The Gene of the Ancients (Rogue Merchant Book #2): LitRPG Series Roman Prokofiev (top ten books of all time .TXT) 📖

AlexOrder: Not bad. Pretty inspiring. Looks really similar to our fight at the Tomb of the Necromancer.

HotCat: Yep. That scandalous video that Snow filmed gained lots of views on V-Net. People were all over it. The admins decided to make it into a commercial. Fanservice, get it?

AlexOrder: Cool, I guess. Is it an in-game video?

HotCat: Not quite. The admins have a special feature called a Workshop. That’s how they did it.

AlexOrder: I know. A built-in editor. It allows us to create custom quests.

HotCat: They sent me there. Filming, double takes — all very stressful, just like real movies. They’re going to do ten videos like that, all with different characters and storylines. Mine is kind of a headliner.

AlexOrder: I hate to ask, Cat, but did they pay you for that?

HotCat: Pay me? Well... I suppose they did. But not the way you think.

I chuckled as I reminisced. The team sent by Sphere’s administration that had so unexpectedly appeared at my home turned out to be pursuing something very different than Balabanov’s case.

They had a huge paradigm shift at the marketing department that promoted Sphere. Some bigwig up in the corporate chain had given everyone a good walloping, fired the previous head manager, and set the entire department on edge. And so, they had kicked up a fuss, creating a plan for a new Sphere of Worlds marketing campaign.

The focus was on the opportunities Sphere gave to a player right from the get-go, implying that every newbie could find a magic sword and own everybody. Was that nonsense? Absolutely. In the real game, it was all but impossible. Still, the marketing experts harped on that it would work and thousands of new players would pour in. And I, with my imba sword, had caught their eye, becoming the first candidate for the role of the campaign’s protagonist.

Why not, really? The contract they had offered me wasn’t exactly taxing; the only problem was that Sphere’s administration really wasn’t keen on paying me in real money. I could understand them, too: why spend actual currency when they had all the riches of the virtual world at their disposal?

“Everything you want,” so enticingly promised by long-legged Lana, turned out to be very limited. Real money wasn’t a part of that.

Still, I didn’t have any regrets. I had put up quite an act, forcing the marketing team to pull out their main trump card. For some reason, I was very important to them.

They had given me an unlimited Diamond account. Yep, the coolest subscription option. Five thousand terro a month was a pretty tidy sum: only wealthy people, major paying players, could spend that much on the game each month. I remember a forum post by one of them: You’re laughing that I pay top buck for a game, and I’m laughing that you consider this top buck.

Upon selecting this account type, there wasn’t even a description of the bonuses, only a brief message saying the administration would contact the buyer within five minutes of purchasing it. VIP service, individual customer service.

Overall, I felt like I hadn’t gone wrong. Too bad, I hadn’t gotten enough time to experience all those perks: first, the marketing department had dragged me into that filming business, and then, it was time for real life. I had to deliver on my promise, and at the end of the May holidays, Alena and I went to visit her parents.

* * *

Location: the world of Dorsa, Condor, the castle of the Watchers.

With each new screenshot, Komtur’s face clouded up. The malevolent pentagram of a Great Portal looked at him from the pictures, lines of dark warriors marching from the rainbow glow, carrying dark banners with a five-pointed white crown. A long-tusked, broad-shouldered orc with three silver skulls on his cuirass led the army that seemed to have everything: runners, wolf riders, drax riders, mountain archers...

“Who sent the info?” the leader of the Watchers asked curtly.

“Bara Norkins from Sworn Brothers. She was the only one who managed to get close, they killed everybody else, shot down the birdies. The area’s teeming with enemies.”

“So, a Great Portal. I didn’t expect Tao to go to such lengths. How many of them are there?”

“Hard to tell. Three skulls indicate a Gorth Hagra — a Horde commander — but there’s more than one horde. At least ten thousand NPCs,” said Olaf, the clan analyst.

“And not just anyone, those are the veterans of the House of Darkness,” Balian grumbled, studying the images. “They would eat our allies from the faction for breakfast.”

“Yes, that’s certainly much more than Eyre could handle,” Olaf said. “And the worst thing is, they aren’t even in a hurry. Someone smart is leading them. They’re doing everything by the book, a thorough job, no reckless raids. Do you want me to tell you what’s going to happen?”

“Go on.”

“They’ll build outposts and infrastructure: magic shields, watchtowers, then fortify their rear, preparing for a long war. After that, it will be time for recon, finding Eyre’s weak spots. One by one, they’ll destroy the Nation’s forts until they reach Dan-na-Eyre itself. And then...”

Olaf demonstrated a nut being cracked, doing a pretty good job. Balian nodded somberly, agreeing with his estimates.

“How much time do we have?” asked Komtur.

“This will take a while. We have at least three or four months.”

“I just don’t get it — why does Tao need it?” Damian mused. “We couldn’t have injured his pride that much, could we?”

“It’s not personal. I think I’ve figured him out,” said Olaf the Prophet without a smile. “A lot is at stake. I think that as the reward for the continental quest, Ananizarte has promised him her blood.”

“Impossible!”

“What else could it be? Items? Artifacts? PROJECT HELL