Re: Tales of the Rune-Tech Sage Chapter 683: Suppressing Army Fortune

The spectacle of their cannon fodder unit being systematically eliminated by the Fortuna Company’s crossbow volleys did little to diminish the resolve of the Lost Heathen formation.

"They are merely swifter projectiles! Close the distance, and their ability to fire will cease!" the one-eyed second-in-command bellowed to his subordinates. "Our numbers are four times their own. Any man who fells at least ten of them will be handsomely rewarded—with women, potent spirits, valuable shards... all shall be yours!"

"Forward! Annihilate them all!" he commanded with a thunderous voice.

In an instant, the morale within the Lost Heathen ranks experienced a dramatic surge. No sooner had the vice-leader's words concluded than the entire contingent launched themselves into a frenzied charge, a headlong rush toward the Fortuna Company.

Meanwhile, the Fortuna soldiers were only just beginning to acclimate to the novel sensations induced by the [Link] Spell.

Upon witnessing the Lost Heathens' furious charge, they did not waver. Instead, they propelled themselves forward to meet the oncoming assault.

Yet, at that precise moment, a subtle yet unmistakable transformation permeated their ranks. Each soldier felt a sudden influx of vigor course through their being. Concurrently, an acute awareness of their comrades beside them blossomed—no longer as isolated individuals, but as integral components of a single, interconnected entity.

Then, an even more peculiar event unfolded.

A banner materialized directly before Sergeant Lopota. He seized it instinctively, his mind barely registering the occurrence. The flag felt intrinsically right in his grasp, as if it had always been destined for him—as if its bearing was his innate duty.

Without conscious volition, he raised and unfurled the banner. Immediately, a potent wave of energy surged through the members of the main force unit, encompassing both the pump-action crossbowmen and the conventional infantry, their movements becoming sharper, imbued with unprecedented unity.

Similar occurrences transpired throughout the Fortuna formation.

An ornate coat materialized upon Kavakan's person, and as he charged, the Strike Force unit felt an irresistible momentum build, compelling them to follow in his Riving path. A distinctive hat appeared atop Silver’s head, seamlessly linking her consciousness with the Marksman unit. In flawless unison, the crossbowmen adjusted their aim and unleashed a volley—each bolt discharged with chilling precision.

Concurrently, armbands symbolizing the autonomous units formed around the limbs of Zora, Udara, and Eleanore. Even Fen was not exempt—an armband materialized upon his forelimb, inexplicably remaining affixed despite his swift and agile maneuvers along the battlefield's periphery.

High above, circling the combat zone, Senu too was similarly adorned. A band appeared around her neck, finalizing the strange metamorphosis that had enveloped the entire force.

Surprisingly, Havel and Mogal remained unaffected by Kavakan's coat. Instead, armbands materialized upon their arms, signifying that the Army Fortune had classified them within the Autonomous Unit rather than the Strike Force.

Irrespective of their assigned affiliation, every member of Fortuna experienced their rank elevate by a full stage. This was a significant enhancement for all, but particularly for the BattleBanes, considering their recently stabilized internal Qi.

However, the most profound improvement manifested among the Pangeans—especially Alex’s wives and his core followers, each already possessing exceptional innate talent.

Silently, yet undeniably, the overall combat prowess of the Fortuna formation ascended by an entire tier.

Yet, this augmentation did not represent the complete potential of the Army Fortune.

The charging Lost Heathens, hurtling towards the Fortuna ranks, suddenly recoiled. In their perception, the formation before them had undergone a radical alteration. It no longer appeared as a mere contingent of three hundred soldiers, but rather as a colossal, voracious beast, its gaping maw poised to engulf them entirely.

Thwack! Thwack!! Whistle! The resonant snapping of crossbow strings echoed like a synchronized cadence—a grim overture heralding the descent of death in the form of bolts raining from above.

Each projectile sliced through the air with such impeccable timing that it sounded as if a single, unified assault had been launched from the heavens themselves. As if guided by a singular, overarching will, every crossbowman—whether wielding a rapid-fire pump-action or a deliberate bolt-action mechanism—aimed beyond the Lost Heathen vanguard, targeting the mid and rear echelons where the Gold-rank cultivators were concealed amidst a larger assembly of Bronze-majority and Silver-minority combatants.

Parrying one or two bolts might have been achievable. But against an unyielding deluge of Army Fortune-enhanced projectiles, even the most formidable warriors faltered. One by one, they succumbed—their bodies pierced by numerous bolts, transforming them into macabre effigies as they collapsed lifelessly upon the blood-soaked earth.

Unsurprisingly, the Strike Force was the first to engage the enemy directly. Bam! Kavakan’s initial axe strike was utterly devastating.

The blow didn't just bisect a shieldman and his shield at the waist; it propelled the man's upper torso backward into the Lost Heathen ranks like a projectile, tearing a distinct opening in their formation.

For a split second, shock flared in Kavakan's eyes.

Even he found it hard to comprehend the immense power unleashed by his strike.

A predatory grin slowly spread across his lips, sending a shiver down the spines of the surrounding Lost Heathens.

[Call of the Wild]!

An aura saturated with the essence of slaughter pulsed around his body as he plunged into the Lost Heathen formation, much like a tiger descending upon a vulnerable flock.

Havel followed closely behind.

A quickdraw horizontal slash. A returning, slightly diagonal sweep. A downward cleave. An impromptu thrust.

Strike after strike erupted in rapid succession, each one mercilessly claiming lives with chilling efficiency. The Lost Heathens crumpled like wheat before a reaper's scythe, utterly incapable of withstanding the relentless assault.

Living up to his new title, the Headhunter, Havel’s swordplay frequently resulted in severed heads rolling across the ground, leaving a trail of headless corpses in his wake.

Utilizing his Flash Step footwork, he glided through the enemy ranks, reaping heads – and souls – with the practiced ease of a seasoned harvester.

Havel swiftly recognized that the armband's enhancement had elevated his speed by yet another tier, a fact the Noble race swordsman exploited without a moment's hesitation.

Boom!

Mogal charged through the battlefield, relying solely on his body and fists. The colossal mass of hardened muscle carved a devastating path through the enemy lines, each punch scattering broken bodies in its wake.

Shields, armor, flesh – nothing offered resistance. Mogal tore through it all with sheer, unyielding force.

His fists impacted like artillery shells, obliterating everything in their path, while his legs launched like a ballista's release, sending unfortunate victims hurtling like siege bolts into their own allies.

Mangled remains and splintered bones bore testament to Mogal's brutal passage across the battlefield.

Not to be outdone by their leaders, the remaining members of the Strike Force fought with equal ferocity.

Whether Red Rock barbarians and orcs, or the local warriors conscripted from the BloodIron region, every soldier in the unit battled with savage intensity.

Their confrontations with the Lost Heathens seemed almost predetermined, all traces of mercy purged from their weaponry.

They moved like a school of piranhas, their weapons sharp as serrated teeth, leaving behind only mangled corpses in their rampage.

Concepts of honor and chivalry were nonexistent; multiple warriors would converge on a single foe without hesitation, reducing them to shredded remnants before shifting their focus to the next adversary.

***