The Gene of the Ancients (Rogue Merchant Book #2): LitRPG Series Page 11

  And at last, I was successful. With a snap, my blade met something soft and yielding. The Watcher opened his hands, dropping the remains of his stick. My axe was stuck in his collarbone, his health bar red. In a few seconds, his hit points were completely gone, thanks to bleeding.

  The duel is over.

  Winner is HotCat.

  I heard sparse cheering from the tribunes. Flame gave me a thumbs up — way to go!

  “A nice chaotic attack, HotCat,” Balian said. “Congratulations on your first win.”

  In a duel mode, players weren’t sent to respawn. After losing all hit points, they simply regained them after the duel was over.

  “So you got me at last,” Khaman grumbled, rubbing his chest. “How about that. So, bows?”

  The rules of archery combat were simple. Two players stood at the opposite sides of the area within shooting distance, armed with only a common bow and forty arrows. Movement was allowed only within the arena.

  I was a terrible shot. I’ll be honest, I never really liked shooting. Sphere had a non-target system, and arrows didn’t fly straight, so getting the hang of it required a lot of effort. I had seen archers training — they had to spend hours firing at moving targets. It was a slog, but the results were impressive: top archers could one-shot their targets at full speed.

  When the duel started, I immediately rolled over to the side. My decision proved correct: an arrow hit the sand right where I had just been standing. Another tumble, then again. I stood up, located Khaman, nocked an arrow, picked the lead time...

  Bang! A hard-hitting blow knocked me down, coloring my view bright scarlet.

  The duel is over.

  Winner is Khaman.

  I didn’t even feel any pain. The Watcher had killed me with a headshot. A critical hit, instant death. QED. I hadn’t fired even once...

  “One-one!” Balian announced. “The third duel will decide the result. Bring in the horses!”

  I watched carefully to see what weapon Khaman would pick for the mounted combat. His choice wasn’t surprising: a long cavalry spear and a small kite shield. He summoned his mount — the rules allowed only standard horses, no rare and epic mounts — and circled the arena.

  I had prepared a risky plan for this case. In a direct battle, spear against spear, I didn’t stand a chance against a more experienced and skilled opponent, but if I used guile...

  Without a pause, I snatched two packs of jerids from the stand, eight in total. I didn’t take anything else. Generally, I was better with throwing weapons compared to bows. Even Lorindale had praised me a few times. Maybe I could make it.

  Snowflake neighed playfully, greeting her master. Don’t let me down, baby!

  The duel commenced. Khaman charged forward on his horse, swiftly gaining on me. The sharp tip of his spear shined brightly. I waited for him to come up, and when he was dangerously close, sharply bid Snowflake to step aside. Khaman flew right past, and I threw a jerid at him, aiming at his massive body.

  I missed. The Watcher deftly clung to the saddle, and the thin shaft went right above him. Oh, come on! I had only seven left.

  Staying at a safe distance, I started raining jerids on my opponent. After he caught the second one with his shield, I realized: this tactic wouldn’t work. I had to kill his mount. That seemed to work out better. Avoiding a direct confrontation, I moved left and thrust three javelins into his horse, one after another, Dark stains appeared on its croup and hips, and large drops of blood dripped down on the arena sand. With a pitiful neigh, Khaman’s horse stumbled, ran a few more steps, and finally collapsed, throwing its rider down.

  That’s when I made a mistake. I wanted to finish the duel gracefully by knocking down the enemy — who was still on the ground — with my mount and finishing him off with a jerid. But I failed. Somehow, he got up very quickly and met my attempt with a sharp strike of his spear. Snowflake cried and reared up, flinging me down. Khaman charged at me, his spear high.

  I had three jerids left and no time to scramble to my feet. The Watcher deflected the first throw with his shield and dodged the second one. At this rate, I would never reach him!

  I rolled away, then again, evaded the sand-plowing jabs of his spear. Each time, Khaman missed me only by an inch. Only one javelin left; only one attempt. The sun gleamed on the metallic tip of his spear, flashing around me. The sun...

  In two rolls, I turned my opponent opposite of the shining disk, then started to stand up, intentionally clumsy. Without any hesitation, Khaman struck at me from above and pinned me to the sand like a collector adding butterflies to his book. Yet I had enough time to fling a jerid at him first, aiming just above the shield, into the slit of his helmet where his eyes glistened. The sun blinded him, and he didn’t notice my move. One-shot! Slowly, Khaman collapsed, falling on his back, his health bar lost in an instant. I died five seconds later, but the system credited me as the winner, as the Watcher perished first.

  The duel is over.

  Winner is HotCat.

  “Congratulations, Cat,” said Balian casually, giving me his hand. “Welcome to the Watchers!”

  Not feeling my legs, I climbed over the arena railing and sat together with Valkyrie and Nico, getting a few pokes and friendly bumps from the Watchers along the way. Now, I was one of them.

  An hour later, we bid farewell to our friends.

