Re: Tales of the Rune-Tech Sage Chapter 678: Fortuna 300 II

Alex entrusted Kavakan with the command of the Barbarians and Orcs, molding them into an elite shock force. Simultaneously, he revamped the Fury Knights, appointing them as leaders over newly formed units composed of the arriving BattleBane elites.

Having served him the longest, the Fury Knights were considerably more acquainted with his tactical approach than the BattleBanes. Assigning them leadership roles served as both a practical decision and a fitting acknowledgment of their unwavering loyalty.

Silver, accompanied by the Fury Crossbowmen, was put in charge of an enlarged marksman corps. Mordor was ordered to advance in proximity to the Fury Knights' formations, while Sugud was formally integrated into the marksman unit.

In essence, Sugud’s positioning was primarily for observation. The rearward placement of the marksman unit afforded him increased opportunities to scrutinize his rifle-crossbow designs as they performed on the actual battlefield.

Speaking of Sugud, once the sub-units were organized, he personally issued the pump-action and bolt-action crossbows to the newly incorporated members. He had previously manufactured one hundred pump-action crossbows and fifty bolt-action variants, deeming that quantity to be more than sufficient at the time. Now, however, it appeared they were barely adequate.

As he handed over each weapon, his eyes conveyed a silent yet potent warning—any individual who mishandled or showed disrespect towards his creations would face his retribution.

—

Following an hour dedicated to reorganization, the Fortuna force adopted a clearly defined and structured formation:

Main Force Unit — 200 strong, under the command of Sergeant Lopota

Subdivided into:

100-man Pump-Action Crossbow unit

100-man Conventional Infantry unit

Supported by Mordor

Marksman Unit — 50 strong, effectively led by Silver

Equipped with bolt-action crossbows

Accompanied by Sugud

Strike Unit — 40 strong

Commanded by Kavakan

Includes Havel and Mogal

Autonomous (Force Multiplier) Unit

Udara, Eleanore, Zora, Fen, Senu

Overall Commander — Alex

—

Alex let out a nod of satisfaction, observing the seamless integration of his forces into their designated roles with minimal disruption. His gaze then swept towards the immense, uncultivated expanse of the Wildlands that stretched limitlessly before them.

For an ephemeral instant, his expression hardened, revealing a subtle, menacing glint—a hint of untamed madness. Eleanore, Udara, and Zora, standing close by, instantly perceived the shift. They understood he was on the verge of initiating an extreme action, though they were uncertain of its exact nature.

Alex turned back to face his assembled troops and gave a final, affirmative nod. Then, applying gentle pressure with his legs, he urged Dread forward. The regal stallion surged into motion instantaneously, accelerating into a powerful gallop. Close behind him, the three-hundred-strong mounted contingent followed without a moment’s hesitation, charging as one into the vast, untamed wilderness of the Wildlands.

Over the subsequent days, it was as if a ferocious tempest had raged through the Wildlands surrounding BloodIron. Every significant stronghold belonging to the Lost Heathens in the vicinity was systematically located... and utterly demolished. Nothing remained at these sites but shattered remnants—and a single, ominous symbol.

Etched in the lifeblood of the most formidable among the vanquished Lost Heathens was an emblem: A skull and crossbones, the iconic pirate or danger flag. The very same insignia that had once fluttered beneath the banner of Brock Peyton’s brother. The same insignia now claimed by Fortuna. This was not a mere declaration of conflict. No—this was a proclamation of utter annihilation.

—

Leveraging the combined prowess of his Truth-Seeker Eyes, Senu’s telepathic link, and an array of potent spells, Alex directed his forces with unnerving accuracy. Each encounter concluded with swift, decisive victory. Thousands bearing the Lost Heathen insignia perished in rapid succession, while Fortuna’s own casualties remained negligible.

While these skirmishes were relatively minor in scope compared to the grand scale of the world, Alex had definitively cemented his reputation as a formidable commander—equally skilled in strategic planning and personal combat prowess. Much like the elemental forces he commanded, his troops moved with terrifying synchronicity. Concealed and elusive, akin to Darkness. Rapid and overwhelming, like Lightning. Unyielding and all-consuming, embodying Fire. Penetrating and radiant, mirroring Light. Where they passed, utter desolation ensued.

Like spectral reapers scything across the landscape, the Fortuna force swept through the Hollowcrest Wildlands, eradicating over a dozen Lost Heathen operations from existence. Regardless of how the Lost Heathens—or any other faction—endeavored to track their movements, their trail would dissipate without warning, rendering their actions unpredictable and insusceptible to interception.

—

Shatter—!

Back within his opulent residence in BloodIron, Brock Peyton violently hurled an ornate sculpture—an item he had once procured at an exorbitant sum, holding little genuine appreciation for its artistic merit—against the stone wall. It disintegrated into countless fragments upon impact.

“That damned brat!” he roared, his voice choked with fury. “I demand his head. Do you comprehend? I want his head!” he bellowed at his second-in-command. The one-eyed vice-leader of the Lost Heathens remained immobile, offering no response.

He remained rooted to the spot, his single functional eye observing Brock Peyton as the latter continued to devastate the room in a fit of rage.

Before long, every object within reach lay shattered.

With no further items to destroy, Peyton was compelled to confront the inferno of anger still blazing within him.

"Has anyone located them yet?" he demanded at length.

Although the destructive outburst hadn't fully extinguished his wrath, it had, to a small degree, cleared his mind.

"No," the one-eyed man responded, a negative shake of his head accompanying his words.

"How is it remotely possible that no one has found them?" Peyton's fist slammed down onto the desk.

The second-in-command offered no reply.

He had been Peyton's subordinate long enough to grasp a crucial lesson: his boss possessed absolutely no tolerance for excuses. In fact, proffering one was often the fastest route to an involuntary, premature retirement.

And within their particular line of occupation, retirement inevitably signified one outcome:

The grave.

Consequently, he chose to remain silent.

Peyton's furious expression gradually subsided, the fiery anger in his eyes receding to reveal a colder, more calculating demeanor. He took several measured breaths, actively regaining control over his turbulent emotions.

"Are you completely certain that brat has no influential connections?" he inquired abruptly.

"Based on all the intelligence we've gathered on him—yes. He possesses no significant backing," the vice-leader confirmed.

"Did you verify this information with absolute thoroughness?" Peyton pressed further.

"I did, boss. You are aware that I do not handle matters of this importance carelessly." The man lifted a hand, lightly touching the eye patch covering his missing eye. "I utilized all our established channels to confirm this. Every single source corroborated the same conclusion."

Peyton offered a slow, deliberate nod.

His vice-leader was, in fact, painstakingly meticulous.

Following a past transgression where he offended an individual he should never have crossed – an incident that ultimately cost him an eye – the man had sworn never to take risks again when obtaining intelligence. If he had confirmed something, it was virtually infallible.

This left Peyton contemplating two potential scenarios.

Possibility one: the vice-leader had deliberately steered him into a confrontation with an unexpectedly formidable opponent...

Possibility two: the man genuinely lacked any knowledge of such a connection.

Peyton leaned towards the latter explanation, yet he refused to completely discard the former. After all, loyalty was a rare commodity among those operating outside the law.

It certainly wouldn't be the first time someone exploited an external threat as a means to seize internal power.

'I myself employed a similar tactic back in the day,' Peyton mused, a faint, mirthless smile gracing his lips.

***