Re: Tales of the Rune-Tech Sage Chapter 643: Rejecting A Toast, to accept a Forfeit II

CH643 Rejecting A Toast, to accept a Forfeit II

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"Why don’t we savor some of BloodIron’s most coveted delicacies?"

Peyton’s lips curved into a slight grimace as he felt compelled to remove his boots from the table, making way for the dishes to be presented.

For the span of twenty minutes, the three factions dined in a noticeable quiet.

Raven Horn observed the pair, and the stark contrast between the two sides was impossible to ignore.

Although Peyton strove to maintain an air of dignity, his actions were undeniably coarse and lacking refinement. It was abundantly clear that refined dining etiquette was foreign to him, and he was merely mirroring the setting’s expectations.

Alex, in contrast, exuded the very epitome of sophisticated dining. Each gesture was carefully considered, deliberate, and executed with effortless grace.

The difference was glaring.

It was akin to witnessing an impudent upstart—a newly rich individual at best—opposed to the composed demeanor of a seasoned noble... perhaps even a royal prince.

Through this simple meal, the chasm in their backgrounds was illuminated with unmistakable clarity.

Once the feast concluded and the attendants had cleared the table, Raven Horn offered a discreet nod, signaling the commencement of the negotiations.

"Mister Alex Fury, you initiated this meeting. What is it you wish to convey?" Raven Horn inquired.

Alex inclined his head politely before directing his gaze towards Brock Peyton.

"I have come to understand that a feud, perhaps unintentionally, has emerged between us. It appears that you, Mister Brock Peyton, hold my Fortuna Company accountable for the demise of your younger brother... and have consequently issued a kill order against us.

"I maintain that there has been a significant misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding?" Peyton interjected sharply. "Are you refuting any involvement in my brother’s death?"

"I am unfamiliar with your brother’s identity, Mister Peyton," Alex responded with a level tone. "To the fullest extent of my memory, the individuals my company encountered were a band of brigands who attempted to relieve us of our possessions. We acted purely in self-preservation.

"Or perhaps you are implying, Mister Peyton, that your brother was the ringleader of that very bandit group?"

"And what if he was?!" Brock Peyton retorted, his gaze hardening. "Regardless of whether my brother was a cutthroat or a hallowed Saint of Justice and Light, you possessed no right to extinguish his life.

"Not only did you end his life—you went so far as to hoist his group’s banner to instill fear in others.

"How do you expect me to dismiss such audacious contempt?"

"Your logic is rather perplexing, Mister Peyton," Alex stated, his expression remaining impassive. "Are you suggesting that we should not have defended ourselves against a group of ruffians who initiated an assault upon us? That we should have passively offered our throats for your brother’s claim?"

"Precisely!" Peyton’s fist struck the table with a resounding thud, causing the remaining goblets and utensils to vibrate intensely.

"My brother’s existence held more value than all of yours combined. What authority do insignificant wretches like yourselves possess to terminate his life? It should have been considered an honor to perish by his hand."

Mogal’s jaw nearly unhinged, finding the sheer irrationality of Brock Peyton’s rationale utterly incomprehensible.

Yet, Alex’s demeanor remained unaltered. He appeared completely unperturbed.

"Mister Peyton, I comprehend your sentiments of anger. I am inclined to believe that you held your brother in high esteem," Alex continued with measured calm. "However, you are not the sole party to have experienced loss. I too suffered the loss of men during your brother’s assault... and subsequently during your group’s ambush not long after.

"Even with these losses, I chose to convene this meeting precisely because I do not wish for this animosity to escalate further.

"An individual engaged in your profession should recognize that peril is omnipresent. Those who subsist by the sword must also be prepared for the eventuality of falling by it. Such is the immutable nature of existence.

"What transpired between your brother and my associates was devoid of personal animosity. It was an unfortunate consequence of clashing objectives. It was purely a matter of business, nothing more."

"Should our respective factions engage in hostilities over this incident, we would only inflict harm upon ourselves. Ultimately, it would be our individual enterprises—our very livelihoods—that would bear the brunt of the damage."

Alex interlaced his fingers upon the table before him, his posture radiating composure as he continued in the same tranquil, deliberate cadence.

"Based on your assertions, you must harbor a strong conviction that you can annihilate my group at your earliest convenience. I shall not endeavor to dissuade you from this conviction. Nevertheless, I wish to emphasize that, irrespective of the ultimate outcome, my group will not concede defeat without a formidable struggle."

