Re: Tales of the Rune-Tech Sage Chapter 6: Furor Bloodline — Calm Madness

CH6 Furor Bloodline — Calm Madness

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Bang!

Into Alex's abdomen crashed the gang leader's powerful fist. The lad bent over sharply, much like a chair folding in, and collapsed onto the floor, struggling for air.

"Seriously? Toppled by a single strike? And you claim to be a Fury?" the leader mocked with a sneer. "Hoist him up again."

Alex's shoulders were seized by two thugs, pulling him to his feet forcefully, as the other pair upheld the restraining spells that held him captive.

Forward came the leader, his fists poised for more, launching another barrage.

"Beg," he demanded amid the blows. "Plead with me once, and I'll release you."

Silence was Alex's only response.

Though agony tore through his frame, he stayed quiet—eyes fixed steadily on the leader.

Unseen by everyone, a shift began in his ruby-red eyes. Gradually, they intensified to a vivid crimson—strikingly akin to those of his father, Earl Drake Fury.

Kill! Kill!! Kill!!!

Echoes thundered in his head like winds in a tempest, unleashing a torrent of bloodlust that blazed from his stare.

The gang leader halted abruptly.

A chill shook him, a shudder racing along his back as if he'd been cast into a bottomless void.

"Marcus!"

Only the shout from one of the thugs gripping Alex snapped him back.

Marcus blinked hard, dispelling the coldness, only to discover his shirt soaked through with perspiration.

'Did I... actually sense fear? From a mere glance? I, Marcus Hertarian?'

A flush of embarrassment ignited in his heart—swiftly overtaken by boiling anger.

Straight into Alex's visage he slammed his fist, hurling the youth back to the dirt.

"Hey! Marcus!" one of the crew snapped. "We had a deal—no strikes to the face! What gives?"

"It's fine," Marcus brushed off. "That blow won't even bruise. He's a disgrace to the Fury line, yet still carries the blood. He'll recover."

"Well, I'm done," the thug retorted, backing off.

"Fine by me," Marcus grumbled.

His attention returned to Alex, prone on the ground. The red gleam had vanished from the boy's gaze.

'Was that merely a trick of the light? Naturally... it was. He's worthless. The family outcast. No chance a loser like him could scare me.'

"This is your rightful spot," Marcus taunted. "Scum like you belongs in the dust. Remember your station, Fury. Grovel at the sight of real aristocrats like us."

While the boy lay helpless, Marcus unleashed a savage kick into his side.

Laughter erupted from the group as they departed.

-

After ten minutes, Alex hauled himself upright, his form battered and bleeding, and limped toward his dormitory.

Safely inside, he fetched a flask of the Enclave's standard healing elixir—valued at seventy gold—and swallowed it swiftly.

Comfort arrived nearly at once.

At least for the flesh.

In his thoughts... chaos reigned.

Between soft ruby and the furious crimson of vengeance, his eyes kept flashing.

The murmurs in his head softened to a distant hum, yet their essence persisted.

No explanation was required for their origin.

The Furor Bloodline.

A doomed inheritance granting immense might... for a steep price. It thrived on amplified feelings, especially fury.

For the first time, Alex sensed its stirrings—a clear indicator.

His bloodline stirred to life.

A boon... and a bane.

The strength awaited his grasp. As did the perils.

Even with the bloodlust ebbing, tremors of contained wrath still shook his frame.

--

"You are fortunate... and unfortunate to be a Fury,"

In his memory, his father's words resounded.

--

"You've enjoyed ten years of tranquility. That era closes now. To safeguard your rank, your riches, your existence, seize power. Not mere strength, but dominance. Power immense enough that no foe—be they rival kin, other elites, or even siblings—dares to contest!"

Alex's hands balled into fists. The advice struck deep.

'They only risked striking because I'm feeble. They dread the Furor bloodline—solely when wielded by a mighty successor. At present, they view me as a botched heir. Useless. Impotent.'

--

"With such supreme power, you'll act as you please, and none will object. Whether logical or outrageous, silence will reign."

-

'By striking inside the Enclave, they violated the code. That suggests they're assured of potent support—and equally sure no one shields me.'

---

"Never forget. Only if I wield a sword, and you do too, can law govern. If I brandish a dagger while you're unarmed, I carry the reality... and your fate.

"Rule-makers are often the boldest breakers. Rules bind the frail and serve the mighty. All else deceives. Ethics, statutes, edicts... they count only between equals in might. Power alone is real.

---

"Power is the only truth..." Alex murmured.

Over an hour passed as he remained still.

'I can't pretend this is my former realm. Laws don't rule here. Might defines justice. They might slay me tomorrow with impunity. Even if aid existed... I'd be gone.'

