The Duty (Play to Live: Book # 3) (18 page)

All right, back to reality. I opened a Chinese auction and squinted from the riot of color. They loved their graphics, didn't they? Where the rest of the world went for streamlined functionality, the Asians compensated it with an intense color scheme.

Oh Jesus. I struggled to find the familiar
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on three insistent ads windows promoting premium offers. My eyes watered from all the unusual ethnic armor. Even small details like these could be turned into money: if I didn't have to worry about all those potentially turbulent years ahead, I'd have opened a small shop dealing in kimonos, samurai armor and whatnots for our lovers of all things Asian, very much like those proud owners of T-shirts plastered with mysterious hieroglyphics which probably amounted to,
I'm a dumbass because I wear something in a language I don't understand
. Yeah, right. Apparently, Russians aren't the only race who like to poke fun at foreigners teaching them f-words when they ask for the Russian version of "thank you".

Judging by the sheer amount of offers in some categories, the auction was enormous—a good ten times larger than the Russian ones. And still, the Mana Accumulators I needed were quite pricey and not in great supply at all. Every vendor wanted forty grand on top of the usual hundred, and their product range was nothing to write home about.

WTF? I took the trouble of checking the sales history and everything became clear. A couple of days ago, somebody too clever for his own shirt and with a wallet to match had gone through the auction with a fine-toothed comb, buying up all the crystals he could lay his hands on. This abnormal demand triggered an immediate response from the vendors: some of them had stashed their wares away until the situation became clearer while others had simply hoicked up their prices.

That was unlucky. Even in our cluster the prices were lower. Actually, I could check that out. I PM'd Cryl hoping he was awake and taking care of a particular castle in his care—or should I say, the menagerie that passed for one.

He replied at once. I detected a hint of hope in his voice as in,
aren't you coming back yet?
Sorry, dude. I'm afraid we're up to our neck in it.

I described the task labeling it as super ASAP and made a deliberate show of staying on the line waiting for his reply. In less than a minute, I heard what I least expected. All stationary accumulating crystals, of any capacity, had disappeared from the market in their entirety. Oh. Was there something I didn't know, maybe? Or could it be that all of AlterWorld clans' strategists had suddenly realized that the times had changed? That now the time between the opening of a portal and the breaching a castle gate was measured in minutes and not hours or days like before? This fact could have become a serious psychological factor, forcing some people to loosen their purse strings which in turn could have caused demand to soar, creating these man-made shortages.

Oh well. An intelligent person could use any such price fluctuation for fun and profit. I checked out my bank account. Three million give or take. 'xcuse me? I thought I had about a million and a half? I went through the logs, finally discovering that this was my Portal to Inferno auction closing. I had missed the money transfer message in the heat of battle which was somehow understandable. One million three hundred thousand! Wow. The auto broker had worked as promised, accepting the money and withholding its fee, then sending the lot on to the highest bidder. The only thing it couldn't do was answer my questions—of which I had many.

Strangely enough, the highest bidders were the Koreans. They must have been monitoring the biggest clusters' auctions, buying up the nicest goodies or simply profiteering from the difference in prices. Apparently, I wasn't the smartest guy on the block I'd very nearly believed myself to be.

The auto broker flashed with a handful of messages. I couldn't contain my curiosity so I skimmed the subject lines, allowing my eye to pause on the more interesting ones. The thorough Koreans demanded more information about the scroll: instructions on its use, the scroll's lifespan, the channel's traffic capacity, its hidden properties and the actual place where the Portal was supposed to open. What if it led to the bottom of a lava lake or into an active volcano? Sorry, dudes, no idea. Just go and see for yourselves, then drop me a line. If my PM box isn't crammed full of your f-words after that, it means the exit point is safe. And the instructions for use were simple enough, a bit like playing a trumpet: nothing difficult there, just blow hard and press the buttons.

I worded my answer in very much the same vein with a few diplomatic embellishments, offering the Koreans a 10% discount on any further scrolls in exchange for their raid's analytic release including the location's maps, the mobs' profiles and any tactical conclusions. Let them sleep on it. Thirteen thousand dollars was nothing to sniff at. Enough to buy an almost new Lada Lyudmila with all options or even a brand-new no-frills Lada Alina.

Actually, to get some first-hand inside information all I needed to do was have an eye-to-eye with Spark. I could even take her with me as a local guide. That would be the gag to end all gags! Even the Admins couldn't expect anything like that: a top NPC giving away all the unique monsters' lairs, all the clever stashes and the mobs' weak points to a raid leader! Almost too good to contemplate. I could actually take the whole pack to visit their homes: they must have plenty of sworn enemies of their own left there, but no one they couldn't easily whip their ass with our help!

I made a mental note to put together a raid to Inferno whenever I had a week to spare. You never know, I might just find a magic sword there capable of slicing through the noose I felt tightening around our necks. But just to lay our claim to those territories would already be a good thing. Couldn't everyone just leave me alone? I had enough plans on the back burner to sink the Titanic, too many for my inner pig to take down!

Among the miscellaneous junk of already-irrelevant mail I came across three letters from less fortunate bidders who hadn't survived the competition with the fat Korean wallet. A couple of independent top clans and one alliance of rather average players were inquiring about any future chance of me auctioning another amazing item such as that. Oh. I glanced at the inventory and counted the unique scrolls. Seven in total. I'd made a habit of crafting two scrolls first thing every morning: a Portal to Inferno and a shield removal one. As for the latter, I just couldn't make them fast enough: I only had one left plus the skill itself which I'd already used for that day.

