Renaissance (Alpha Rome Book 5): LitRPG Series Read online

  The Renaissance

  a novel

  by Ros Per

  Alpha Rome

  Book#5

  Magic Dome Books

  in collaboration with 1C-Publishing

  Alpha Rome

  Book #5: The Renaissance

  Copyright © Ros Per 2022

  Cover Art © Ivan Khivrenko 2022

  Designer: Vladimir Manyukhin

  English translation copyright © Taylor Margvelashvili 2022

  Published by Magic Dome Books in collaboration with 1C-Publishing, 2022

  All Rights Reserved

  ISBN: 978-80-7619-633-9

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is entirely a work of fiction. Any correlation with real people or events is coincidental.

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  Table of Contents:

  Chapter One: Dead Men Walking

  Chapter Two: The Front Line

  Chapter Three: Reconnaissance

  Chapter Four: Into the Dark

  Chapter Five: Catching Up

  Chapter Six: Where the Hell Are We?

  Chapter Seven: Battle with the Administrator

  Chapter Eight: What Now?

  Chapter Nine: Finding My Own Adventure

  Chapter Ten: Shooting Isn’t the Only Answer

  Chapter Eleven: The Teleporter

  Chapter Twelve: Cleanup

  Chapter Thirteen: Reunion

  Chapter Fourteen: Legacy

  Chapter Fifteen: Think Before You Jump into Battle

  Chapter Sixteen: It Hits the Fan

  Chapter Seventeen: The Portal

  Chapter Eighteen: Still Not Sure Where We Are

  Chapter Nineteen: Final Preparations

  Chapter Twenty: On the Surface

  Chapter Twenty-One: The Source of the Problems

  Chapter Twenty-Two: A Choice

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Allies?

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Plan B

  Chapter Twenty-Five: The City

  Chapter Twenty-Six: Turning Point

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: Sterilization

  Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Womb

  Chapter Twenty-Nine: Homecoming

  Chapter Thirty: Backed Into a Corner

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Chapter One: Dead Men Walking

  THE SMOOTH ROCKING of the vehicle was soothing and imparted the slightest feeling of serenity, despite the fact that it was bearing us towards the roughest part of Alpha Rome. Or, more precisely, it would only be rough for the passengers of this vehicle. The Commander-in-Chief of the SVF, having been tasked by the Heart with recreating a penal military division for those found guilty in the public eye, had really pulled out all the stops, combing through the prisons and correctional facilities to fill the ranks.

  On the one hand, I understood him perfectly — no one wants to throw their own men into the meat grinder when you can send criminals in their place. But, on the other hand, his approach to the issue pissed me off. He made no distinction based on the crime committed and bunched everyone into one group indiscriminately, just so long as they had a red level.

  Take, for example, the plump fellow sitting across from me, closest to the door. According to his personal file, he was a low-ranking official who had been the manager of one of the districts on Level Eight and decided to start taking bribes so that his daughter could pay for genome treatments at the medical center to correct a birth defect.

  Yes, he was a criminal, there was no point in denying it. Yes, he deserved an appropriate punishment, but shoving him into an SVF penal division was cruel and stupid. He would die before he could be of any use, or even pay off a portion of his debt to society. I doubt that he even knew how to hold a gun. Let them imprison him, confiscate his documents and make him plow fields for sixteen hours a day — at least then he’d be useful.

  His antithesis was the macho man sitting in what he thought was the best seat in the house, near the driver’s cab. An enthusiastic repeat offender who had committed multiple robberies and killed anyone who crossed him in cold blood. He was a cyborg with two implants embedded in his replication cast. This was already his fifth time around as a prisoner, but this time he wasn’t being sent to do corrective labor in life-threatening industrial conditions with toxic materials, but rather to a penal military colony without the right to replicate.

  He seemed like a good candidate, but would most likely try to make a run for it the first chance he got, and until such an opportunity presented itself, he would use fear and brute force to bully the others into doing his dirty work. Even now, he was surrounded by five other guys with pretty serious criminal pasts. Judging by the occasional glances thrown in my direction, they had clearly decided to establish their own rule of law on location and saw me as a threat to their plan.

  Or if they weren’t friendly with the local media, then I was their first target as the only person in the vehicle who was armed. As funny as it might seem to an outside observer, they really did give me a pistol with one sixteen-round magazine, and gave me the dossiers of around thirty prisoners — evidently, they were planning on putting in charge of this motley crew as soon as we got there. At the same time, they hadn’t even given me armor: a regular set of SVF field clothes, a belt holster and a pistol with ridiculous stats.

