Re: Tales of the Rune-Tech Sage Chapter 688: Aftermath – Judgement of Allies I

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"Young Master Alex did not require your assistance?

"They emerged victorious against a force five times their size?

"Young Master Alex himself confronted three Combat Masters solo—as a mere Third Circle sorcerer—and emerged triumphant?

"Furthermore, there are individuals within his cohort who possess strength exceeding their apparent rank?"

Each piece of information conveyed by the captain of the reinforcement company she had dispatched sent ripples of astonishment through Lady Wintermere's mind.

She found it challenging to accept the veracity of his words, yet she could not bring herself to dismiss them.

Word concerning Alex and his companions displaying the severed heads of Brock Peyton and the other Lost Heathen Combat Masters atop the gates of the Fortuna estate had already reached her ears.

"You are dismissed. Obtain some rest... and thank you," she stated finally, still grappling with the magnitude of the intelligence as she bid the captain farewell.

The captain offered a salute and silently exited the chamber.

Lady Wintermere rose from her seat and proceeded to the window, her arms crossing lightly as she surveyed the meticulously maintained garden outside. A subtle line of worry etched itself between her brows.

"Do you suppose my decision was the correct one?" she inquired abruptly.

The butler observed her for a moment. Instead of providing a direct response, he posed his own question.

"Do you, yourself, believe you acted incorrectly?"

"I harbor... apprehension," Lady Wintermere confessed. "Alex Fury is a formidable individual. Not someone I feel confident I could ever possibly control."

"One might venture that any man worthy of forging a genuine partnership—at the caliber Drumvale seeks—would inherently possess a degree of danger," the butler responded with composed demeanor.

He elaborated, "He is dissimilar to Brock Peyton—a mere ruffian who necessitated perpetual 'persuasion' to act in alignment with our interests. This young man holds the potential to ascend far beyond his present station. And with such an ascent comes considerable opportunity... simply by virtue of aligning with him."

"In essence, there is no imperative to exert control over him? That profitability, on its own, would naturally follow from maintaining an alliance with him?" Lady Wintermere turned from the window to face her butler, her gaze sharp and probing.

The elderly gentleman inclined his head.

"Consider the BattleBane Guild. They constitute a robust organization, yet their influence remains largely confined to the Wildlands. Beyond this territory, they would falter in asserting the same level of authority. Nonetheless, by sustaining a connection with that young man, they have now forged ties with both the Black Scar Syndicate... and with us—two entities whose reach extends across the broader continental expanse," the butler elucidated.

He continued, "And if we examine this from an alternative perspective, we too have established a connection with the Black Scar Syndicate—and they with us—merely through our association with him.

"Reflect upon the avenues he might unlock in the future as his growth continues. When contrasted with Brock Peyton, the young man exhibits significantly greater potential."

Lady Wintermere listened with keen attention, carefully evaluating each statement made by the butler.

The butler proceeded, "Therefore, to address your earlier inquiry—when presented with the choice between Alex Fury and Brock Peyton, the outcome has demonstrably confirmed that you made the judicious decision. In the immediate term, your actions have ensured the acquisition of the critical Theolonium, which would otherwise have been forfeited... at least, according to the captain's report."

"As for what the future may hold... that remains shrouded in uncertainty. But then again, has the future ever been fully predictable?"

Lady Wintermere's eyes widened momentarily before gradually regaining their composure. The persistent haze clouding her thoughts appeared to dissipate.

She directed her gaze once more toward the garden visible through the window. This time, a subtle smile—one conveying quiet contentment—graced her lips.

"How are the arrangements for the delivery to the temples progressing?" she inquired.

"All proceeds without a hitch. In accordance with your directives, the delivery presents as entirely standard. To any external observer, it is nothing more than a routine supply dispatch to the temples," the butler affirmed.

"Excellent," Lady Wintermere murmured softly.

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Elsewhere...

"What?!"

The projected image of the Sixth Elder exclaimed in outright disbelief.

"How dare you present falsehoods before the Elder Council, Admon? Do you genuinely anticipate our belief in this fabrication?"

"Precisely," the Fourth Elder interjected, his tone laced with sharp contempt. "Admon, it is evident you have been swayed by the legate's charisma. However, if your intention is to exaggerate his accomplishments, ensure they at least possess a semblance of credibility."

"You expect us to accept that he brought down the Lost Heathens—a mid-level organization in the Wildlands, by your own report—with a mere three hundred-man formation? That this company defeated a force of over a thousand in open battle? And that the legatee—a Third Circle sorcerer—personally defeated two Combat Masters and a Fourth Order sorcerer simultaneously on his own? Do you truly expect us to accept such claims?"

Raven Horn remained kneeling on one knee, head bowed in silence, offering no response.

A dull ache began to throb at his temples, an incipient headache he struggled to suppress beneath the incessant barrage from the Fourth and Sixth Elders.

Even so, he endured, bracing himself mentally for the Seventh Elder—the final member of the trio opposing him—to speak next.

Instead, a calm, wizened voice pierced the palpable tension. "Is it truly so difficult to believe?" the Third Elder inquired.

The projected figures of all the Elders swiveled towards him in unison.

"Do you not find it difficult to believe, Third Elder?" the Second Elder asked, his tone carrying a distinct undercurrent of amusement.

It was evident he sought only to inflame the situation and revel in the ensuing spectacle.

"I understand the reservations of the Fourth and Sixth Elders," the Third Elder responded evenly. "However, we must not forget—the legatee is the Legatee for a reason. There must be something extraordinary about him, given that he succeeded in a trial where countless others have failed over many centuries."

"If you ask me, would it not be more surprising if he couldn’t achieve something as modest as overcoming a larger force? Especially when we are placing our expectations upon him to one day lead the resistance against the Deities who maintain their stranglehold over our realm?"

The Third Elder’s words prompted several of the other elders to nod unconsciously in agreement.

The old man continued, "In truth, if you ask me, what he has accomplished is not merely believable—it is normal... perhaps even expected. Rather than dwelling on disbelief, I believe our attention should be directed towards something else entirely—something far more significant that Admon reported."

"Huh?" The Sixth Elder frowned, his confusion evident.

"What exactly are you referring to, Third Elder? Please, enlighten us," the Seventh Elder said, his tone measured.

"His decision-making. His leadership. And above all... his intellect," the Third Elder replied.

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