Re: Tales of the Rune-Tech Sage Chapter 640: Bandits of the Wildlands

CH640 Bandits of the Wildlands

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Far away, past the borders of BloodIron...

Inside a barbarian village located dozens of kilometers distant, bandits rampaged through the settlement like a ferocious gale, igniting the primitive huts of its people.

Resisters fell to the bandits' blades without mercy, cut down swiftly before the survivors got rounded up. But their brutality didn't stop there.

They split off the weak and old from the strong ones... then executed them on the spot, judging them too useless even to bother selling.

The rest got sorted into three categories: kids, fit men of fighting age, and females.

Kids headed to special training camps to be molded into loyal slaves from childhood—maybe even learning trades to boost their sale price later.

Strong men faced fates based on their power: weaklings sold as workers, while tough ones stayed with the bandits as disposable frontline fodder.

Women endured the harshest destiny. Sold into brothels, they'd churn out endless profits until drained dry. After that, they'd shift to labor... or get tossed away.

No one could say which outcome showed pity. One thing was sure—their lives stood forever changed.

Before leaving the village, bandits aimed to crush the captives' will completely. They yanked a few women into view, making the rest watch the horror.

Brutal, savage laughs echoed everywhere as packs of men took turns on them, unleashing their filth unchecked. Families watched in torment, unable to act.

Plenty of women perished in the nightmare. Survivors emerged as broken shells of their former selves.

One booze-soaked bandit kept ravaging a woman until he noticed—far too late—she'd died under his assault.

Annoyed, he withdrew and booted her corpse aside like trash.

Still burning with need, though.

His eyes scanned the huddled captives greedily, hunting for the next target to satisfy his urges.

Random choice loomed when a woman boldly stepped up, blocking the path and guarding her sisters with her own frame.

Stunning in beauty, her expression blazed with fierce resistance. But instead of cooling his fire, it only stoked his depraved hunger higher.

The foul thing between his thighs twitched alive again as heat surged through his veins.

Slap!

A brutal slap hurled her to the earth, blood spraying over the soil.

As he bent to grab her ankles and haul her off, a sudden mighty kick flipped him tumbling across the dirt.

"Who dares—?!"

Rage boiled from the bandit's mouth, but sight of his attacker choked it off instantly.

"What did I just tell all of you about touching the boss’s merchandise?" the man demanded icily.

"Vice-Captain, it’s not like that. I—"

"You what?" the Vice-Captain snapped, interrupting. "You what? Speak. I'm waiting."

Calm words hid a deadly chill underneath.

"Do my commands mean nothing... or does feeding that pathetic lump matter more than the boss's losses from ruined stock?"

The Vice-Captain closed in on the bandit step by step.

The thug froze in place... too terrified even to stand. Fear locked his limbs.

"Vice-Captain, I—" he stuttered, words failing in his shaking voice.

No chance for excuses. The Vice-Captain blurred into motion—

Splat!

His boot smashed down hard right on the bandit's crotch.

Speed left no time to react at first. Only the gush of blood between his thighs brought the torment crashing in.

"AAAHHHH!!!"

A guttural howl ripped out—pure, animalistic suffering beyond words.

Likely the ultimate torment any man could face.

While the bandit thrashed and wailed, gripping his ruin, nearby eyes turned to the uproar.

In the turmoil, the Vice-Captain drew his hooked desert sword with steady calm.

Then, no pause—

He slashed the man's throat clean.

Shock and terror kept the bandit's eyes bulging wide as blood gushed wildly from the gash. Despite his frantic clutches at his throat, the bleeding just wouldn't cease.

A few heartbeats later, his body slackened utterly.

He crumpled to the dirt... without a spark of life.

Even more dumbfounded than the prisoners stood the bandits.

They could hardly fathom their Vice-Captain slaying one of their brothers without a second thought.

"Listen up, you maggots!" the Vice-Captain bellowed abruptly. "The Captain has been generous enough to provide you with playthings to vent your desires upon them. If they die before you’ve had your fill, then you have no one to blame but yourselves.

"Do whatever you like with the corpses—I could not care less. But if anyone lays a hand on the boss’s merchandise..." his tone turned icy and final, "...I will slit that person’s throat on the spot."

"Remember this well, maggots—they are worth far more than your worthless lives. When you die, there will be plenty of men eager to take your place for the whores and shards. Do not forget that."

