Re: Tales of the Rune-Tech Sage

Chapter 637: Alston Family Elder Council I

CH637 Alston Family Elder Council I

***

Alex had initially assumed that Fortuna’s clash with Brock Peyton’s Lost Heathens would be a relatively minor incident—one that would not draw significant attention within BloodIron City.

He was wrong...

Very wrong.

Several major powers had taken notice.

They watched closely, observing how the young leader would handle the confrontation— some with interest that bordered on alliance, others with intentions far less friendly.

Among those most invested in the situation was the Black Scar Syndicate—or more precisely, the Alston family to which Raven Horn belonged.

After departing from Fortuna’s mansion compound, Raven Horn made his way through several unsavoury corners of the city.

Ironically, despite the polished façade the city’s administration attempted to maintain, such places were far from rare in BloodIron.

What Raven Horn did in those locations remained unclear.

He entered and exited without drawing attention— so much so that, aside from the individuals he met, most would not even realise he had been there at all.

Eventually, he arrived at an unremarkable tailor’s shop on the outskirts of the city.

At a glance, it was utterly ordinary—the kind of establishment no one would spare a second look on any given day.

But Raven Horn had not come for clothing.

After forming a subtle, obscure hand sign—one that resembled a sorcerer’s seal more than any conventional signal—he stepped into the back room.

From there, he descended into the basement.

Hidden behind a shelf was a concealed door, locked by a mechanism that responded only to a specific pattern of mana pulses.

Raven Horn activated it without hesitation.

Then, the entrance opened.

Beyond it lay an extensive network of underground tunnels, their worn structure hinted they had existed since from a distant time.

Raven Horn spared the passage little attention.

This was after all not unfamiliar ground to him.

Without pause, he moved forward.

After roughly ten minutes of travel beneath the city, he emerged—no longer in the outskirts—but within another building, deep in the core district of BloodIron.

Buildings in this district was not one anyone could enter—or claim—with mere wealth.

Here, ownership was reserved for only the most influential individuals and organisations within BloodIron.

It was, in every sense, the equivalent of a noble district in a capital city—and it showed.

Through the villa’s expansive windows and open corridors, glimpses of refined architecture and cultivated luxury could be seen at every turn.

Raven Horn walked through the halls with clear familiarity.

Servants and guards alike bowed respectfully as he passed—yet he acknowledged them only with the faintest grunt, as his expression remained unusually solemn.

There was a weight to his demeanour.

Eventually, he arrived before a set of imposing twin doors, leading into what appeared to be a grand chamber.

He paused briefly, drawing a steady breath—before pushing the doors open and stepping inside.

The chamber beyond was sealed.

There were no windows, nor secondary entrances.

The twin doors behind him served as the sole point of access.

And the room itself was empty—or so it seemed at first glance.

Upon closer inspection, the entire floor was covered in intricate symbols, etched with deliberate precision into the stone floor.

Raven Horn stepped forward.

From within a satchel attached to his waist, he retrieved eight low-grade berserk stones and placed them carefully at the eight corners of the octagonal chamber.

Then, he moved to the centre.

Closing his eyes briefly, he channelled his mana into the formation.

The talismanic field ignited— lines of energy coursed through the engraved symbols as the entire chamber came alive.

From the eight corners, dark silhouettes began to materialise.

Each figure stood anchored to a point of the formation, their forms indistinct, their features deliberately obscured.

Only those truly within the organisation would be capable of recognising them.

Raven Horn dropped to one knee, lowering his head in respect.

”I greet the Elders.”

A heavy voice echoed from directly before him.

”Admon Alston... what report do you bring regarding the Legatee?”

”The Legatee’s party is currently being targeted by a local warlord and bandit leader—Brock Peyton,” Raven Horn reported steadily.

”The Legatee’s group encountered and eliminated one of Peyton’s units, which was led by his younger brother. As a result, Peyton has initiated a vendetta.”

