Re: Tales of the Rune-Tech Sage Chapter 637: Alston Family Elder Council I

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Alex originally thought Fortuna’s skirmish against Brock Peyton’s Lost Heathens amounted to a trivial affair—one unlikely to stir much interest across BloodIron City.

He was wrong...

Terribly wrong.

Numerous powerful factions had caught wind of it.

They observed intently, scrutinizing the young leader’s approach to the clash—some with curiosity leaning toward partnership, others harboring far more malicious designs.

The Black Scar Syndicate stood out among those deeply engaged—or to be exact, the Alston family that Raven Horn hailed from.

Leaving Fortuna’s mansion grounds behind, Raven Horn ventured through various seedy parts of the city.

Paradoxically, despite the city officials’ efforts to project a pristine image, such dens were plentiful in BloodIron.

His activities in those spots stayed shrouded in mystery.

He slipped in and out drawing no notice—so stealthily that only the people he met would know he’d visited.

In time, he reached a nondescript tailor shop perched on the city’s fringes.

It appeared wholly mundane at first sight—the type of place no one bothers glancing at twice.

Raven Horn sought no garments there.

He formed a discreet, enigmatic hand gesture—more akin to a mage’s incantation seal than any ordinary sign—before entering the rear chamber.

From that point, he descended to the cellar.

A hidden door lurked behind a bookshelf, secured by a device that unlocked solely to a precise sequence of mana surges.

Raven Horn triggered it effortlessly.

The portal then revealed itself.

Stretching beyond was a sprawling web of subterranean corridors, their battered framework suggesting they dated back to ancient epochs.

Raven Horn gave the tunnel scant regard.

This route was familiar territory for him, after all.

He advanced without hesitation.

About ten minutes of navigating below the streets later, he surfaced—not in the periphery any longer—but inside a structure nestled in BloodIron’s heart district.

No edifice in this area could be accessed or owned through simple riches.

Control here belonged exclusively to BloodIron’s mightiest figures and groups.

In all respects, it rivaled an imperial capital’s elite quarter—and the splendor made it evident.

Glimpses of sophisticated designs and opulent indulgences appeared constantly through the villa’s broad windows and breezy walkways.

Raven Horn traversed the passages with evident confidence.

Guards and attendants bowed low as he strode past—yet he offered merely the slightest murmur in return, his countenance unusually grave.

A heavy burden marked his presence.

Finally, he halted at a pair of formidable double doors granting entry to a vast hall.

He lingered for a moment, taking a deep breath—then thrust the doors wide and crossed the threshold.

The interior room stood fully enclosed.

No windows or alternate exits marred its isolation.

Those double doors provided the only ingress.

The space seemed vacant at a casual glance.

But scrutiny unveiled the floor blanketed in elaborate runes, meticulously incised into the rock surface.

Raven Horn pressed onward.

From a pouch at his belt, he drew eight low-grade berserk stones, positioning them with care at the octagonal room’s eight vertices.

Next, he proceeded to the middle.

Shutting his eyes for an instant, he infused the array with his mana.

The arcane matrix blazed into activation—streams of power raced across the inscribed patterns, awakening the chamber entirely.

Shadowy outlines started coalescing from the eight edges.

Every silhouette remained bound to a formation nexus, their shapes hazy, visages purposefully veiled.

None save committed members of the group could identify them.

Raven Horn sank to one knee, bowing his head reverently.

"I greet the Elders."

A profound voice boomed forth from straight ahead.

"Admon Alston... what report do you bring regarding the Legatee?"

"The Legatee’s party is currently being targeted by a local warlord and bandit leader—Brock Peyton," Raven Horn reported steadily.

"The Legatee’s group encountered and eliminated one of Peyton’s units, which was led by his younger brother. As a result, Peyton has initiated a vendetta."

He pressed on seamlessly.

"A raiding unit belonging to the Legatee’s party was subsequently ambushed by Peyton’s forces. Despite this, the Legatee’s party succeeded in killing a Combat Master, along with approximately a dozen Gold Rank fighters—though they suffered losses amounting to nearly half their number."

"In your previous report..." A frigid, piercing voice sliced across the chamber. "...you indicated that the Legatee’s group mainly consisted of Silver Rank combatants, with just the Legatee and a few core figures—no more than ten, as I remember—reaching Gold Rank."

A short silence ensued.

"Yet now you say they took down a Combat Master... along with more than a dozen Gold Ranks?"

Skepticism laced the tone.

"Do you really think we’ll swallow this without question?" the voice demanded.

Raven Horn stayed silent. He simply waited.

After a beat, the expected query arrived.

"Did you confirm this yourself, Admon?"

"Indeed, Sixth Elder," Raven Horn answered steadily.

"I went to the battle site myself and verified most of the story I received. I’m ninety-five percent sure it all happened as described."

Remaining on his knees with head lowered, he continued,

"In that prior report you mentioned, Sixth Elder, I also noted that the Legatee’s core team—and the Legatee in particular—cannot be measured by normal benchmarks."

His statement sent a faint murmur through the gathered elders.

"Proceed," the figure ahead commanded.

"Yes, Grand Elder," Raven Horn responded with a small incline of his head.

"Besides the ambush, Brock Peyton has used his ties in the City Administration to hinder the Legatee’s group."

He halted for a moment before wrapping up.

"He managed to stop their bid for a bigger estate—thus blocking the requirements needed to officially register as a Guild with the Adventurer and Mercenary Associations."

"This Peyton... does he wield power in BloodIron’s City Administration?" A different voice rang out, laced with obvious astonishment.

"Correct, Third Elder," Raven Horn affirmed.

"He serves as an agent for the Drumvale Merchant Company. I suspect he convinced the City Administration officials that his order bore Drumvale’s backing."

He pressed on smoothly.

"Drumvale’s agent might have quietly approved it too. It does favor a key partner, after all."What’s more, the Legatee’s group has kept a low key since reaching the city. They’re still obscure among the elite circles."

"What in the world is the Legatee up to?" yet another voice broke in—keen and irritated.

The Fourth Elder.

"For three months since arriving in the city, he’s done nothing. If he’d taken bold actions sooner, things wouldn’t have spiraled this far."

Raven Horn replied without delay.

"I think he’s been absorbing the rewards from the Stele Trials." He stated.

He went on, "During my encounter with him today—our first since he ended seclusion—I detected a clear surge in his power."

His voice turned more measured.

"Honestly, it made me feel somewhat endangered."

That confession sparked another ripple—a quieter one now.

"On top of that, our intel reports he recently dueled weapons with Dalton Asheton from the BattleBanes—a famed and esteemed Combat Master." Raven Horn went on.

"What was the outcome?" The Grand Elder inquired.

"A tie." Raven Horn answered.

The chamber plunged into hush.

Raven Horn pressed forward,

"I need to stress—both he and his companions admit his real strength is in mystic arts, not skill with weapons."

He raised his head a touch, keeping his stance deferential.

"If he holds his own against Dalton Asheton purely with weapon skills... imagine him unleashing mystic arts—"

He stopped, then stated flatly,

"I might not match him."

"It’s uncommon for you to praise someone so, Admon," the Grand Elder observed.

"I’m just sharing my findings as Liaison, Grand Elder," Raven Horn responded. "To help both sides choose wisely."

A harsh voice snapped right away.

"And what’s that meant to imply, Admon?!"

The Sixth Elder’s bellow reverberated through the chamber—thick with anger.

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