A day later, we left the battleground full of bodies, with crows circling the skies above it. I had killed thirty lots for good, decreasing the markup to 1-3%, while the remaining eight were desperately fighting for air, thrashing around at 10-20%. I had cut off Zampotil’s market by dumping, buying and reselling his key items in scores. The war was vicious, and I had spent eighteen hours in the capsule — I couldn’t let myself be distracted. When I finally crawled out to sleep, I zoned out almost immediately, but even in my dreams I was haunted by rows of numbers and curves of sales graphs.
Upon logging in the next morning, I saw that the Phoenix trader had launched a massive counterattack. He had changed tactics, lowering the prices and trying to buy out almost all of my stuff at the lowest price. His goal was clear: push out the new challenger from the market and regain leadership. But the price had already been brought down, and a trader willing to restore the former rates had his work cut out for him.
No big deal. I wasn’t upset. By buying everything out, he reimbursed my expenses. Funny thing, that whole endeavor even made me a small profit — nothing special, but ten or fifteen thousand, in total. In the meantime, my auction agents in the Bazaar were buying out more of that stuff for me. I ordered the delivery of a fresh batch, including the lots introduced by Zampotil in an attempt to recoup for his losses. All he had managed to achieve were a few days of reprieve, while my cargo was moved. I was ready for a long-lasting trench warfare that was supposed to kick the Phoenix trader out of the stock market, or, rather, force him to assess the damage to his enterprise and the potential aftermath of our confrontation.
A day later, the market froze in an agonizing suspense. The majority of appealing lots that used to provide for my opponent were now on the verge of prime cost. I didn’t care about it much, as I would return my investments anyway. The point was, while I was in Fairs, the Reds would make no money on those goods. Zampotil didn’t seem to do anything, neither putting up new lots nor updating the prices on the old ones. Was he tired of fighting? Did he run out of steam? It sure seemed like that.
And so, I decided to write him a letter. Not from my own account, of course, but via my alt created for the very purpose.
Hi, buddy. Aren’t you tired of butting heads? What if we tried to make a deal?
His reply was almost instantaneous.
Who the hell are you? Who do you belong to? You do know that you’re squatting, right? Guess what happens if you do something like that!
Just as I had expected, his first reaction was trying to put pressure on me and try to intimidate, the same thing he had done back then during the arrows operation. So I’m squatting, then? Yeah, right. Pushing away his persistent attempts to start a personal chat with me, I sent him another letter.
I see you aren’t ready for a constructive dialogue yet. Write me when you are. Mail only, my PMs are blocked.
Alright, moving on. I even liked tormenting him. Thing is, I knew that Zampotil had lots of stuff on his hands, both his own and bought from me, and couldn’t sell it for a profit. He had been unable to sweat it out and had realized that I wouldn’t simply backtrack, that I needed something. Now he was most likely doing his utmost to research my alt, who had a crystal clean record, trying to find out more about that character to put pressure. I also knew that he wouldn’t find anything at all.
The letter arrived in two hours. Zampotil wrote, What do you want?
Pleased as punch, I replied,
I know how awful it feels when someone tries squatting on your territory. Now you know that, too. Let’s make a deal: I leave yours alone, and you leave mine.
His answer was immediate.
What are you talking about?
I spent some time on wording my demand. Eventually, I decided to limit myself to one line. He was no fool; he would get it.
Stop buying from carebears in the north.
This time, I had to wait a long time. I almost thought that Zampotil had decided to resume the trading war, having mustered his strength, but eventually, he wrote to me.
I see. I know who’s behind you. HotCat, isn’t it? I’ve recognized your hand. You’re getting into a very unpleasant business, dude. Should I contact the Watchers?
That was to be expected, too, so I happily drummed up a response,
What counts is not the knowledge, but the proof.
Innocent until proven guilty, wasn’t it? Even if the Phoenix clan ratted me out to the Watchers, what evidence did they have that it was HotCat who had barged into their business? None. An anonymous trader in Fairs, correspondence with a random account, assumptions and conclusions by Zampotil. HotCat was clean as a whistle and could calmly deny all allegations and insinuations. And my opponent couldn’t help but realize that, too. If he turned out to be stubborn as a mule, I could sit there a few more weeks, driving down their prices and blocking the income from Dorsa’s biggest auction.
Everything’s simple, my friend. As soon as you say yes, I’ll magically disappear. If you break your promise, I’ll come back.
Zampotil didn’t say anything. He was probably counting the profit he had lost in the course of my attack and potential gain from buying stuff from our tenants, estimating what was more lucrative. And I knew what he would choose.
* * *
“...Thirteen outposts. This one, rank four, can’t be taken on the fly. Agatosh’s soldiers will lay siege by Friday, but they’ll need support.”
“We’ll send two const parties,” Tao said. “Peacemaker and Daos will assist them, the rest are busy. We already lost two outposts last week.”
“Yet slowly but surely, we’re pushing them back!” Mirgus retorted. “The frontline’s moving. That’s what we should have done from the very beginning, not your plan with raiding Eyre and hiring Pandas...”
