Re: Tales of the Rune-Tech Sage Chapter 1: New World

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Gasp!

In a spacious bed within an elegantly decorated chamber, a young lad bolted upright, his breathing coming in harsh gasps amid the silence.

He gripped his head tightly, moaning from the agony as unfamiliar recollections overwhelmed his thoughts.

After a few agonizing minutes, the torment subsided, and the boy gradually lifted his lids, his gaze now sharp and focused.

"I... reincarnated?" he whispered. "Alex Fury... that's my name from now on."

Rising from the bed, he approached the mirror mounted on the wall.

"Silver-grey locks. Crimson eyes—clear and youthful like precious gems. Even as a ten-year-old, this visage already hints at a future heartthrob protagonist."

While the image reflected a child, the spirit inhabiting that form was that of a thirty-something man—a systems engineer and passionate novel enthusiast—reborn into a realm of swords and sorcery.

Drawing from the inherited memories of this new vessel, he assembled the knowledge that his captivating looks were signatures of the Fury clan's Furor Bloodline, a heritage renowned for its tremendous combat prowess. The vividness of his scarlet eyes ought to signify him as a genius.

Yet, the activation of his bloodline had proven disastrous.

The failure to awaken his bloodline's abilities and fighter attributes led the clan to label him devoid of potential.

He had been discreetly banished from Ashen Castle to an isolated cabin in the rear hills of the estate, hidden away and forgotten.

The young Alex, unaware of the implications, immersed himself in the volumes from the cabin's collection. Thus, though his understanding of the broader realm was impressive, his insight into his family's internal dynamics stayed quite limited.

"This frame is far too frail," Alex grumbled, examining his reflection. "That situation must be remedied."

Knock.

"Master Alex, have you risen?" a female voice inquired.

"Yes."

"In that case, I'm entering."

The entrance swung open, admitting a curvaceous, mature servant woman.

"You're expected for morning meal with the Earl today. It's time to prepare you."

Prior to Alex managing any resistance or objection, she tugged him toward the bathing area. Though her form appeared soft and alluring, her hold was unyielding and robust. Alex understood she might surpass the strength of anyone, female or male, from his previous existence.

In less than an hour, she had cleansed, attired, and arranged him as if he were a mere puppet.

Clad in finely crafted attire suitable for a juvenile noble successor, she guided Alex out where mounted soldiers awaited.

"Young Master Alex, we've come to escort you to the Earl." The foremost knight declared.

'Staying on horseback and gazing down during address to his superior... It seems my position in the clan is negligible.' Alex reflected darkly.

With no formalities, the servant hoisted him onto the primary knight's steed. At a gesture, the riders charged down the slope toward Ashen Castle.

---

Like an unyielding behemoth dominating the landscape, Ashen Castle rose imposingly. Alex had to concede that he truly resided in a different world.

Upon reaching the castle premises, Alex witnessed a fighter cleaving a practice mannequin in two from a distance of five meters.

A youthful sorcerer hovered over the yard, fine-tuning his levitation incantation. Displays of might and expertise abounded.

The chief knight, who hadn't bothered with an introduction, directed Alex along the stronghold's central passageway.

Coarse stone barriers displayed arms, woven hangings, and spoils of victory; quiet affirmations of the Fury household's warrior ethos.

Before long, they reached an expansive, softly illuminated banquet room. A table spanning ten meters separated him from the silhouette at its distant terminus.

Earl Drake Fury.

Alex's newfound sire.

He cut an impressive figure with silver-grey tresses and blood-red orbs—keener, deeper, and fiercer than Alex's. A thick beard framed his severe countenance, and faint lines creased the corners of his eyes, evidencing the passage of years. Yet, age couldn't dim the vigorous energy in his actions.

With smooth, exact gestures, he sliced into a cut of beef, devouring it swiftly but with poise. He sipped crimson vintage from his chalice between mouthfuls, never allowing a single droplet to escape.

His demeanor exemplified refinement. Despite the rapid pace and generous portions, his sophistication concealed it as multiple kilos of meat disappeared within him.

Alex had to acknowledge that Drake possessed remarkable poise and allure.

He adjusted his stance and attempted to emulate his father's dining etiquette to the fullest.

Fortunately, blending recollections from his prior life with the ingrained habits of this body prevented any embarrassment.

Finally, Earl Drake dabbed his lips with a napkin and placed his cutlery aside.

"Being a Fury brings you fortune... and misfortune," he stated calmly.

His tone bore a heaviness that weighed upon Alex's frame and urged him to avert his sight.

Nevertheless, Alex compelled himself to hold the man's stare.

Drake's mouth formed a subtle grin.

"Seasoned aristocrats would struggle to spot any imperfection in my bearing and sophistication... Despite our Fury lineage spanning three hundred years, those traditional elites still regard me and my house as upstarts."

Drake reclined.

"Conversely, there exists an individual in our realm who favors meddling with girls in their budding stages, prior to full bloom. Indeed, he abhors the view of fully developed females. This person bears the moniker Flower-plucking Gentleman.