  Only two had failed the test, Diareus and Helga. For Helga, it was expected. Despite being a good bard, she was inferior to almost all of Liberty when it came to battle training. She did her best, but she couldn’t make it. The girl was crying, not even hiding her tears. Balian told her she could try once more, in another group of recruits, as he would accept her, but Helga wasn’t sure she could go through with it.

  Diareus, on the other hand, simply got down on his luck. He got an extremely powerful opponent: Pawnbroker, one of the toughest pros of the clan, who could easily match such veterans as Balian, Hermione, or Dimonicus. He easily busted Diareus up. I felt sorry for him; a jokester and a wisecracker, he was as worthy of being in the Watchers as anyone.

  “Where are you going, bro?” Flame asked him, hugging him goodbye. “You’ll be all right? Will you try once more?”

  “Nope!” Diareus didn’t seem especially upset, but maybe he was really good at controlling his feelings. “Svenn’s found something interesting and invited me in. I’ll go with him. The voices in my head are telling me it’s time to kill!”

  He laughed out loud, cheerful, and we laughed in return, all as one.

  Having finally obtained the Watchers’ tag above my head, I needed to take up the ball from the previous clan trader and set up my keep at the castle.

  Step one of my plan was complete.

  Chapter 7

  You joined The Watchers!

  NOW I WAS a full-fledged clan member.

  A new icon appeared in the inventory. I used to be in Liberty, but the academy didn’t have all the clan features, and its main page had only one announcement with clan rules and a training schedule. Here, however... I opened up the CLAN tab and was shocked by the abundance of information. A complex hierarchy, titles, roles, clan quests, rewards, access to castle warehouses, clan XP bar, the list of players and their positions. Somebody had come up with all of that and turned it to reality. I zoned out. Studying that required a few hours, at least.

  The Watchers, part of Northern Alliance

  Clan level: 8

  Average karma: Virtuous

  Clan members: 879

  Clan castle: Condor

  Current effects: Eyre Nation: +500 reputation, Im Enoi: +200 reputation, Kingdom of Tavilon: +200 reputation...

  And so on. The log buzzed with messages — clan effects were applied to my character, changing the stats. It was an intricate system of clan and individual achievements, each of which added a small percentage to the buff, eventually combining into a pretty hefty bonus.

  “Hey, Cat! Congratulations!” Komtur’s voice pulled me out of my contem
plations.

  I was waiting for him in the Condor courtyard after the end of the exam. I had been asked to stay there to meet my predecessor for the transition. The clan leader was accompanied by Olaf and a few other Watchers whom I didn’t know.

  “HotCat? That’s you?” one of the strangers asked me. He was called Green and looked like a tall ginger elf or a half-elf, you never knew at first.

  “Cat’s really popular today!” Komtur said with a wry smile. “You even managed to pull a slacker into Sphere!”

  “You asked me to bring him up to speed yourself,” Green said, shrugging.

  “Go on, then,” Komtur grumbled. “Cat, this is Green, our former clan trader. He’ll tell you what’s what.”

  “Yes, poor nerds, I’m retiring,” Green retorted, his nose in the air. “Woe to you! Hope this guy can replace me.”

  “Why did you decide to retire?” I asked.

  “I got sick of playing! Found a nice job in real life,” Green replied, looking apologetic. “It’s on a floating city in the Mediterranean! I’ve always dreamed of living by the sea... It’s an on/off rotation, a month there, a month here. As you can see, being a clan fence is kinda hard with such a schedule. And the clan’s decided, well...”

  “To kick him to the curb!” Komtur burst into laughter. The other Watchers joined him, including the trader himself.

  After the fun was over, Green led me away.

  “All right, so your first task is to maintain clan supplies. Consumables, elixirs, armor sets — Damian will give you the list. Do you know him? He’s in charge of the clan warehouse. Some of the stuff’s provided by our crafters, some can be bought in Eyre or in Fairs.”

  “By the way,” he said, winking at me, “up to forty percent of yummy auction lots in Eyre were mine. Hope you’ll continue this tradition — I’ll draw up something for you.”

  I nodded, not saying anything.

  “So you probably already know that Eyre auction’s only for locals and newbies. All the money’s in the Bazaar, that’s where you’ll need to buy most of the stuff. You can make good money simply by buying there and selling here, get it? Have you been to the Bazaar?”

  “Nope, but I have a general idea.”

  “So you don’t have a clue,” Green sighed. “I’ll have to give you a tour, then.”

  “By the way, how can I get there? I take it that it’s a faraway world.”

  “Not really that far away. You can travel there, for instance, via stationary interworld portals. It’s about seven changes, which is a bit much. Personally, I prefer using Teleportation Scrolls.”

  “Aren’t they only sold for real money? Resellers usually ask at least fifteen hundred for them at the auction.”

  “What’s a thousand, man? Nothing! One visit to the Bazaar, if you know your stuff, will recoup it many times over!”

  Going by Green’s implications, he had been making a neat profit by adding his personal cargo to the clan supplies — light-weight, yet expensive items bought cheaply on the Bazaar and sold here — and controlling part of the auction lots in Eyre. He didn’t mention the details or specific items, but the scheme was clear enough. As I understood, the clan had either turned a blind eye to that or hadn’t known at all — after all, the transportation had been arranged by Green himself.

