Re: Tales of the Rune-Tech Sage Chapter 644: Apology

Mogal’s eyes were fixed on Alex during the quiet ride back to the Fortuna mansion, observing him intently.

Alex sat by the window, his gaze directed outward, his expression vacant, lost in the depths of his own contemplations.

Now and then, a soft sigh would escape him, carrying a burden Mogal couldn't quite fathom.

While Mogal couldn't penetrate his leader’s true thoughts, he suspected that Alex had already released any anger from the meeting, leaving behind a heavier emotion... perhaps disappointment, as they approached their destination.

Upon their arrival, the majority of Fortuna’s uninjured members, primarily Pangeans, were already engrossed in training on the grounds, utilizing peculiar tools from Sugud.

Only a handful of the Fury Knights remained at the gate, maintaining their vigil.

Zora, Eleanore, and Udara were positioned at the entrance, stepping forward as the carriage pulled to a stop.

"How did it go?" Zora inquired, a flicker of hope coloring her tone.

Alex alighted from the carriage, shaking his head with a faint, sardonic smile.

"The negotiations have collapsed," he stated.

"What transpired?" the three women asked, their voices overlapping.

"Let's go inside first," Alex suggested. "Summon everyone."

He paused for a moment before adding,

"All of them."

Soon after, the entirety of the Fortuna Company had assembled in the spacious living room.

Alex’s wives occupied the large three-seater sofa, while the others found their positions around the room. Despite ample seating, most opted to remain standing, their attention riveted on Alex.

Standing before the fireplace, he naturally drew every eye towards himself.

"The peace talks with the Lost Heathens have failed," Alex announced. "Here is what occurred..."

He then proceeded to recount the meeting's events with a peculiar detachment.

As he spoke, the atmosphere within the room underwent a transformation.

When Brock Peyton’s initial demand—the forced assimilation—was revealed, a simmering anger began to stir among the Fortuna members.

However, as Alex calmly conveyed the second demand—concerning the women—the room's temperature seemed to plunge into an frigid abyss.

Even Alex's usually placid expression faltered.

His eyes darted, instinctively drawn to his wives... lingering, if only for a fleeting moment, particularly on Zora.

Her gaze was indeed icy. Yet, to his surprise, she was not the catalyst for the sudden atmospheric shift.

It was the Fortuna members themselves.

In that instant, Alex realized he had overlooked a crucial point. During his period of seclusion, his wives had managed their affairs. In many respects, they had become more familiar, and more accessible, to the Fortuna members than he himself was.

If he was perceived as an unassailable figure—someone they could only regard with awe from a distance—then his wives were different.

They were cherished figures within the group... almost akin to venerated saints, whom no one would tolerate being tarnished by even the slightest defilement.

For Brock Peyton to even conceive of laying a hand on them—let alone the utter sacrilege of consigning them to a brothel—that alone was an offense punishable by death in their estimation.

Alex almost let out a quiet laugh at the realization that his wives might, in reality, wield a gentler—though no less formidable—influence over the group than he did.

’The more powerful I become, the greater the distance they might feel from me... but if the women can bridge that void, then perhaps it is something I should welcome, rather than dread,’ Alex contemplated internally.

He brought his hands together, clapping them sharply.

The suffocating chill in the room vanished instantly, and the group’s attention snapped back to him.

Alex paused briefly before speaking.

"I owe all of you an apology," he declared. "I understand many must feel frustrated by our lack of action—especially after losing some of our own, and with the rest of the raid party still recovering from their injuries."

"You don't owe us any apology, boss," Kavakan, the leader of the raid party, interjected.

"We've spent enough time with you to grasp the kind of person you are. If you haven't made your move yet, there's a reason for it. And when you do act..."

A confident grin spread across his face.

"...the enemy will be utterly unprepared."

He offered a slight shrug.

"Besides, even if you decided not to act at all—that remains your decision, boss. And we trust you."

The party members nodded in agreement, their expressions mirroring the same steadfast conviction.

’His sycophancy is improving daily,’ Alex thought wryly, glancing at Kavakan.

Nevertheless, he took the weretiger’s praise with a dose of skepticism. His gaze shifted instead towards Silver and Havel.

"We didn't say anything," Havel immediately responded.

"I didn’t accuse you," Alex responded placidly, a knowing glint in his eyes.

"It isn’t necessary," Zora cut in. "Everyone is aware that when the scouting team becomes suspiciously quiet, it signifies you’re devising a stratagem."

"We can all deduce your intentions with reasonable accuracy," Eleanore added, a subtle smile gracing her features.

The women then directed their attention to Kavakan, who merely offered a shrug.

"The raid party constitutes almost half our fighting force, and we are currently incapacitated. Given that the Lost Heathens predominantly operate beyond the city’s confines, it was only logical that their leader would be delayed in attending the meeting. This delay granted us the opportunity to recuperate—at least partially—following initial healing," he elucidated.

"It also presented the scouting team with a chance to gather crucial intelligence on the Lost Heathens," Sergeant Lopota contributed. "Sufficient, we hope, for us to execute a decisive blow."

"Which brings us to the salient question," Mogal inquired, crossing his arms. "What precisely is the objective, boss?"

"It appears you all understand me quite well," Alex remarked, the corner of his smile twitching slightly.

He sighed internally.

’Even so… I had truly hoped that Brock Peyton—that power-intoxicated brute that he is—might have exhibited some semblance of reason.’

’Now that the situation has escalated to this point, we are compelled to act with force. However, by doing so… we will inevitably attract the very attention I sought to evade.’

’Why is it that matters never proceed without complication when I opt for the path of peace?’

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

"It would seem BloodIron City has misinterpreted our quietude as vulnerability," Alex declared finally. "They have mistaken a slumbering tiger for a docile household feline."

His gaze intensified.

"That Brock Peyton parades himself like a colossal serpent… yet he fails to recall that regardless of a snake’s ultimate size, it must ultimately bow its head before a dragon."

A slow smile bloomed across his face.

"Shall we proceed to remind them?"

The assembled group erupted in cheers!

***