Tao winced. He hated being reminded of his mistakes.
“What about the scrolls?” he asked curtly. “Are the Swords ready?”
“We’re running low on supplies. Hashem and Ruth are hard at work creating new ones. We might have to buy something at the Bazaar, but the clan treasury is wearing thin. The war’s putting us through the wringer. Tao, we really need to spend a week in Helt Akor...”
“We don’t have time yet,” Tao replied, then blinked with his only eye and shook his head in frustration.
“What’s wrong, Tao?”
“Some newbie’s spamming my personal messages. I’ll have to block him.”
A few seconds later, the PROJECT leader stood up, interrupting the conversation.
“I’m sorry, Mirgus. I need to fly to Fairs. It’s urgent.”
The Fairian tavern in the central square was swarming with players and NPCs. It couldn’t be helped; it was a busy location, as many started their in-game path in that place and stayed there for good. Bypassing chatting, drinking, and trading newbies, a look of disgust on his face, Tao found the person who had contacted him sitting in the corner at an empty table. A quick study revealed beginner gear, green neutral karma, a nickname that said nothing, and a lilywhite kill rating.
“Did Cat send you?”
“You could say that,” the stranger replied after a pause. “Please, let’s avoid nicknames. I’ll be the middleman in the negotiations. You two shouldn’t meet, you must realize that. So do you wish to retrieve your stuff? I have a proposal. Do something, and you’ll get it back.”
“What kind of something?”
“It’s simple, really. Here’s a map. See the marked area? In the next week, all traffic inside it must be blocked — merchant caravans, flying ships, everything. Your task is to intercept everything, so nobody would even think of poking inside. Can you do it?”
Tao carefully examined the map. It was the territory of Northern Alliance, the yellow zone between the kingdoms and clan lands, scarcely populated and unwanted by everyone except for ever-curious adventurers and the Watchers’ tenants, who occasionally sent their caravans through it.
He didn’t like that offer; on the surfac
e, it didn’t make any sense. It wasn’t hard at all; in fact, it enabled him to mix business with pleasure, raking up kills and plucking the feathers of his enemy’s farmers. And that’s why it set off his alarm bells. Was it a setup?
“No setup,” the stranger spit on the dirty floor. “Put a few seekers on the look-out. When your targets appear, drop on them through a pentagram, that’s it.”
“What are the guarantees that a crowd of locals won’t spring up on me?” Tao asked.
“Who? You have a treaty with the Watchers, and the others are far away. The guarantees... Here, take it.”
A thick gold ring rolled down the table, spinning and gleaming in the light, a row of empty sockets along the band. The Ring of Nine Lives.
“It’s a token of free will and the first down payment,” the strange character snickered. “When you’re finished, you’ll get your legendaries back.”
Tao took the epic ring and put it into his inventory, then studied the other player.
“We didn’t discuss only items, but also information. About the sword.”
“The information will be a bonus. So, do we have a deal?”
Tao left the tavern, brusquely pushing aside the newbies who got under his feet. He did suspect there was a catch in the deal. Cat was the Watcher’s clan trader, so he was probably up to his ears in some shenanigans. King Sildo’s Mantle, and most importantly, the information about the mysterious sword, was much more valuable than a week of boring vigil easily handled by two const parties and a portal master, just in case. And the ring...
The square was full of people, and almost immediately, Tao got swept up in the crowd. He stopped, his eyes resting on the portal circle. What was that clutter? A mastodon mount charged right past him, scattering the players about, clearly in combat mode, while armed NPC guards hurried after it. A roc rapidly descended on the crowd, close enough to touch their hair, with the flames of Grand Fire flashing behind it.
“Superchick! Superchick!” someone yelled, and NPCs and players alike, lit on fire, ran out of the flames, howling, while panicking on-lookers broke into a run. The guards riding dragonflies chased after the roc, shooting it down in flight. Scurrying figures darted around, and a few of them bumped into Tao. Still, his Strength and Constitution were too high, and they collapsed, as if hitting a wall. One of them, however, managed to hold his ground and grabbed onto the PROJECT leader’s waistline.
Kesson successfully used Steal against you!
You lost Ring of Nine Lives!
A thief! The robber’s nickname turned red, and he leaped aside, trying to hide in the crowd. Not so fast. A white flash shot out from Tao’s hand, hitting Kesson right in his back. The thief froze in an icy stature and then shattered into a thousand fragments, as the angered HELL leader brought down his Black Sword upon him.
A cloak of disguise, a lockpick set, scrolls of Find Treasure and Learn Essence, a shoddy blue ring, a token of the Bazaar Thief Guild... Kesson’s loot had no Ring of Nine Lives.
Tao’s expression remained unchanged, but his heart blazed with the fire of wounded pride. Getting his epic back, making a promise, and losing it straight away seemed like a trashy comedy. Kesson, Darknet? Who was the clan leader? He would sort it out.