  “Your second task is to sell the clan property: loot, masterwork crafted items, mined resources. The stuff from the warehouse that Damian discarded...” my predecessor continued. “Lots of potions, have a look at them later. On top of that, some carebears pay for rent in kind, I mean, in items. They also need to be carried away and sold...”

  Northern Alliance consisted of twenty-two clans, only six of which were PvP-oriented. The other sixteen paid a flat sum for the right of residence, farm, and construction of their outposts in the Wild Lands. It wasn’t much, but considering the scope, it made up a pretty neat amount. This income allowed the Watchers and other Northern warriors to lead a comfortable life; they even got money for their game subscription and a wage that supported them, so they could stop working and dedicate all their time to playing and mastering their battle skills.

  “By the way, how are you transporting goods from the Bazaar and back? Do you have your own transport?”

  “No, I was unable to force Komtur to cash out,” Green replied, wincing as if he had just eaten a lemon. “Mark my words, he’s a real Scrooge, watches every penny. Our allies, the Varangians, have a transporter, but I fell out with him. We arrange transportation via contracts.”

  Logistics was an entire aspect of Sphere, a profitable industry with a whole lot of competing transporters. How would you move cargo from point A to point B if it didn’t fit into a player’s inventory? For instance, tons of mined ore, thousands of raw craft materials, or just furniture to furnish a house? Countries had NPC caravans traveling across them, but what if you needed to bring goods from another world, especially without direct portal connection? Help came from clans of players who made logistics their main source of income. Their flying ships, trucks, and barges moved across worlds, sometimes even crossing the dangerous Astral Plane, delivering cargo to everyone, everywhere. The process was simple. Everything was arranged via the contract system, in a few clicks. You set the departure point, the destination, the time, and the reward and published the contract. The transporter market, both big and small, was highly competitive, so there was no need to wait long.

  “Who’s transporting your stuff?” I asked. “Can you give me the contacts?”

  “I only used the Snails,” Green said. “They’re trusted. There are limits to cargo, but the guarantee’s one hundred percent.”

  I nodded. I had read about transport alliance Escargot & Co, nicknamed Snails. It was a conglomerate of the biggest transporters consisting of three clans: Up, Down, and Crazy. Up only moved cargo to mostly safe Grey and Upper worlds, Down specialized in getting stuff into Netherworlds, and Crazy only traveled to the Astral Plane, requesting obscene money for that service. They had their own tracking site that could be integrated into the game’s interface: it had a handy calculator that, upon entering starting and ending points, showed you the price of transportation, the insurance cost, and the possible dates. There was also a cargo tracker, the time of arrival...basically, the guys had everything worked out. A professional job. Ordering transportation was no harder than buying movie tickets. Snails asked for more, compared to average market prices, but their company ran like clockwork, which was their main appeal.

  In the meantime, Green briefed me on complex features of the clan interface. I was set as Trader, allowing me to see the contents of warehouses (partially), clan accounts, pages with links to rules, guides, and raid equipment lists, and so much more — an embarrassment of riches.

  “Long story short, I had to spend two or three hours a day on this fuss,” he told me at the end. “Even more, if I needed to buy something big or go to the Bazaar. So, how about we take a trip there, I’ll show you what’s what? When can you do it?”

  I considered his words. Well, what was the point in delaying the inevitable? I only had to visit Weldy and get the ready batch of Tincture of Fire.

  “Right now. But first, I need to drop by Eyre and get something, so I wouldn’t go empty-handed.”

  “Good thinking. Attaboy!” Green said, looking at me. “Small trinkets, but expensive, right? Fine, fine, I’m just asking. I also need to tie up a few loose ends. Okay, let’s meet in Eyre in an hour. Get a Teleportation Scroll in clan warehouse number three. Do you know where it is? You don’t? Fine, I’ll get it myself.”

  * * *

  Weldy had already completed the whole batch, but my inventory could only hold thirty vials. I paid her and took the recipe, rushing ahead. She wanted to talk to me about something, but I had no time. She seemed hurt.

  “Are you ready, Cat?” Green was already waiting for me on the square next to the portal. He handed me a Teleportation Scroll. Its purple outline indicated it was a rare and expensive it
em, for a trader, it was an ordinary consumable. “Are we going?”

  Without letting me answer, he unfolded his scroll and disappeared in an iridescent vortex.

  “So, are we?” I asked myself and promptly followed suit.

  Teleportation was instantaneous. The scenery changed as if I turned the page in a book.

  The sky was pale crimson. The huge yellow-brown disk of an unknown star was setting down over the horizon, with a few smaller moons against its background. Gigantic grey towers reached the sky. And around me, there was complete and total pandemonium.

  A hubbub of voices pierced my ears — people talking, beasts roaring, traders yelling. General chats buzzed, full of hyperlinked messages. I saw Russian, English, German, even some Chinese characters. How could all those people understand each other? The universal linguistics pack was expensive and not widely available...