Re: Tales of the Rune-Tech Sage Chapter 684: Hostile Reinforcements

The main strike force soon arrived, finally giving the conventional infantry units their moment to take center stage. Advancing as a unified and disciplined body, they steadily pushed forward, overwhelming any adversaries in their path, while the pump-action unit maintained a persistent barrage of suppressive fire from behind the primary lines. Contrary to what the Lost Heathens might have anticipated, the crossbowmen proved to be just as effective, if not more so, in close-quarters combat. They became even more lethal. Alex, positioned away from the immediate melee atop Dread, calmly observed the unfolding destruction. A subtle nod of satisfaction indicated his approval of the scene. The Army Fortune Formation undeniably served as a potent force multiplier, elevating the Fortuna Company to a superior level that rapidly eroded the morale of the Lost Heathens. Even if the formation's advantages were temporary, the sheer shock and awe it inflicted had already left an indelible mark on the minds of their opponents. Despite the enemy's significant numerical superiority, Alex showed no signs of concern. 'When was the last time I fought when I wasn't outnumbered?' he pondered, searching his memory. Nothing came to mind. He simply dismissed the thought with an internal shrug. Shifting his attention back to the battlefield, he noticed the Lost Heathens committing even more troops to the engagement. However, Alex remained motionless. His wives and beast companions had not yet intervened, indicating that the situation was still firmly under control. Instead, his focus drifted from the primary conflict to the expanse ahead. At first glance, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Yet, Alex detected a familiar sensation—a feeling that echoed the ambush he experienced in Mormont City, shortly after his return from the DragonHold Tower. 'Never let your guard down,' he cautioned himself internally. A cold smirk graced his lips. Three fireballs materialized around him instantaneously before launching forward as a coordinated assault. BOOM!!! The intense heat radiating outward cleared the surrounding fog, forcefully exposing those hidden within. Brock Peyton emerged, flanked by two Class 4 combatants: a Combat Master and a Fourth Order Sorcerer. "Still skulking like a rat, are we? It suits your nature," Alex remarked coldly, gazing down at Brock Peyton with undisguised disdain. Remarkably, Alex's demeanor remained unfazed, even as he found himself facing three Class 4 opponents. Brock Peyton scrutinized him intently. While a ruffian, he was not entirely foolish. He could discern the difference between genuine composure and mere pretense. Alex, it seemed, was truly at ease. "You despicable cur! How dare you slay my disciple?!" the Fourth Order Sorcerer suddenly bellowed. "Your disciple?" Alex arched an eyebrow at the elderly, grey-haired man. Then realization dawned. "The sorcerer from the shipment depot?" he inquired nonchalantly. It was the most recent significant sorcerer he had encountered. "So, you admit it," the old man growled, his eyes blazing with animosity. "He was a prodigy—one who would have surpassed even me within a few short years. And you, you killed him. I shall take your head!" he declared, pointing a trembling, fury-filled finger at Alex. "Spare me your pathetic lament, old fool," Alex retorted dismissively, showing no trace of respect. "If you truly desired your disciple to surpass you, you should not have allowed him to associate with bandits. Consider the countless lives he ended. By removing him from this world, I rendered a service to humanity. If you wished to join your disciple in the afterlife, you only needed to say so. There was no need for this verbose nonsense." "You...!" The old sorcerer quivered uncontrollably with rage. "I'm heading your way," Zora's voice transmitted over the comms. "Remain with the formation. Do not concern yourself with my situation—I can manage this. Keep an eye on the other two Combat Masters within the main force. I will handle these individuals," Alex replied with calm assurance. "...Understood," Zora responded after a brief pause. Alex, still mounted on Dread, serenely faced his three Class 4 adversaries. Despite the palpable murderous intent radiating from Brock Peyton and the old sorcerer—an intent that vividly conveyed their desire to tear him asunder, drain his blood, and devour his flesh—they made no immediate move beyond their vocal pronouncements. 'They are awaiting something,' Alex deduced internally. Horn!!! A deep, resonant horn echoed across the battlefield—the unmistakable signal of the Wildland barbarians. For a transient moment, the entire battlefield seemed to fall still. Then, as if in answer to the signal, a new contingent entered the fray. Flying the Drumvale banner, a company of local security forces—dispatched under the authority of Lady Wintermere—arrived on the scene. Alex's brow furrowed slightly, while Brock Peyton's lips curved into a wide, triumphant grin. "Your end has surely come now."

A wave of renewed fervor washed over the Lost Heathens as their awaited reinforcements finally appeared on the battlefield.

What truly astonished them, however, was the composition of this newly arrived contingent. Though the unit numbered a hundred and boasted only a single Combat Master leading them, an aura of golden radiance emanated from the rest of the soldiers.

'An entire Gold-rank unit...' Alex silently drew a sharp breath.

This was undeniably the most formidable company he had encountered since arriving on this plane. Assembling such a force was no trivial undertaking, especially considering they were Wildlands barbarians, a people not exactly known for their exceptional cultivation talents.

'No... to be more precise, the foreign powers that frequent the Wildlands would never permit them to attain such a level so readily,' he corrected himself internally.

The spirits of the Lost Heathens, which had been waning mere moments before, surged anew as the reinforcements advanced, poised to flank them.

The vice-leader of the Lost Heathens swiftly began formulating new battle plans, intending to concede one side of the engagement to their allies while intensifying their own assault on the opposing flank.

His objective was clear: to execute a pincer movement and completely trap the Fortuna Company.

'Ah—!'

Just as he turned to relay his commands, a piercing scream echoed—one that he instantly recognized.

His gaze snapped back towards the advancing allied force.

And what confronted his eyes left him utterly dumbfounded.

The reinforcements they had been expecting were not coming to their aid!

Instead, they were cutting directly through their lines!

The Lost Heathens stood frozen, their minds reeling in disbelief.

Seizing this moment of chaos without a second’s hesitation, Fortuna surged forward, their assault penetrating deeper and slicing through the disorganized enemy ranks.

Even Brock Peyton was momentarily paralyzed by the sudden and baffling turn of events.

'Hahaha...'

Alex could no longer contain his amusement and erupted into hearty laughter.

'You—! What did you do?!' Peyton bellowed, his voice thick with rage.

'Calm down. I can hear you perfectly well,' Alex responded with nonchalance, nonchalantly picking at his ear and flicking away a speck of imaginary dust.

He gazed down at the furious man with an expression as cold and unyielding as stone.

'Did I not warn you? When the castle begins to crumble... remember that you were the one who cast aside the chance for peace,' Alex stated, a faint smile gracing his lips.

A dawning realization began to flicker in Peyton's mind. He glared intently at Alex.

'I will kill you!'

With a furious roar, Brock Peyton launched himself directly at Alex.

***