Battle for the North (Rogue Merchant Book #4): LitRPG Series by Roman Prokofiev (the dot read aloud .TXT) 📕

a thousand players had already joined the raid, and considering that everyone had an NPC companion or two, the total number looked very impressive. I saw the tags of all PVP clans in the alliance — Watchers, Enemy, Heroes, Brethren, Unity, and Varangians. Everyone had come; it was my first time seeing such a massive raid.

“Will Komtur lead the raid?” I asked Alex. The bearded runemaster shook his head.

“I don’t think so. Too many people, that’s out of his league. I guess it will be Mook.”

Nico let out a reverential whistle. Of course! Evil Mook was another legend of the Russian-speaking community, one of the most experienced, tough, and uncompromising PVP raid leaders. Enemy, his clan, had started out as a group of PKers who terrorized newbies and farmers. They retained their core members and were considered to be the most experienced and skilled fighters of the Northerners, equal to the hardcore pros from the Watchers.

I scrolled through the Courier channels. That messenger was really something else — it had supplanted all other communications platforms thanks to its customization options. At the moment, everything was set up by the classic scheme: the raid leaders had a separate chatroom, everyone could hear them, and they could hear only the group leaders, scouts, and other essential players. In the command chat, I also noticed several unfamiliar nicknames tagged as Phoenix, Horde, and even Hird. Apparently, something truly grandiose was about to happen if they needed communication with our major allies.

In the meantime, a young, slightly raspy voice started talking. It belonged to the aforementioned Mook.

Evil Mook: Hi all, noobs! Thanks for coming. We didn’t expect this turnout. A thousand, awesome!

 

Several people wrote in the chat that he was a noob and an amateur. Banter and snark were par for the course in the alliance; subordination didn’t matter. Mook laughed, content, and spoke up.

Evil Mook: All right, so for those who don’t know me, I have two rules. First, don’t flood the channel and the chat. Second, always assist. Those who shitpost and don’t attack primary targets will become primary targets. I’m not joking.

Evil Mook: There are many of us today, so targets will be given out by ten...no, twelve callers. I’m going to assign them, and they’ll pick out reserve callers in case they die. The battle will be hard. Release your pawns as soon as we go through the portal, but for now, we’ll only need support, heal, and ranged DPS. Most likely, we’ll be attacking from a distance, aiming at flying targets.

 

The edge of the yellow sun appeared above the jagged ridges of the horizon. It was almost seven in the morning. I expected a pentagram, but instead, all players were ordered to enter the clan teleporter. Each castle had one; it was an additional advantage bestowed by the community — free access to the portal network that connected all of the major NPC Kingdoms of Dorsa. One after another, the groups disappeared in an iridescent glow.

Evil Mook: Destination: Golden Fairs. After you get there, go right through the square to the western gate, then upstairs. Stop at the bastions, don’t go further, and don’t fly beyond the perimeter on birdies. Wait for my command. There are only allies in the city. For geniuses here, I repeat — don’t attack neutrals in the city, even if they’re red. Damage only primary targets via assist.

 

In the Fairs, the famous southern capital and the main trading hub of Dorsa, the sun was already high. I had visited this place many times, a Classical-style city built from white marble that rested on the coast of the continent-dissecting Long Sea, but it was never that lively.

The local teleporter was surrounded by two rings of hoplites bristling with spears, their rectangular shields interlocked. Groups of four NPC guards marched down the street past them, and hundreds of players poured through the gaps between them. Myriads of flying mounts cut through the sky, filling the air with the flutter of wings. An entire fleet of astral ships under white sails hovered above the city, their keels almost touching the highest towers. Frigates, corvettes, barques, schooners...I was surprised to see several heavy galleons that had removed their gun covers. Going by their phoenix-emblazoned red banners, most of the vessels belonged to the Phoenix alliance. There were a lot of them; at first glance, that fleet was as big as the one brought by NAVY to Pandorum’s astral fortress. That was a real armada. Compared to them, ours was laughable — the entire alliance couldn’t assemble even a score of warships. Groups of mounted birdies circled the ships, not letting anyone approach.

The ring of hoplites came apart in several places, identifying us and letting us pass. The NPC guards of the Fairs’ ruling faction were completely different from the warriors of the Eyre Nation. They were clearly based on the Classical period: Ancient Greek fighters who came to life with their crimson capes, bronze and gold anatomical cuirasses mimicking muscular physique, crested helmets, short spears, and xiphos swords. There were others among the defenders rushing to the walls: slingers and javelin throwers with light shields made of cane; young flute players; columns of phalangists carrying monstrous spears on their backs. The Fairians were a large and powerful faction that controlled dozens of provinces. Their legions were considered the be the most powerful NPC army of our continent. So who dared to challenge them? Could it be the House of Darkness?

The merlons of the three wide bastions were as tall as a human. Inside, among the walls full of slanted shooting slits, there was enough place for all of us. Below, on the ramparts, Fairian warriors were busy setting fires under kettles of tar, carrying stones for the trebuchets, and moving stationary catapults. We had an amazing view of the surroundings. To the right, we could see the blue waters of the Long Sea and