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

polite method to send the strangers on their way. Or should he make them fetch fodder for the caravan’s draught horses?

The idiots didn’t seem to flinch.

“Whoa!” Klian pulled in the reins, stopping his wagon. Behind them, the other wagoners stopped in turn, cursing.

“What do you want, kind sirs? Clear the road, don’t you see a caravan going through?” Klian yelled to the players. Nope, no quests for them today, none at all!

“We’re Elven Patrol,” one of the players said. “Senior inspector Artist. Let me see your papers!”

With that, both players in unison threw their hoods back, revealing bright red nicknames — the brand of criminals and murderers unfit for living in the good old kingdoms.

“What kind of — “ Klian wanted to say, but it was too late. A heavy crossbow bolt fired by Artist pierced his chest, knocking him from the driving seat. The last thing he saw was dark silhouettes rising on both sides of the road and a whooshing hail of arrows raining down on the caravan, drilling holes in the canvas roofs of the wagons.

* * *

 

Captain Panther: See that?

 

Diareus: We do. A big escort, thirty wagons, fifty grandees. Twelve players, five of them on birdies.

 

Diareus: They never head out without guards anymore...

 

Svenn: All of them are Paradise. So, are we going to take them out?

 

Diareus: What if the Watchers drop on us?

 

Captain Panther: Nope, the Watchers are in Helt Akor, farming. Wait, there are too many of them, I’ll write Blackie.

 

Captain Panther: Got it. Feint, Nail, Schwarz, Helga, get over here, quick. Svenn, can you kite them? Listen to me, that’s what you need to do...

 

Svenn led his mount in a skilled and elegant manner, like an expert driver controlling a luxury car. No surprises there, as he had rank eight in Riding and a pretty great mount, an epic quality Misty Smilodon. Its speed was almost fifty percent higher compared to ordinary mounts, and it was able to perform a few riding tricks, too.

Passing through a cloud of dust around the carriages, Svenn drove up the hillcrest and spent a few seconds peering into the lines of armor-clad NPC cavalry flanking the caravan and the dark triangle formations of birdies soaring above. He was positive that he had long been noticed and identified. Pulling out a longbow from his gorytus, he fired a dozen arrows into the shining ranks of NPC guards. His shots were well-aimed. One arrow even managed to remove a third of a grandee’s hit points, piercing the weak spot of his full plate.

The birdies descended, closing in on him. The jerrids thrown by their riders from above shot past him with a booming sound and sunk into the soft soil half-way to the hilt. Svenn smirked derisively: they had missed a stationary target by several feet! Those newbies clearly hadn’t been taught by Hermione, and Liberty trainers had never made them practice throwing each day until it became second nature.

Seeing the glistening snake of knights surrounding the caravan turn toward him, while the birdies continued their rapid descent, Svenn finally urged his mount to the side. He knew where to go.

A free kill! Their enemy is fleeing, he’s alone with nobody from his gang around — that’s what the players guarding the caravan were supposed to think. They’re riding birdies, while he’s on the ground. Chase him, catch him, kill him!

And it worked. The armor of grandees giving him chase sparkled in the dust behind him, and almost a dozen birdies spun around, going in for the kill. Arrows buzzed everywhere, like a stirred hornets’ nest, and one of them missed him by an inch, whooshing just past his cheek. Svenn threw his smilodon left and right, adjusting its speed and zig-zagging. It was as if he was enchanted, and no matter how they tried, none of the flying riders could hope to hit him.

Grand Fire blazed ahead, and a ball of magic energy singed the grass just next to Svenn — they finally started to use magic on top of physical attacks. Activating “ghost” mode, Svenn transformed himself and his mount into a cloud of haze, in one leap crossing the fire-covered surface. He straightened in the saddle and immediately changed his riding stance, leaning on the smilodon’s neck. Trick Riding, his high level skill, allowed him to perform such techniques. Svenn focused, his bow in his hands, and aimed at the birdie rider wielding a wand, at the same time trying to get used to his mount’s wild bouncing.

Fire! The arrow dipped in dragon venom went up, and the third birdie to his right, a grey-feathered windflyer, wavered in the air and started to lose altitude. One down! Even if the player survived the drop, he was out of the chase.

Grey fangs of the cliffs already loomed in front of him — the agreed upon place. The enemies descended further. Having found their groove, they managed to hit the smilodon twice, with one of their arrows piercing Svenn’s shoulder straight through, making him bleed. Just a little bit. Come on... Astride a stumbling crippled mount, he rode into the dead end formed by the semi-circle of sharp grey rocks and disappeared in the pit of a cave entrance, leaving a trail of blood behind him.

The players landed and dismounted, surrounding the dark hole hidden by the translucent screen of an instance. It was a small local dungeon called Lair that randomly appeared in the borderlands.

A second later, the cliffs were teeming with grandees, flushed after the pursuit. The plate-clad guards flocked to the entrance, instantly filling all the space around them with people and horses.

“What’s he hoping for?” one player asked another. “It’s a dead end, there’s no way out!”

“I don’t know. He’s holed up like a rat! Come out, come out, wherever