Shadow Seer (Rogue Merchant Book #3): LitRPG Series by Roman Prokofiev (read ebook pdf .TXT) 📕

The aforementioned pillar turned out to be the center of local social life. There was no doubt about where to go—only one oval-shaped entrance was lit from the inside, something resembling a fish skeleton hanging just above it. Quiet, I climbed the spiral staircase and entered the room bathed in dim greenish light.

Crystalline lamps adorned the walls. Sand-filled stone bowls served as tables, weird round-bottomed glassware embedded inside them. I quickly counted the patrons: there were four of them. One, most likely the innkeeper, was an NPC, a serpentfolk. He was standing behind the pseudo-counter, glaring daggers at me. The other two were players, sitting in the corner discussing something. They had red karma, and their nicknames and clan tags were an unreadable chain of hieroglyphics—Chinese or Korean. I had read that several allied clans from Asia had access to the Arch. Judging by their gear, they were a tank and a caster. The fourth man was odd...very odd. He seemed to be an NPC, reclining on a chair in a cloud of tobacco smoke, puffing away at his short pipe. Well-worn leather armor, a wide-brimmed plumed hat...the rest was covered with grey bandages. I could make them out even under his clothes and on his face. The only areas left uncovered were his thick mustache and a narrow slit for one eye. He was a real mummy, but still, he kept smoking like a chimney.

I came up to the counter and put my hand on it, whispering to the innkeeper, “I need a ship to Dagorrath. Where can I find a captain?”

The serpentfolk flinched back, hissing in response, “What do you mean, ssstranger?”

“I’ll pay.”

My hand slid down from the counter, leaving a gold coin. My danger sense spiked—out of the corner of my eyes, I spied the two Asian players stand up from their places and approach me.

“Who are you? How did you get here?” The language pack translated their speech.

“Why are you silent? Speak up!”

I had expected something like that, which is why I was gripping the hilt of Aelmaris with my other hand under the cloak. From the looks of it, this place didn’t get many new visitors; only a small circle of players had access to the Arch. These two were fools, and they were clearly asking for a fight. The Arch didn’t have NPC guards; like the rest of Helt Akor, it was a free PVP zone. Fine; let’s say they started the fight themselves.

One of them came up behind me and abruptly pulled up my hood. Everyone saw my nickname and status—blue positive karma, the mark of a visitor from the worlds above, meaning a carebear and a weakling.

I froze, tense as a coiled spring. Two movements, two cross-counters. They had some skill, but the flaming sword didn’t care about their stats. Too bad that I would out myself. I prepared to attack, but a scuffle behind me, a shriek, and the whooshing sound of air being slashed told me that help had come from an unexpected source.

“Hey, Rocky, what are you doing? He’s a stranger with good karma! We—”

“Put your dirty paws away before I cut them off!” A booming bass drowned out their voices like a ship’s whistle overriding the screams of seagulls.

I turned around. The mummy smoking in the corner was suddenly right next to me. The first opponent was lying flat on the floor, pinned down by the mummy’s knee, a maingauche pressed against his throat. The second one was slowly backing away, raising his unarmed hands, the tip of a heavy rapier with a fancy crossguard frozen in front of his face. Everything had been accomplished quickly and precisely, and the players seemed to be seriously scared. I guess he was one tough customer.

“You’re going my way, mate,” he said, winking at me with his only eye. His pipe rolled over to the other corner of his mouth. At last, I saw that he was an NPC: Rocky from the Gravekeepers faction, orange karma, somewhere between bad and very bad. However, living in the lower worlds made retaining good karma almost impossible.

“Let’s go. I’ll show you where to find a ship,” he offered, standing up and putting his rapier back into the sheath. “Actually, I just came from there. The last passenger, ha-ha!”

“You forgot to pay, Gravekeeper!” the “innkeeper” hissed.

“Really?” Rocky nodded at the gold coin I had left on the counter and nudged me toward the exit.

“Pick up the pace,” I heard as we went down the stairs. “These guys are a vengeful lot. They might gather a crowd against you.”

We walked down the maze of giant stalactites, almost running through that strange underground town. The Gravekeeper’s leather-clad back hovered in front of me. He was very fast, although his movements seemed a bit unnatural—it seemed that one of his legs couldn’t bend. The smell of ditch water drew nearer. We passed nets hanging on sharp stalactites and suddenly found ourselves next to an inlet with a makeshift berth. On top of several long boats, it boasted the weirdest ship I had ever seen.

It was neither a flying astral vessel nor a common sailing ship. It had no masts or sails at all. Round like a barrel, with iron-plated studded broadsides, it resembled a huge armored turtle. A three-bladed water propeller stuck out from its back, bringing to mind ancient submarines from Leonardo Da Vinci’s etchings. The deck was empty, except for a lone NPC standing watch by the gangplank. He looked like an ogre, only slimmer and underfed, like a teenager. His name, however, was imposing—Stormbreaker.

“Rocky, come in, we were waiting for you!” he growled, aiming something akin to a hand cannon on a platform at me.

“Who’s this with you? Stop before I make a second hole in your arse!”

“This dude’s been looking for a ship sailing into