The Gene of the Ancients (Rogue Merchant Book #2): LitRPG Series by Roman Prokofiev (top books to read TXT) 📕

that place was explored. Luckily, the Watchers had a three-month ticket into that “Sovereign Dungeon”, the entrance to which was right under the Weeping Devil, the castle belonging to PROJECT HELL. I knew that they periodically raided the Paths, as clan and alliance chats were full of announcements. I didn’t know how deep the Watchers went into Helt Akor, but I was planning on researching that question after finishing with the recipe affair. But first, I had to do some trading!

At 11 AM, I logged back in and continued my dreary routine of tapping auction buttons. A few Dragon Blood traders had shaved off their price overnight, and I bought their lots out, but most of it, around five hundred thousand worth, was still up for sale for an absolutely inappropriate cost. Moreover, someone had noticed the growing buzz around the item and brought in even more blood, selling it cheaper than I did.

I needed money for the final stage of Operation Recipe; a lot of money, or everything would be ruined. I realized I needed to take risks.

I could invest real money, but that was unwise, considering the ten percent admin fee, which made large transaction cost a lot. Fidgeting, I crossed the room a few times, then finally left the apartment and went toward the elevator.

Golden Hamster Bank occupied an entire floor. Despite the funny logo, it was the biggest and the most powerful organization in Sphere that had branches in all worlds and at each auction. For a fee, they could store valuables, deposit money to a bill account, exchange in-game currency into real money, and also give out loans — which was right what I needed.

Despite the decor, everything was quite serious, as the bank belonged to the game administration. It was intended to regulate the cost of in-game currency, acting as the only issuer of gold coins, the universal currency of Sphere. Golden Hamster controlled the rate of exchange and watched the total amount of money in the game.

After listening to my requests, the NPCs sent me to an expert, who was a player — or rather an employee of the corporation — in charge of such issues. He spent a few minutes studying something, probably my history of financial transactions, the cash flow, determining my solvency. Finally, he announced his decision: a security deposit of one hundred thousand with maximum leverage of five hundred thousand, meaning that a hundred thousand gold on my in-game account would be frozen, forbidding me from exchanging it for real money. In return, the Golden Hamster would allow me to use half a million of their funds. Not for free, of course: I would have to pay half a percentage point for each transaction, plus a monthly fee. Those were some crazy terms. Before signing the virtual contract, I asked the main question.

“If you lose more than the deposit amount while trading, you will be in the red,” the smiling manager explained. “You could repay your debt with either real or in-game money. If you don’t repay, the Golden Hamster will seek compensation through the courts, following the User Agreement.”

So that’s how it was. If I went deep into debt and, say, deleted my account, sooner or later, I would still be visited by enforcement officers. I shivered. I certainly wanted to avoid such an outcome.

No. I closed the contract window, my hand firm. It was an interesting offer, but I wasn’t about to risk spending borrowed money, the sum of which exceeded my assets several times over. It was too dangerous, and I still didn’t know the Bazaar and its pitfalls well enough.

“Your offer has been created and will be valid for a month,” said the manager, having clearly lost his interest in me. “At any moment, you may contact — “

“I’m sorry, but I’m not interested in that credit line,” I replied. “At least, for now. Maybe in the future... May I take a plain loan? Say, for fifty thousand?”

After stalling me for half an hour, they gave me the fifty thousand, for a month and with twenty percent interest, which was a lot, but I didn’t have any other options. Repeated exchange of real-life money would have cost me even more.

Upon returning to my apartment, I bought out all the remaining minor lots that impeded my operation, spending about forty thousand gold. At that moment, I had 410 gallons of Dragon Blood on my hands. The market price was about 250 gold per gallon, but the main bulk, about fifteen hundred gallons, were in the 290-410 range, and I couldn’t drive them down lower than that.

I needed to make a decision. However, I also had to remember that scores — if not hundreds — of people as resolved as me were playing against me, many of them smarter and more experienced than me. Some of them were bound to monitor the strange activity of that auction lot, and some definitely had cards up their sleeves. The situation required a more delicate approach.

Once again, I turned to the main tool of my endeavor — the official forum. I opened the same topic, which was now full of people making fun of the hapless alchemist, and wrote that I decided to give up on that business for good and wanted to sell the other recipes of that line-up, especially since I didn’t have enough skill points for creating epic elixirs. I asked for advice on the possible prices, also adding a few screenshots.

After that, I logged back in and started watching the market. The buzz around Dragon Blood would show if my plan panned out. Would the alchemy masters believe that a newbie stupid enough to expose a potentially profitable venture on the forums could get an epic recipe?

For a while, nothing was happening. Before the alchemists or their clan traders started to pour into the market, the information needed to