"There's yet another known as Blood-crazed Demon. He requires the sight of blood daily, lest he succumb to frenzy and unleash havoc. A newly slain heart quells him, with patience for only a day to procure a scarce variety. In his berserk state, distinctions between humans and creatures vanish.

"Yet, the ancient nobles deem these two exemplars of aristocracy. Do you grasp the reason?"

"Power... They must wield great power." Alex replied.

Drake's gaze tightened with mirth.

"Precisely. The Flower-plucking Gentleman serves as Chancellor of our Virellian empire, second merely to the Emperor and superior to all others. He holds the rank of senior Legendary Mage as well. The Blood-crazed Demon ranks among the Empire's defenders. A combatant who has transcended the Legendary tier.

"Their might ensures that those venerable noble clans refrain from provoking them."

He flicked his fingers. Attendants cleared the plates swiftly.

"You're fortunate as a Fury, for you possess the groundwork to acquire might and authority. But unfortunate too, as a Fury, since failing to secure might and authority dooms you to torment at every turn.

"From without, Orcs, grey dwarves, and additional adversarial peoples from the north gear up for assault. Southern Virellian lords hone concealed blades to claim your territories from behind.

"Internally, though you're my eldest son—designated successor—you're not my sole offspring. Our house rests upon might and authority. Against your brothers and sisters, your own prowess lags—vastly so. Your influence in the clan, post-awakening rite, is virtually absent. Your kin circle like predators, poised to seize control at the first opportunity."

Alex remained silent. He was already aware.

Drake inclined toward him.

"Your ruby gaze signifies your descent. Your setback tarnishes it. Expectations run high—and should you falter, death follows."

His voice chilled further.

"Ten years of tranquility have passed. That concludes now. To retain your rank, riches, existence, seize authority. Not mere authority, but dominating authority. Authority so immense that no foe—whether alien race, rival lords, or your own kin—dares to contest it!"

The atmosphere grew oppressive. Drake's declaration boomed like lightning within Alex's core.

He gaped vacantly at his father, who upheld his refined composure, as the declaration echoed repeatedly in his soul.

Earl Drake flashed another captivating smile.

"With dominating authority in your grasp, you may act as you please, and none will contest you. Whether sensible or outlandish, silence will prevail. Observe..."

Earl Drake clapped sharply.

Guards hauled in three restrained males, compelling them to their knees mere meters from Alex's position.

Ere Alex could respond, Drake stood at his side. The Earl seized a sentinel's blade and, with a single seamless stroke, severed the heads of all three.

Alex stiffened in terror.

The steward, the attendants, the sentinels—none reacted.

Then, a detached head tumbled to rest near his feet.

Its lifeless, beseeching stare locked with his.

Nausea surged, and Alex retched up his entire meal.

Earl Drake observed and sighed.

He recalled Alex was merely a reclusive ten-year-old youth, not a scarred campaigner.

Nonetheless, certain lessons demanded haste.

He sheathed the blade back with the guard and summoned a servant who offered a cloth for his hands.

Alex faced yet another jolt, as instead of accepting the cloth, Earl Drake ripped the servant's garb, exposing her ample chest, and wiped his bloodied palms upon it.

The servant recoiled slightly but held position, forgoing any effort to conceal her bared form.

No one stirred.

Alex remained dazed.

Drake faced Alex once more, resuming his address.

"Spies. Betrayers. By code, they warranted judgment. Yet code applies to equals in might."

He approached, gripping the arm of the lad's chair, aligning his gaze with the child's.

"Always remember. Only when I wield a blade and you do likewise can we discuss code. Should I brandish a knife while you stand unarmed, I embody truth... and your fate.

"Rule-makers frequently violate their own edicts first. Edicts bind the feeble and serve the mighty. All else deceives. Ethics, code, edicts... they hold weight solely when parties balance in might. Might alone constitutes reality.

"Do you comprehend?"

Alex nodded, on reflex.

"Excellent."

Drake rose.

"You'll head to a Mage Tower for the coming years. Lacking fighter aptitude, you'll pursue sorcery there. Recall my words from this day. This marks your final opportunity. I anticipate a delightful outcome from you."

Alex eyed the bodies strewn across the ground. He clutched his neck unthinkingly.

He nodded once more, with greater gravity.

"Departure is immediate."

Alex's eyes bulged. Drake disregarded it.

"Jarred," the Earl directed, addressing the knight who ferried Alex from the Lodge, "Escort him per our plan. Enrich his worldview en route."

"As you order."

Promptly, Jarred lifted Alex onto his massive ebony Nightmare destrier. A squad of twelve knights formed up behind.

And thus, they set off.

—

At the fortress's casement, Earl Drake Fury observed their retreat into the horizon.

"Rumors verified?" He queried the steward.

"Affirmative, my Lord. All three human realms note increased planar portal events. Court sorcerers indicate spatial alignments to minor realms now require half the effort. Some proclaim an age of abundance dawns."

Drake's eyes sharpened.

"Abundance...? More akin to an age of conflict."

His stare fixed on the path.

'Time is scarce, Alex. Advance swiftly... for your era heralds turmoil.'

***