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

it’s like you were here yourself,” I said. “As for your offer, I still need time to consider it carefully. I haven’t decided anything yet.”

“When will you return to Sphere? We need to finish our talk.”

“I don’t know yet. I have real-life problems; I need to deal with them first.”

“Calm down, Cat. I sense you’re agitated. Real-life problems? Let me help you solve them. The goings-on in Sphere are more important, I need you here.”

I fell silent. Apparently, the situation was more serious than I had thought. The Magister called me on my comm, and he knew that I had done a commercial for the Sphere admins. I was under surveillance — both in real life and probably Sphere, too. Suddenly, against my wishes, I was thrust into some sort of power play, and the weird fussing around me was a huge indicator. On the one hand, this seemed risky as hell, but on the other, it opened a world of opportunities. Didn’t it?

I gave the Magister a brief retelling of my misfortunes with Goggy from COSMOS. He didn’t say anything: no comments or interruptions. In the end, he finally spoke up, “I see. We’ll help you. Tomorrow, a man will pay you a visit. Give him all the information about those guys. They won’t bother you after that, so stop worrying. All clear.”

I was in no mood to log into Sphere. I had to settle my nerves and reflect on everything. Goggy’s attack and the Magister’s follow-up call completely knocked me off balance. Would he really help me? It felt impossible. I went to the kitchen, tapped the touch panel, and the Magic Home system fired up, mixing whiskey and ice. I needed to come around and get a good night’s sleep.

* * *

 

The man who arrived at 7:30 AM didn’t seem like a fighter at all. Mostly, he looked like an elderly Jew, with his intelligent face, grey whiskers, and round nose glasses, which had just gone into fashion again. The only feature to stand out were his eyes, hard and probing. He introduced himself as Mr. Leo, took the piece of paper with Goggy’s details, and asked me a couple of questions about car brands, number plates, and the men’s appearance. Judging by his wording, he clearly had some kind of relationship with law enforcement, either now or in the past.

After he left, having gotten the information, I took a peek from behind the curtain and saw a black Turbo with tinted windows drive out.

* * *

 

The situation was complicated. To put it bluntly, it was all-around bad. I was in over my head: it was a big game played by big boys, and the bets were much higher than I could even imagine. If the plane crash of Balabanov’s team had been indeed orchestrated, nobody would ever notice if Cat disappeared for good, too. Still, it promised new possibilities. I would get to play in the major league, even if as a pawn. I knew very well that by assisting me with Goggy, the Magister wanted to secure my support, making me feel obliged to help him. But why not use that?

I sighed deeply, calculating my options. What would I receive by giving up Balabanov and the information about the Seven to the Sphere’s admins? In the best-case scenario, a commendation and maybe a few bonuses — and also get put on the corporation’s watchlist as an owner of one of the Keys. I would also become a troublesome witness who knew way too much about the deaths of the first developer team. This option was too risky; I dismissed it right away.

If I agreed to help the digitized Balabanov, I risked only getting discovered — and once again, becoming a problem for Sphere’s owners. So pretty much the same thing, essentially. The profit, however, was spectacularly different, starting with the Magister’s real-life help and ending with a nontrivial chance to hit the jackpot, provided Balabanov’s plans came to fruition. A sum with so many digits that I shuddered at the thought. The game was dangerous, but at least, it was worth the cost. Almost physically, I felt my father’s genes wake up inside me — he had spent his whole life embarking on such gambles, trying to win big. I had always condemned him for that, and now, I followed in his footsteps. Truly, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

I didn’t really have anything better to do, so I did the exact thing for which I had sent Alena off with her parents: got into the capsule.

For three days, Sphere’s marketers exploited me inside the Workshop — a feature inside Sphere that was separate from the game itself. In effect, it was a constructor for designing quests and locations available for everyone with Silver accounts or higher. We had played out hundreds of scenes and camera angles on a special shooting stage, and eventually, it had become a full-fledged video that I had secretly shown Alex. The Workshop, by the way, was a pretty nifty feature of Sphere. There was a whole forum subsection devoted to it. I discovered that lots of players actually spent more time there than the game itself, building something. The opportunities were amazing: you could create a basic quest or an enormous city, provided you had the patience for that.

Sphere of Worlds greeted me with a letter of congratulations that unfolded over the entire screen, rustling.

Your account was upgraded to Diamond! We congratulate you...happy to welcome you...blah blah blah. I skipped the wall of text and put off receiving the perks for later. First, I would have to research the issue and get the most out of it. In the meantime, Sphere was waiting!

Just as I expected, I appeared in the same place where I had talked to the Magister four days ago. The fireplace was cold, the