He continued without pause.

”A raiding unit belonging to the Legatee’s party was subsequently ambushed by Peyton’s forces. Despite this, the Legatee’s party succeeded in killing a Combat Master, along with approximately a dozen Gold Rank fighters—though they suffered losses amounting to nearly half their number.”

”In your previous report...” A voice cut through the chamber, cold and sharp. ”...you stated that the Legatee’s party was composed primarily of Silver Rank fighters, with only the Legatee himself and a handful of core members—no more than ten, if I recall—at Gold Rank.”

There was a brief pause.

”And now you claim they eliminated a Combat Master... and over a dozen Gold Ranks?”

The tone turned sceptical.

”You expect us to accept this at face value?” The voice asked.

Raven Horn didn’t respond. Instead, he waited.

A moment passed before the intended question came.

”Have you verified this personally, Admon?”

”Yes, I have, Sixth Elder,” Raven Horn replied calmly.

”I personally visited the site of the battle and confirmed the majority of the account I was given. I am ninety-five percent certain the events occurred as reported.”

Still kneeling, head bowed, he added,

”In the earlier report you referenced, Sixth Elder, I also stated that the Legatee’s core members—let alone the Legatee himself—should not be judged by conventional standards.”

His words stirred a subtle ripple among the assembled elders.

”You may continue,” the figure before him said.

”Yes, Grand Elder,” Raven Horn acknowledged with a slight nod.

”Beyond the ambush, Brock Peyton has also leveraged his connections within the City Administration to obstruct the Legatee’s party.”

He paused briefly before finishing.

”He has successfully blocked their attempt to acquire a larger estate—thereby preventing them from meeting the necessary conditions to formally register as a Guild under the Adventurer and Mercenary Associations.”

”This Peyton... he holds influence within BloodIron’s City Administration?” Another voice echoed with clear surprise.

”Yes, Third Elder,” Raven Horn replied.

”He operates as an agent of the Drumvale Merchant Company. It is my belief that he led the officials within the City Administration to assume that his request carried Drumvale’s authority.”

He continued evenly.

”There is also the possibility that Drumvale’s representative has tacitly permitted this. After all, it benefits a long-standing ally.

”Additionally, the Legatee’s party has maintained a low profile since arriving in the city. They remain largely unknown within the upper echelons.”

”What exactly is the Legatee doing?” another voice interjected—sharp, dissatisfied.

The Fourth Elder.

”He has remained inactive for three months since entering the city. Had he made any significant moves earlier, matters would not have escalated to this extent.”

Raven Horn did not hesitate.

”I believe he has been digesting the gains from the Stele Trials.” He said.

He added, ”When I met him today—my first meeting since he emerged from seclusion—I sensed a marked increase in his strength.”

His tone grew more deliberate.

”To be frank, I felt a bit threatened.”

That admission caused another stir—a more subtle one this time.

”Furthermore, according to our intelligence network, he recently fought a weapon duel against Dalton Asheton of the BattleBanes—a recognised and respected Combat Master.” Raven Horn continued.

”And the result?” The Grand Elder asked.

”A draw.” Raven Horn replied.

Silence fell over the chamber.

Raven Horn continued,

”I must emphasise—by his own admission, as well as that of his party, his true expertise lies in mystic arts, not weapon mastery.”

He lifted his head slightly, though his posture remained respectful.

”If he can contend with Dalton Asheton on equal footing using only weapon techniques... then with mystic arts—”

He paused, then concluded plainly,

”I may not be his equal.”

”It is rare to hear you speak so highly of another, Admon,” the Grand Elder remarked.

”I am merely reporting what I have observed in my capacity as Liaison, Grand Elder,” Raven Horn replied. ”So that both parties may make the most informed decision possible.”

A sharp voice cut in immediately.

”And what exactly is that supposed to mean, Admon?!”

The Sixth Elder’s roar echoed through the chamber— heavy with displeasure.

***