Kesson: It was a real circus. He threatened us! So much butt hurt! Such a tasty video, look for it tomorrow on the off forum, you’ll laugh your ass off.
HotCat: What about the ring?
Kesson: I accepted the contract and got the money. I sent it to you, just as we agreed.
HotCat: I owe you one.
Kesson: Call me up if you find any more marks.
Chapter 13
I FOUND SOMETHING really cool on the Net. It was a fansite, or rather, an actual portal belonging to the so-called Pioneers. That community, as well as the eponymous in-game clan, were fans of exploring new worlds, who worshipped the romance of the frontier. The site boasted a veritable ocean of interesting and useful information, articles, videos, and guides, but the best thing about the Pioneers was the tool for creating an interactive map of Sphere.
Any player could upload maps from their Atlas, expanding and updating their data. On top of that, Pioneers’ database also pulled records from lots of other sources, including kill rating and the map of territorial influence. As a result, we got a digest of interactive charts for most of the worlds with a lot of handy filters.
That’s what I was busy playing with.
And that’s where AlexOrder’s Atlas truly came in handy, too. I uploaded and synchronized detailed maps of Dorsa, our world, and was now absorbed into analyzing it.
Our world had five continents, but the main of them, Dorsa, located in the center, was also the largest one, taking up almost the entire eastern hemisphere. To the west, across the ever-raging ocean, we had Farsids, the land of Japanese clans. The Japanese often raided the western coast of Dorsa, but they were an enemy we knew well, with the same squabbles and fun gained by both sides.
Ketel, a square-shaped continent in the northeast, was almost uninhabited and only started to be colonized. There was another faction war going on there, with bright fires indicating high PvP activity. We also had Trom and Tar-Sadar, but they were smaller, closer to islands, and far away.
Dorsa was populated with Russian speakers, and almost 50% of the Russian segment of Sphere made their living right there. It was the most “Russian” of worlds, with foreign players making up no more than 10% of the entire population, other than Japanese, who were mostly citizens of the Confederation anyway.
I opened the image of the central continent and zoomed in, then checked the Territorial Influence box. The areas owned by kingdoms and clans studded the map with a scattering of many-colored spots. Now, I had to turn on Trade Activity and Average Online, with a scheme of stationary teleports and trade routes on top of it.
And that’s what I got.
The biggest trade hub of Dorsa was Golden Fairs. It was situated right in the center of the continent, at the crossroads of trade routes. The brightest one was the indicator of trading, as it was the focal point, the merchant mecca, the most crowded city of our world.
Dan-na-Eyre, my current place of residence, was in the north and northwest of the continent. It was a vast yet savage area, with rugged terrain and relatively underpopulated. The Northern Alliance, which included the Watchers, had almost a hundred thousand on the roll-call, but most of them were peaceful farmers and crafters scattered over the lands captured by PvPers. They paid rent, mined ore, gathered resources, farmed mobs, and explored dungeons. I was curious where those of them who handled their own logistics sold the riches of the Wild Lands. Those players were the majority, and only a third of our tenants handed over their cargo to Phoenix.
Blue dotted lines of trade routes originating from dozens of outposts crossed the Wild Lands, the borderlands, and the kingdoms, coming together in the nearest hub — Eyre. It made sense: it had the regional auction and a pier for flying ships. But Eyre was unable to absorb all the mined resources: its capacity was limited.
Therefore, they used the following scheme: Wild Lands — Eyre — Fairs or the Bazaar. From the forts, carebears moved their cargo via NPC caravans to Eyre, where they loaded it into flying ships destined for the Bazaar or Golden Fairs, depending on the size and the sellers’ greed. This plan was used to feed a whole crowd of players and NPCs — carriers, traders, resellers, captains of trading vessels.
There was only one weak spot: security. This is why players were so willing to pay the Watchers and other clans like them to rent their territory. On their land, PvPers ensured order and safety, mercilessly annihilating gangs of stray PKers who tried to profiteer off robbing helpless caravans. That territory was pretty quiet, both in the Wild Lands and the border areas beloved by player killers. I remembered that Flame and Valkyrie had told me about it back when I had been starting out.
Here, they ruthlessly stopped the chaos that reigned in the other parts of Wild Fields, where I had made the acquai
ntance of Don and his guys not that long ago. It wasn’t even a part of the agreement: essentially, the Watchers only pledged to keep them safe in the event of outside aggression and protect them if anybody tried to chase them off the land they rented. Still, the PvP fans were too bored, not getting enough of their favorite pastime, and were happy to play policemen, arduously tracking outsider gangs.
I looked through the alliance mail and checked all accessible channels. At the core, the Northern Alliance was a pretty amorphous enterprise, having no unified control, with the only method of coordination being the alliance chat and a few secure channels. Of course, if a threat arose, the combat clans would join together, assemble a raid, help each other out... Yet I wasn’t sure whether they would step up if something insignificant happened.
The Gene of the Ancients (Rogue Merchant Book #2): LitRPG Series Page 18