Having spoken, the one-eyed brute slowly slid his sword into its sheath before shifting his gaze ahead.

His one good eye locked onto the gorgeous barbarian woman who still guarded her tribeswomen.

Despite his intervention for her sake, she sensed zero relief—no hint of mercy. That stare was as dead as the mangled socket across his face, twisted by a brutal scar from its former place.

To him, she held no humanity.

Just cargo... goods primed for the highest buyer's coin.

At last, the one-eyed Vice-Captain spun away, beckoning another Combat Master to watch over the captives as he marched off.

He ventured deeper through the village, bound for the looming mountain.

Over there, numerous fellows toiled away, pounding the cliffside with tools and blades, like they hunted some secret buried inside.

Ahead towered a hulking brute built like a bear with a tiger's girth, his vast back bare and a bushy beard tumbling from his jaw akin to an old woodsman's. His keen, falcon-sharp eyes scanned the labors intently from his overlook.

The Vice-Captain drew near and halted right next to him.

"Have they found anything, boss?" he inquired.

"They have. A vein—just as we suspected," the burly man answered. "Once mining begins, we’ll be able to supply Drumvale with their required quota. Then that annoying woman will no longer complain about us making further use of their name."

Truth be told, the bandits' raid on the barbarian outpost wasn't chiefly about snatching slaves.

The actual prize lurked below the earth—a fresh mineral lode right by the barbarian village.

Instead of letting the savages spot its worth and haggle deals, the bandits opted for savagery: massacre, domination, and total claim on the territory.

A scheme locking in riches from all sides.

"I can smell blood on you. What happened?" the boss—the Captain of the bandit group—demanded.

"There was a fool who tried to lay his hands on one of your handpicked merchandise," the Vice-Captain stated evenly.

"What?!" The Captain whipped around, eyes narrowing to slits. "I trust you didn’t stop at merely cutting off his hands. He didn’t just attempt to steal from me—he disrespected me.

"I will not tolerate such disrespect!"

"Do not worry, boss. He will be vulture food, alongside the rest of the savages," the Vice-Captain answered flatly.

"Good." The Captain’s face softened a touch. "An idiot who fails to recognise his place has no right to keep breathing."

His focus returned to the diggers outlining the vein. Shortly after, a notion hit him, knitting his brows.

"Speaking of those who fail to respect their station... what of the team we sent out? Are they not back yet with the heads of those nobodies? What did they call themselves again?"

"Fortuna, boss. They go by the name Fortuna," the Vice-Captain responded.

"Whatever. They are dead anyway," the Captain scoffed, shooting a side glance. "Right?"

"It would appear otherwise, boss," the Vice-Captain said.

"What?" The Captain’s look soured in a flash.

"The team missed their scheduled check-in. The only reason they would dare do so is if something has happened to them," the Vice-Captain clarified.

The Captain uttered no word, but the air grew frigid as his visage hardened to stone.

"Boss, there's more," the Vice-Captain went on. "A bird missive has just arrived from the guild hall in BloodIron. The Black Scar Syndicate has made contact with us."

"The Black Scar? Why them? We've got no business with those folks," the Captain replied, his eyebrows furrowing deeply.

"They want to set up a meeting between us and Fortuna. Seems like Fortuna’s leader is looking to broker peace."

"Peace?" Fury blazed in the Captain’s eyes. "After he slaughtered my brother and insulted me so openly, he dares talk peace?!"

The Vice-Captain stayed quiet.

After a few tense breaths, the Captain spoke once more, his tone now steady but laced with lethal menace.

"Could there be some link between this Fortuna outfit and the Black Scar Syndicate?" he inquired.

"Doesn't seem likely. Our probes show Fortuna's just a bunch of unknowns, whereas the Black Scars are famed go-betweens. More than likely, their boss shelled out coin to the Syndicate for this sit-down," the Vice-Captain answered.

"Fine then. I'll meet this Fortuna head," the boss declared abruptly.

"You will?" Surprise flashed briefly on the Vice-Captain's features.

"No point in riling up the Black Scars by turning down their overture. Plus, I'm intrigued to learn what this Fortuna leader has to offer.

"If he's ready to cough up enough for his insolence, maybe I'll let it slide... assuming he can foot the bill," the bandit boss chuckled darkly.

The Vice-Captain shrugged lightly and nodded without a word.

This crew was the notorious shadow mercenary force called the Lost Heartens. Their hulking leader was none other than Brock Peyton.

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