"Consider the unit you dispatched to ambush my raid party. You undoubtedly assumed they would succeed with ease... yet, you were mistaken. As a consequence of that failed attempt, you sustained the loss of an entire company unit, and a Combat Master besides. Meanwhile, my own raid unit has been rendered inoperable for the foreseeable future.

"In essence, both factions have incurred significant setbacks. The revenue that both your company unit and my raid party would have generated has come to a standstill. To make matters worse, we are now compelled to allocate additional resources for reconstruction. These are losses, frankly, that could have been entirely averted."

Alex’s gaze momentarily shifted to the panorama of the vast city sprawling below, visible through the fourth-floor window.

He then redirected his attention back to Peyton.

"There exists but a single rationale for anyone to frequent this forsaken city—the pursuit of wealth. A protracted conflict between us will inevitably deplete whatever profits we have managed to accrue."

"Therefore, with this understanding, I propose we settle this matter amicably before it escalates any further."

"I am prepared to offer suitable recompense for the demise of your brother, thereby allowing us both to put this unfortunate incident behind us," Alex concluded.

"You presume to place a monetary value on my brother’s life?" Peyton inquired, his voice a low growl.

"Let us dispense with pretense, Mister Peyton," Alex responded candidly. "Given the nature of your enterprise—the slave trade—you, of all individuals, should comprehend that everything possesses a price. The only variable is the magnitude of that price."

Peyton fell into silence.

He fixed his gaze upon Alex, his finger rhythmically tapping the tabletop, as if deliberating his available options.

Several moments elapsed.

Finally, with a nod, he spoke.

"You wish to extinguish this feud before it spirals out of control, do you not?" he stated deliberately. "There is but one method to achieve such an outcome. A merger. Your Fortuna Company shall be integrated into my Lost Heathens. Your personnel will operate under my command... and in return, your lives will be spared."

"As for the women..." a lewd smile twisted his lips, "—I have been informed that you associate with rather attractive individuals. They, too, may retain their lives... by rendering their services within my brothels. A suitably appropriate venue for women of their ilk."

A flicker crossed Alex’s eyes, a barely suppressed rage threatening to erupt.

Yet, at that precise instant, an intense chill permeated his mind, immobilizing the surge of emotion and preventing its outward expression.

His countenance remained perfectly composed.

He observed Brock Peyton in silence for a considerable duration before emitting a soft sigh.

"Is that your unalterable demand?" he inquired.

"Indeed, it is," Peyton affirmed, a predatory grin stretching across his features.

"Then, regrettably, I find myself unable to accede."

Alex rose slowly to his feet.

He offered a subtle nod to Mogal and turned, preparing to depart.

Peyton observed his departure without uttering a word.

Just as Alex reached the threshold, he paused.

"When the edifice begins to crumble... recall that it was you who relinquished the opportunity for peace," Alex stated with utter calmness.

He cast a brief, backward glance.

Peyton’s form was mirrored in his eyes—now a chilling, frigid crimson.

Calm Madness!

"I anticipate our next encounter, Brock Peyton."

With those final words, Alex exited the chamber.

Following in his wake, the Vice-Captain of the Lost Heathens involuntarily swallowed, an icy shiver tracing its path down his spine.

For a fleeting instant, as his gaze met those crimson depths, an inexplicable sense of dread seized him.

'What was that...?'

A flicker of doubt ignited within him—sharp and deeply instinctual.

Yet, in the very next moment, he ruthlessly suppressed it.

'No... that is simply impossible.'

Within mere minutes, the gathering dispersed entirely.

Brock Peyton departed the establishment with an air of unmistakable triumph.

Unbeknownst to him, however, he failed to perceive the faint trace of pity in Raven Horn’s eyes as he strode away.

For the individual who had officiated the meeting understood with absolute clarity the destructive web Alex had begun to meticulously construct around him.

'Peyton... oh, Peyton. You were offered a peace offering, yet you deliberately chose forfeiture. Now you have awakened a formidable entity...'

Raven Horn’s gaze drifted towards the windowpane.

'A being consumed by vengeance—one who will not be satisfied merely with your demise, but will systematically dismantle every structure you have erected, piece by painstakingly agonizing piece... all while you are rendered utterly powerless to intervene, belatedly realizing that this entire catastrophe could have been averted had you only conceded a single step back... even a minor one.'

He exhaled softly, a slight shake of his head accompanying the motion.

A quiet sigh escaped his lips as he gazed into the distant expanse.

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