commanded, “Everyone, fire!”

* * *

“They look pretty serious!” Cey-Rus remarked, looking at the projection and seeing the large fleet maneuver away from the Atrocity. “They’re coming to us!”

“Worse for them!” Romanova snorted, pulling on a pair of sparkling gloves. A dispassionate face in a silver mask turned to Cey-Rus. Casting a glance at the advancing armada, she said, “Svechkin will cover the resp point. Let’s go, Maxim.”

They walked through the long corridors, opening the secret doors. The final one led them to a small square room, empty except for a stone cube in the center. A sparkling metallic longbow was lying in a blue recess inside, a cylindrical quiver covered with silver notches next to it.

“My Key,” the First Maiden slowly said. “It’s always been here, in the Stronghold. The time has come, my Cey-Rus.”

“Lena, are you going — ”

“Yes. The players understand only the language of force. If we’ve decided to fight this battle, let’s teach them a lesson they’ll never forget.”

* * *

Thousands of cannons spewed out fire, ice, and lightning. The beams of Pikes and Thunderstrikes flashed, crushing into the rainbow glow. With a loud roar, the Colossi joined the fray, and the area around them simmered as scarlet pillars of energy reached out to the Stronghold keep. The fires of explosions drowned out the white bastions and the sharp silver spires. Like many others, Phantom closely watched the durability level of the strange iridescent barrier. That glow didn’t look like an ordinary dome, although it was clearly of a similar nature.

And...nothing. After a minute of focused fire, the defense factor decreased only by 3%. The voice of the analyst who relayed his predictions was on the verge of panic.

...at least five hours of non-stop attack regardless of regeneration... The Colossi will run out of ellurite...

Everyone — the analysts, the spies, the scouts, the players watching the enemy alliances — started sending worried reports.

“Attention! High enemy activity detected! NAVY are logging in big-time! They stopped attacking our objects and started retreating in an unknown direction!”

“The Dragon fleet is assuming battle formation! More than a hundred ships... One, two, three...eleven battle galleons!”

“Boss! The captains of Hird’s juggernauts logged in! They have a raid call, too!”

“A pentagram opened up at Condor! It’s Evil Mook’s raid! A hundred players, lots of pawns, ready to strike!”

“What a clusterfuck!” Phantom cursed. “Gor, what’s going on inside?”

“We’re waiting for your command. Half of our guys are debuffed; the other half got their gear burned by the Kiss. What should we do?”

This question, “What should we do?” was coming from everywhere, as spies, raid leaders, target callers, and captains of astral ships waited for orders, but Phantom wasn’t replying. He froze, staring at the red line flashing across his interface.

EMERGENCY DISCONNECTION!

Forced shutdown activated! Warning: neurointerface will disconnect in 5 seconds!

4…3...2...1…

 Interlude: Agasyan

NEW TOKYO STRETCHED outside the wide floor-to-ceiling window, glowing with thousands of lights and gleaming with the neon colors of the street signs. Myriads of cars flickered around the overpasses amidst the expressive architecture of mirrored skyscrapers. It was hard to believe that only thirty years before, it had all been volcanic hills and wild growth.

“What are the results, Sarik?” Having removed his pince-nez, Agasyan was carefully rubbing his left temple. His blood pressure