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

Mirgus: No. Only players and pawns.

Tao: Then it should be a cakewalk. Scouts, you need to sneak up on them so we’d be as close to the support group as possible to get them down at once. I know it’s hard, but it’s important.

Mirgus: I think we should start. They mean business. The first line is already down. There’s at least a hundred mages, wicked DPS.

Tao: Roger that. Ready the pentagram. Enter only on my command. Scouts, locate and mark Crow and Bara Norkins. Those are RLs, we need to take them down ASAP.

Tentacle: Boss, killing RLs first isn’t good form...

Tao: Whatever. We aren’t at a joust. It’s war! Let’s cut their head off, and they’re bound to drop like flies. What’s happening, Mirgus?

Mirgus: They’ve engaged the second line. Melee, magic, everything’s mixed up, hard to make out. I don’t think Agatosh’s looking good. Draxes and shamans are taken out on assist. Healers can’t deal with the damage.

Tao: Got it. Fine, let’s not take risks. Just get a bit closer.

Tao: Stop. That’s good enough. Light up the pentagram! Get in! Target callers, mark the targets, fast! Priority: RL, then support, then birdies. Let’s go!

Tao: What the hell? Are they retreating? After losing just twenty people?

Tentacle: They’re fleeing like cowards!

Mirgus: Doesn’t look like that. It’s an organized maneuver.

Tao: Yep, I recognize Crow’s style. They’re retreating to regroup. He’s trying to draw them out, separate them from Agatosh, kite them, and launch a counterattack. Screw that. Raid, stop! Don’t chase after them! Let’s just wait for them to come to us. They’re the ones who need to take down the outposts. We’re going to fight on our terms.

Fifteen minutes later...

Mirgus: Tao, do you see the clan logs?

Tao: I do. Someone’s attacking our rear outpost in the neighboring region. Some nonames. Maybe it’s not serious?

Mirgus: I doubt that. More than a hundred players in the log. It’s not a hit-and-run. An hour ago everything was clear. They must have come through a pentagram. They’re systematically destroying the fort. The Dome won’t last more than half an hour without support. The garrison’s just fifty NPCs.

Tao: Why so few? It’s a caravan meeting point, the fort’s full of construction and upgrade materials for all Black River outposts!

Mirgus: It’s the backyard. You ordered us to move all capable troops to the pass yourself.

Tao: Can they use Invincibility?

Mirgus: No. Magic Shield’s just level three, there was no time to get it to level four. No Invincibility.

Tao: Too bad. Eighty-seven leagues. Alcaron, can we open a penta there?

Alcaron: Forty more minutes until the cooldown.

Tao: Dammit! It’s a classic diversion. They’re pulling us apart. If we rush to the fort, the Northerners will push us away from here. If we don’t, we lose the outpost there. But who are those guys? How did our spies miss them?

Mirgus: I don’t know, Tao. The clan was created the day before yesterday. One hundred and four people, no names I could recognize. Kill rating’s clear. Here, see for yourself.

Tao: No names you could recognize, you say? I do remember at least a couple.

* * *

The next day, I got into Sphere pretty late. After the fight with Alena, a tempestuous reconciliation, and an attempt to get some sleep, I could only log in almost at night. I was up to my neck with urgent business. Komtur immediately pulled me into the castle and demanded a report on his special mission.

The clan needed flying ships, also known as astral, as they were the only way to travel across the Astral Plane, the mysterious interdimensional space of Sphere.

Finally, Komtur had realized their value. Times were changing, and we had to master new weapons. Ships gave us control of the air and were an efficient means of transport and fire support. They were a pretty fresh invention, the first of them rolling off Forgeworlds shipyards only a year ago. Before that, the players had been unable to collect all components listed in the blueprints, and the blueprints themselves were often unavailable as well. The dromonts, dwellers of the Forgeworlds, issued only their copies that allowed one to build a limited number of vessels.

During my latest two visits to the Bazaar, I had bought a rig and special equipment for an air fleet. The Watchers had purchased three skiffs and a light corvette and were seriously discussing acquiring a battle frigate. Komtur tasked me with buying a hull and mods, which wasn’t easy, seeing as they were usually custom-ordered and the few of them that made it to the market sold like hot cakes. It was a whole lot of money even for a clan: a fully-fitted frigate cost at least thirty thousand gold. At least, that was the upper limit set by Komtur. In truth, I hoped to spend no more than two hundred and fifty. Still, I was in no hurry. The Watchers didn’t have a player able to steer a ship of that class. They were busy buying skillbooks and growth manuals.

Upon hearing out my account and receiving a cost sheet for a fitted frigate, the leader of the Watchers dropped casually, “Your request’s been granted, by the way. We’re raiding Helt Akor tomorrow, and you’re in. Visit Ebb to get gear.”

I breathed out in relief. At last, I could start searching for Svechkin. I couldn’t miss that opportunity. But there was one other thing. I was worried what would happen to the guys who had done my dirty work — the Randoms, the Little Green Men, and the Patrol. They had completed their side of the agreement, and I told Panther and Don that I couldn’t cover for them anymore. I hoped