Very well. I put three scrolls aside and sent an identical letter to all three bidders, informing them that I had just one more scroll left which I intended to keep for any of my own clan's future needs, but seeing as they needed it so badly, I could probably let it go. They could have it for one million two hundred thousand. I just hoped they wouldn't set off to Inferno all at once. Four raids colliding in the portal zone wasn't a pleasant sight. They could easily kill each other and then start asking questions. Not a nice thing at all.

Eh... was my greedy pig still taking notes? Excellent. Because I had an idea. What about building an inn in the portal zone? Or even a bastion. Full service: safe lodgings, guaranteed bind points, a graveyard, a supplies shop, portal services on request, a quick response group and a buff service.

Piggy? Why aren't you writing? What do you mean, you've run out of wishing paper? Go get some more!

As I thus indulged, somebody smart had renewed their auction activities, buying up whatever scarce supply of accumulators was still left. I stared, indignant, as my chosen items began disappearing from my Shopping Basket. Then I couldn't take it any longer. Succumbing to the pressure, I lunged into the Battle of Capital Attrition.

Congratulations! You've received Achievement: Wholesaler I

The total volume of your auction deals has reached the wholesale ceiling, allowing the auction house to lower their commission on all of your deals from 5% to 3%.

Excuse me? I glanced at my bank balance. Oops. Just under four hundred thousand. How's that possible? Well, Max, I didn't know you had it in you. Splurging a quarter of a million in five minutes on some magic crystals—that's an achievement indeed!

In any case, it was no cause for panic. Unlike gold, the crystals were something I needed right there and then. Besides, I had a funny feeling that in another week I'd have no problem reselling the batteries—at a profit if I wanted to. At the moment, accumulating crystals seemed to be a strategic commodity, a bit like uranium ore used to be before Tesla's technologies had been made public.

I unloaded five
"Stationary Accumulating Crystals, Large"
from my bag and redirected the altar mana flow to them. Then I beamed: apparently, Tianlong had been so flooded by the divine energies that he nobly refused the modest 5% I'd been sending him. He terminated the contract out of convenience. Was I my own worst enemy to object? The main thing was, I finally had the full mana stream available all to myself: 300 mana per second. And even though it sounded like an enormous amount, it meant that recharging each crystal would take about half an hour. Excellent capacity! They still had to go some to compare to the First Temple's altar—that one could accumulate up to thirty kilotons. Actually, a charged crystal cost 10% more than an empty one—speaking about immediate profit.

That seemed to be it. I studied auction panel one. Had the circumstances been different, I'd have looked into their local dealings deeper, but not now. An occasional shiver kept running down my spine, reminding me that danger was closing in and that hundreds of sentients were already busy skinning my mental image alive.

Didn't those advertisers know when to stop! I reached for the virtual cursor, about to shut down yet another unwelcome pop-up. Then I froze.

Urgent sale! A three-hour auction! The brave Rangers of Heisei clan have seized the Scarlet Fort in the heart of the Gong alliance territories!

This is your chance! The fort is perfect as an invasion bridgehead or even an instrument of political pressure. It can be looted bare or resold for a profit, possibly to its ex owners.

The starting price is one million. In the absence of bidders, the fort will be destroyed which in turn will breach the alliance's defense, weakening it. Any material tokens of gratitude from any interested parties will be highly appreciated.

These guys had found themselves a funny environmental niche. As far as I could see through their scheme, this was a small and well-coordinated saboteur group that kept its forces well concentrated, looking for the weakest targets and hitting them with precision. I was almost sure they had their own spies, too. The group collected intelligence, chose a suitable object, took it over in a lightning-fast assault, then looted it or sold it on for profit.

Was I currently any different from them? I wasn't. I had the same knuckle-duster approach, walking the fine line between valor and stupidity.

I would be lying if I said that the thought of a nasty new enemy didn't worry me. Their castle's very name made me gulp uneasily: Shui Fong 7, of all things! It meant there had to be at least six others—possibly, eight. I mentally compared it to the empty echoing corridors of my own citadel, their resonant silence only disturbed by children's laughter and the sound of Hell Hounds' claws clattering over the floor tiles. Okay, so we weren't as populous as some but we had our friends and our reputation, a few business partners and a healthy—albeit temporarily depleted—bank account.

Yes! I grinned menacingly, welcoming the thought that had just occurred to me. Don't I just love win-win solutions. Weaken my enemy, strengthen his opponents and make some money into the bargain.

"Analyst, where are you!" I barked into the staff chat. My five bodyguards startled. "I need a complete report on Shui Fong. Pay special attention to their enemies, both open and covert."

This was the aforementioned fine line overstepped in the direction of stupidity. I should have asked for this report the moment I'd heard Oksana's story. Instead, I'd plunged into headlong action, impatient to help the wronged girl and save some fellow players, dying to teach the bastards a lesson. So typically Russian of me. But after all, there had to be situations whereby any legal boundaries and pretentious courtesies ceased to matter. This was the right of revenge for being robbed of your love or your child; this was the blind courage of someone who has nothing left to lose, the final redemption of a soldier about to sound his last charge, his life flaring bright for one last moment as he accepts his final battle.

Having said that, I might not have been so eager to slap Shui Fong in the face had I had a good view of the said bully's biceps. Or at least that's what I was thinking now as I studied my analyst's report. They were #8 in the cluster's controlled surface area ratings, #30 in economic power, #17 in call-up and assault potential. Nine castles, too.

So they were tough as old boots, oh well. Let's check out the other side of the coin now. What about enemies? Plenty of those, apparently. With a behemoth like this, its every movement affected other clans' and alliances' interests whether it liked it or not. The moment Shui Fong shifted its greedy gaze to another dungeon or a new promising sector of craftonomics, they made themselves another enemy.