  Luffa Pistol

  Ammunition: 7.3х17

  Effective range: 35 meters

  Rounds per minute: 70

  Firing mode: semi-automatic

  Condition: 65%

  Weight: 0.68 kg

  Magazine for Luffa Pistol

  Ammunition: 7.3х17

  Number of rounds: 16

  Condition: 71%

  Pistol round: «7.3х17»

  Kinetic damage: 15-19

  Penetration damage: 21-27

  Condition: 100%

  Round weight: 3.6 g

  These were the kinds of weapons they offered me in case I needed to defend myself. I looked at the characteristics once again, and was once again astounded by the idiocy: they gave me a weapon, but only one good enough to shoot myself in the foot, or I could try to take out my fellow passengers before they got any ammunition…hmm…I never considered the option that they might have given me the pistol for self-defense against my colleagues in misfortune — in that case, yes, it may be more than a mockery, it might actually be of help in case of conflict.

  “Hey, tough guy.” One of the head honcho’s henchmen turned towards me. “Get over here, Kartos wants to have a chat with you.”

  “He can peel his ass off that seat and come over to me, then,” I responded, continuing to watch them coolly from under half-closed lids.

  “Have you completely lost touch with reality, soldier? Ding ding ding! My hothead alarm is going wild!” the chatty guy rose from his seat. “Why don’t you bottle up that attitude and get over here while Kartos is still in a good mood and extending you an invitation?”

  The two guys sitting between us tense
d up and turned towards the thugs, clearly preparing for a fight. While the chubby guy sitting across from me, on the contrary, wedged himself even more tightly into the corner. I had to put my hand on the shoulder of the guy next to me who was ready for a tussle and, when he turned around, shook my head at him. Yes, I knew that these two were ready to rush into battle for me with no hesitation. There was a reason they had fought with me during the assault on Level Nine.

  It was bad enough that they had received red levels when they were unable to leave the battle after I lost my rank and the new commanders had not yet had time to issue new orders. It was during these few minutes that they covered the enemy group with crossfire, knowing full well that they would get red levels for it. Judging by the list of personal files, there were six such men, but only two of them were in this vehicle.

  That’s why I held them back — who knew what these thugs had up their sleeves, and at the moment, we were on our last lives. Glancing towards the thug who was trying, but unable to rise from his seat and fully straighten up due to the low roof, I threw one leg over the other and shifted back towards the wall, settling in comfortably and closing my eyes again.

  “Why you…” He took two small steps towards me.

  The passenger compartment of the vehicle was already small enough as it was, and consequently we were literally sitting shoulder to shoulder, five people in two rows. So after taking those two small steps, he was literally a meter away from me. Well, as they say, there’s no one to blame but yourself. The toe of my boot interrupted him in mid-sentence as it slammed into his groin, forcing the thug to curl up and grasp at his crotch.

  One leg back, I fell forward with my whole body and clapped his ears with my palms, disorienting my opponent and, without removing my hands, I pulled his head towards me and down, throwing it against my knee. Probably everyone in the vehicle heard his nose crunch, and now the arrogant bandit would clearly not be a threat for a few minutes. Kicking his slumped form back towards his buddies, I settled back in my seat and closed my eyes. Except now the gun was in my lap, at my fingertips.

  Despite the evil glares, there were no more feeble attempts and the victim was quickly brought to his senses. Oh, I’d have my work cut out for me with this bunch — if my suspicions were correct, I’d have to command the lot of them. Looks like I’d have to grow an extra pair of eyes on the back of my head to avoid getting a bullet in my back.

  After around twenty minutes of general tension for everyone else and a restful ride for me, our vehicle finally came to a halt. The back doors were thrown open and a ramp slid out with a soft sound of metal on metal, clearly indicating that we had already reached the sewer levels, as the floors here were metal.

  Springing out of the doors, I immediately pressed myself against the side of the armored vehicle so that I could keep an eye on the back exit while simultaneously having a look around. Despite the fact that when I had been loaded into the back, there had only been one car, now a convoy of more than a hundred of these vehicles was unloading in the huge sewer pipe, and by each one stood soldiers in heavy infantry armor with weapons at the ready, one on each side of the car.

  “Form two rows!” The fighter closest to me barked rather than spoke, his voice slightly distorted by the helmet speakers.

  The muzzle of the hybrid assault rifle pointed in my direction stifled any desire I had to argue. I had to quickly move to one side and snap to attention while still remaining near the cab of the car situated behind us so as to not give anyone the opportunity to sneak up from behind. The two guys who had wanted to cover me back in the vehicle also got their bearings almost immediately, pushing the plump man next to me so he was second in line and standing in front to act as a sort of buffer between me and the thugs.

  What was going on behind me, I could only surmise from the sounds that reached my ears, but in front, people were lining up in the same rows with varying success. In some places, the single command was sufficient, and in others, the guards had to use the butt of their rifles and their fists to put the especially disobedient ones in line. And behind me, a couple of shots even rang out, and I was left guessing if they were aimed above our heads, or if someone had been so brainless as to rush at the armed and well-equipped guards with their bare hands.