A slow breath escaped him, carrying away the final doubts.

'Every asset must fuel my rise to strength and dominance—my intellect, my skills, my Rune-Tech... and now, my bloodline. Luckily, I've charted a course for my Rune-Tech base. And thanks to those fools, I've unlocked the full awakening of the Furor Bloodline inside.'

"I'll ensure they get their due," Alex vowed,

Without realizing it, a sinister grin curved his mouth.

Oblivious to his inner shift, Alex Fury had embarked on his initial genuine stride into the defining essence of the notorious Fury clan—

Calm Madness.

-

The following morning, Alex traversed the identical serene lane where the prior assault had occurred.

As on the previous day, the identical quintet of senior acolytes waylaid him once more.

Third day—the same ordeal.

Come the sixth day, concealment was abandoned by the gang. They openly struck at Alex upon his arrival, pummeling him nearly to death.

True to form, Alex would rise unsteadily, hobble to his lodging, and mend his wounds with a premium potion.

Each instance... brought a smile to his face.

A chilling grin, growing more disturbing by the day. Silent fury and insanity gleamed in his crimson eyes—a vision that would have chilled his foes if witnessed.

Seventh day, Alex altered his approach. Bypassing the hidden route, he chose a crowded, circuitous way to his quarters.

"Bastard!" Marcus snarled after fruitless hours of waiting. "Track him down!"

Grumbles rose, but his commands were obeyed. Retreat was impossible now.

Eighth day. Ninth day. Alex kept evading them.

Tenth day arrived, and the gang believed they'd crushed his will. A Fury now cowered from them.

Buoyed by arrogance—and annoyed by lost time—they opted for a bold face-off, this time by the lecture building.

"You spineless Fury! Fleeing once more?" Marcus jeered.

From the walkway they hauled him into a secluded nook, ready to thrash him anew—in plain sight this time.

"Halt immediately!"

A thunderous command sliced the atmosphere. The Orc Warlord teacher from Alex's recent lesson boomed it.

"You have the audacity to assault a fellow student in the Enclave?!"

Up rose the instructor's hand, weaving a shield that divided Alex from his attackers.

"N-no, Professor," Marcus stuttered. "We were merely... chatting. Isn't that right, Fury?"

Alex brushed off his clothes and offered the Orc Warlord a courteous incline.

Next, he faced Marcus, ice in his gaze.

"Marcus Hertarian, will you meet me in formal combat?" he proposed evenly, though sharply. "Or do you only muster courage through sneak attacks and lackeys?"

Crimson flickered in his eyes, forcing Marcus to retreat a pace.

'This boy's off,' Marcus mused. 'No sense clashing here.'

"Apologies, but no," Marcus replied, steadying himself. "Dueling a junior and inferior yields me zilch."

A frosty smile crossed Alex's lips. "Such concerns vanished during your ambushes. If fear grips you, admit it."

The Orc's meddling had gathered spectators, and Alex's barbs stung hard—shaming Marcus and his crew amid the swelling audience.

Though prowess earned admiration in Pangea, the Enclave enforced discipline. Ganging up on the vulnerable, especially outnumbering them, marked one as contemptible.

"You—!" Marcus started, but Alex interrupted.

"Dragon Duel," Alex announced. "I'll wager my leftover stipend—250,000 gold coins."

Silence gripped the assembly.

Marcus swallowed hard. As nobility, his total assets fell short of that sum.

"I see," Alex pressed with sarcasm. "Envy festers because you're broke. No matter, I'll accept your staff and cherished Grimoire—your sole worthwhile possessions."

"You—!"

"No more words. Accept, or prove you're all bluster?"

Fury consumed Marcus, yet the Orc's vigilance barred any move on Alex.

"Very well," he growled. "If you're eager to fund your own thrashing, so be it. I agree!"

"Excellent," Alex acknowledged, pivoting away indifferently—beneath the astonished stares of all.

Marcus's fists tightened, fury blazing at the snub.

"Heed this," the Orc Warlord cautioned, "Dragon Duels are inviolable. Any meddling means instant death."

A chill seemed to lower the air, making the gang quake.

The instructor departed then, and the throng scattered.

Alone remained the gang.

Laughter exploded from them.

"He actually issued the challenge!" one thug exclaimed.

"A Dragon Duel at that!" another chimed.

"Bloodline unawakened or not, he clings to Fury arrogance," Marcus smirked ominously. "I'll smash that arrogance to pieces."

"Let's inform the leader," a voice proposed. "We'll stir the gossip—ensure the Enclave witnesses a Fury's downfall."

Toward the Enclave's elite districts they headed.

---

"What?! Alex issued a Dragon Duel challenge?" Zora leaped from her seat, stunned.

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