It could be given as exchange. It could be used. The alliances who had solved the mysterious Ancient mechanisms would give more than their souls for it. I didn’t know what to do with the map yet, but one thing was clear: the very fact of its existence should be kept secret.
I had another thing on my mind. The mystery of Weldy’s main quest kept haunting me. It was connected to Niall, the legendary Ancient said to be the progenitor of all Nialits. Unfortunately, I was unable to find any information about him in the public domain, other than mentions of scrolls and recipes authored by him that were sometimes found in high-level Ancient sites.
I contacted Hird and talked to Dar. They were cunning bastards, those guys. Despite clearly knowing a lot about the Endless Paths and successfully opening Ancient anomalies with the Gene, they refused to share information. Sensing my interest, Dar asked for a complete Fragment, which would deprive me of my trump card. However, one of Hird’s clans, the Owl Legion, was escorting my caravans out of Helt Akor. I couldn’t lose this hook. Plus, there was no guarantee that information about Niall would advance my girlfriend’s quest. In any case, the matter wasn’t urgent. It could wait.
The Bazaar blockade had been going on for six days. Seizing the moment, all participants were making money, as NAVY didn’t touch their allies’ caravans and cargo ships. It was good business, thanks to the tenfold profits. Transportation costs skyrocketed. Trying to discover hidden reserves of ellurite, we played with prices, sometimes putting out nice buying offers. Almost everything sold on the auction already belonged to our coalition. The attacks on ellurite mining facilities continued with unfailing regularity — we didn’t want them to resume operations. It was hard to realize the scale of events without being a part of it: every day, in dozens of worlds, our forces and hired mercenaries attacked all known ellurite deposits, forcing the miners to leave the game. How successful was that tactic? Hard to tell, but at least for a week, we interrupted the tried-and-true production chain.
Basically, Pandorum, just like all other alliances of Sphere, had only one option of buying ellurite left: regional markets. We had combed through them before starting Black Friday, but naturally, there were reserves. New batches appeared, and traders pulled out old stockpiles from their rainy-day funds. The peddlers controlling small trading hubs rejoiced at their ten minutes of triumph, as with the Bazaar blocked, players flooded those markets in search of goods. It was a necessary evil. Still, by our analysts’ estimation, the regions were a drop in the ocean. Even combined, they couldn’t amount to one-tenth of the Bazaar’s transactions.
It was a real market shake-up. Longstanding commercial schemes broke down, and routes changed. As usual, some grew richer and some went bankrupt. Fringe worlds started getting short on rare resources, driving up prices. Numerous local conflicts broke out as many clan outposts ran out of mage reactor fuel, losing their domes and enabling their opponents to settle old scores. While the victims of Black Friday cried out on the official forums, we swiftly set our information war against Pandorum into motion. Videos, interviews, skeletons in the closet, and think-pieces continuously flooded the Net, aimed at creating a negative image of the enemy alliance. I was surprised at the number of game-related resources, reviewers, and media that took part in that attack. After reading through the mudslinging, an ordinary Sphere player wouldn’t be blamed for thinking Pandas ate kids for breakfast. As for the facilitators of the mass slaughter, NAVY and company, they were presented as white knights. Despite their aggression, many players were on their side.
The partisan war in the northwest of Dorsa was still raging. The political map changed color every day as our forces bit off two or three continental territories only to lose them again, retreating each time the Pandas attacked en masse. Each zone constantly raked in hundreds of kills, and our alliance fought 24/7, never letting the enemy rest. I sent them daily shipments of gear and consumables. Pandorum’s propaganda declared the Northerners defeated and driven away, saying that the Russians were simply trying to hang onto several barren islands that nobody wanted. In truth, every day, the Pandas lost people, ships, outposts, and assets in battles and sudden raids. I had no idea about the tenacity and willpower our guys had to apply to achieve those results. They were the wheelhorses dragging the carriage of that war. The jumps of the enemy fleet drastically slowed down from dozens a day to only one or two. Yes, they definitely had reserves, but those seemed to be running out — the Pandas were starting to cut down on ellurite.
On the sixth day, something that I had long been expecting finally happened — I was approached by the administration. After Akiru’s message, a messenger appeared in my apartment.
I recognized him: it was Yoshito Yamato. I had seen him once before and stumbled on his face online while researching the current developers. Wearing glasses and a business suit, meticulously trimmed and clean-shaved, Yamato looked like the embodiment of Japanese corporate etiquette.
“Hello, Oleg. Do you remember me?”
“Good evening. Of course, I do. By the way, I’ve read up on you. You’re the lead developer, aren’t you?”
Yamato flashed a smile. His transparent “invisible” glasses couldn’t conceal the dark circles under his eyes and an aura of emaciation. I looked just like that after leaving my capsule after a day of raiding.
“Do you know why I’m here?” he continued.
“You want to stop all this, right?” I made a sweeping gesture around the burning and smoking Bazaar.
“Umm, not really. The number of complaints is off the