  Although saying the majority of these people had brains at all would be a controversial statement; two cars away from us, there were three lifeless bodies being carried out and piled a few meters off to one side. Apparently, the internal conflict within the vehicle had been more serious than anything going on out here. We only had a single victim, who remained on his feet, although he staggered slightly. Despite a burning desire to turn my head, I decided against it, as I didn’t fully grasp my current status. But there was no one to ask, my communications had been blocked this entire time, so the last time I’d seen all my friends was in the courtroom.

  Within five minutes, when the whole length of the row had been more or less put in line, we were given the order to march out. I noticed that the groups were being led one-by-one from different sides of the transport, escorted by the same fighters that met us at the exit. But when we passed the last car in front, they began to combine us in two groups, continuing the general movement towards columns of four.

  Damn, I felt so debilitated being cut off from my interface's functionality — I didn't realize I'd become so used to seeing levels above other people's heads. Although I couldn't see their levels, no one could deprive me of my power of observation, so I managed to notice a couple other people like me with a pistol at their side. On average one person for every eight or nine rows of the column.

  While any efforts to tear away from the formation were harshly suppressed, as well as any timid attempts to talk to the guards, the soldiers accompanying us didn’t give a damn about soft conversation within the column. Considering the fact that the majority, probably even the entirety of these convicted soldiers were in a complete information vacuum, theories about where they were taking us and what would happen next began to float over to my ears, each more gruesome than the last. Even going so far as to say they were planning to throw us to the wolves as bait, and while the Administrator’s monsters devoured us, the SFV would easily shoot them down.

  “Captain Volper,” one of the men half-turned his head towards me, trying to cover me. “Maybe you know what’s waiting for us ahead? There’s a reason they gave you a weapon before you even got to the transport.”

  “First, I’m not a captain anymore. Second, I have no more information than you do. They shoved a pistol and holster into my hands before we shipped out and directly transferred a file to me containing personal files on about thirty people. No explanation, no elaboration on why they did this. So I can only give you my own thoughts, no confirmed information.”

  A bubble of silence quickly formed around me, interrupted only by whispers of “There's Volper over there! Yeah, yeah, that one — the Bloody Skurfaifer" or hisses directed at neighboring ranks: “Quiet, the ex-commander of the Skurfs is saying something.” In other circumstances, I would most likely have enjoyed the attention, but not now. The nickname "Bloody Skurfaifer" was especially jarring — apparently, that was how I would go down in the history books.

  “I suspect we’re being led into a war zone,” I continued, reading the silent question on the faces nearby. “First, they’ll secure the area to make sure we have no chance of escape. Then, most likely, they’ll bring us up to date and explain to us the new rules of our existence, and as a finale, they’ll hand out weapons and assign us a task to complete. But I still can’t imagine how they will protect themselves from friendly fire at the hands of some of the less trustworthy entities. But I think we’ll find that out soon.”

  The men seemed satisfied with this response and a lively murmur broke out as they chewed over this information. From what I gathered, they were especially pleased with the fact that they wouldn’t throw us into battle without weapons. But I had held my tongue about the fact that I e
xpected there would also be more defensive detachments, ready to shoot anyone who tried to escape, or some other surprises hidden in the equipment to deal with potential deserters. Although perhaps I had my own biases on the matter, and no such measures would be used.

  In any case, before we stopped, our column marched past three different firing lines, formed in accordance with all the rules of the military art. Labyrinths of strong steel wire at knee-level that impeded the advance of attacking infantry, directional mines with fan-shaped connections to engineer consoles, fortified sets of heavy equipment arranged with the possibility of retreat, machine gun nests, which at first glance were placed somewhat chaotically, but upon closer inspection, you could see that they worked in tandem, providing crossfire in one area.

  We walked into a spacious room, sort of like a huge water retention basin, into which fed six collection drain pipes, while six more continued further on the opposite side. Using the space they had, the SVF had deployed a field base there. Nothing special, just the necessary minimum that no one would be too sad to leave behind. But still creating at least some sort of recreation area for the soldiers. And the operational headquarters was in a relatively safe location, but not too far from the front line so that they could respond in a timely manner to any changes in their position.

  We lined up in the middle of this makeshift camp in an area that had been cleared out, presumably intended for unloading supply vehicles. Hands clasped behind his back, an SVF officer holding the rank of captain strode right in front of us. Despite his light, mobile armor and the rifle hanging behind him in magnetic grips, he had neglected his helmet. Having reached approximately the middle of the formation and turning to face us, he glanced around the area with a heavy look, and the very first words from his mouth perfectly illustrated his attitude towards us.