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Re: Tales of the Rune-Tech Sage

Chapter 682: Bandit Becometh the Raided II · Oct 07, 2026

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Chapter List (889)

Page number / 18

651 Chapter 650: Fortuna’s Champions 2026-10-07
652 Chapter 651: Scorching Divine Dragon 2026-10-07
653 Chapter 652: Converging Battlefield 2026-10-07
654 Chapter 653: Flameshooter Peacock 2026-10-07
655 Chapter 654: Too Strong? 2026-10-07
656 Chapter 655: Theolonium 2026-10-07
657 Chapter 656: Theolonium Trade Deal I 2026-10-07
658 Chapter 657: Theolonium Trade Deal II 2026-10-07
659 Chapter 658: Theolonium Mining Agreement 2026-10-07
660 Chapter 659: Silver Tongue Recruitment 2026-10-07
661 Chapter 660: Afternoon Parley I 2026-10-07
662 Chapter 661: Afternoon Parley II 2026-10-07
663 Chapter 662: The Check 2026-10-07
664 Chapter 663: The Intellectual Romantic I 2026-10-07
665 Chapter 664: The Intellectual Romantic II 2026-10-07
666 Chapter 665: Alex’s Rune-Tech Alchemy I 2026-10-07
667 Chapter 666: Alex’s Rune-Tech Alchemy II 2026-10-07
668 Chapter 667: Alex’s Rune-Tech Alchemy III 2026-10-07
669 Chapter 668: A Charlatan’s Treatment 2026-10-07
670 Chapter 669: Meeting the BattleBane Guild Master I 2026-10-07
671 Chapter 670: Meeting the BattleBane Guild Master II 2026-10-07
672 Chapter 671: Twilight Adjudicator I 2026-10-07
673 Chapter 672: Twilight Adjudicator II 2026-10-07
674 Chapter 673: Sacrifice I 2026-10-07
675 Chapter 674: Sacrifice II 2026-10-07
676 Chapter 675: Partnership And Irony 2026-10-07
677 Chapter 676: Conspiracy...? 2026-10-07
678 Chapter 677: Fortuna 300 2026-10-07
679 Chapter 678: Fortuna 300 II 2026-10-07
680 Chapter 679: Lady Wintermere’s Choice I 2026-10-07
681 Chapter 680: Lady Wintermere’s Choice II 2026-10-07
682 Chapter 681: Bandit Becometh the Raided I 2026-10-07
683 Chapter 682: Bandit Becometh the Raided II 2026-10-07
684 Chapter 683: Suppressing Army Fortune 2026-10-07
685 Chapter 684: Hostile Reinforcements 2026-10-07
686 Chapter 685: Spirit Magic I 2026-10-07
687 Chapter 686: Faux Spirit Magic II 2026-10-07
688 Chapter 687: Fall From Grace 2026-10-07
689 Chapter 688: Aftermath – Judgement of Allies I 2026-10-07
690 Chapter 689: Aftermath – Judgement of Allies II 2026-10-07
691 Chapter 690: Underworld M&A 2026-10-07
692 Chapter 691: To The Future 2026-10-07
693 Chapter 692: Alex’s Troubles I 2026-10-07
694 Chapter 693: Alex’s Troubles II 2026-10-07
695 Chapter 694: Technological Challenges 2026-10-07
696 Chapter 695: Technological Challenges II 2026-10-07
697 Chapter 696: In-house Agreements 2026-10-07
698 Chapter 697: Alex’s Failure 2026-10-07
699 Chapter 698: Guardian of Happenstance Set 2026-10-07
700 Chapter 699: Identity In A Name I 2026-10-07

CH682 Bandit Becometh the Raided II

***

The sharp, unnatural snapping of dozens of crossbows—followed by the piercing whistle of over a hundred bolts tearing through the air—drained the colour from the caravan guards’ faces.

Panic spread instantly.

They scrambled for cover, ducking behind carriage walls and scrambling onto roofs in desperate attempts to shield themselves.

It was useless.

The bolts tore clean through wood and reinforced panels alike, punching through both cover and flesh with terrifying ease.

Thwack!!

Before the survivors could even process the first volley—

A second rain descended.

Thwack!

Then a third.

Thwack!

And a fourth.

By the sixth salvo, the battlefield had become a grotesque tableau of pierced bodies and shattered defences.

Only a handful of the stronger guards remained alive—those few capable of barely shielding themselves from the relentless barrage.

But it did not matter—

For the strike unit arrived.

Kavakan, Mogal, Havel... and alongside them charged the blood-hardened survivors of earlier raids.

What followed was not a battle.

It was a massacre.

Even without Alex micromanaging and issuing direct commands, the engagement concluded swiftly and decisively.

It was a testament to how far his forces had evolved—not just in numbers or individual strength, but in coordination, equipment, and technological advantage.

The rapid firing capability of the enhanced crossbows alone had turned what should have been a difficult clash into a one-sided slaughter against a caravan guarded by more than four hundred men.

As was now routine, once the last resistance was eliminated, the troops immediately began recovering any reusable bolts—war habits already deeply ingrained.

Some began to celebrate quietly.

But Alex did not even glance at the carnage behind him.

His gaze remained fixed ahead—towards the far side of the basin.

”Leave everything. Form up,” he ordered calmly through the comms.

At once, the unit leaders—his original companions, each equipped with comms earpieces—relayed the command.

There was no hesitation nor complaint from the group.

The entire force reassembled into formation with disciplined efficiency.

Alex led them several hundred metres forward, away from the caravan’s remains, before halting once more.

They waited.

A cold, damp wind swept across the sparse red soil. The air grew heavy, clinging to the skin and weighing down each breath. A thin fog drifted across the distance ahead.

Alex stood unmoving, his gaze steady.

And soon, the others understood why.

Shapes began to emerge from the mist. A large force—marching in unison. About one and a half thousand strong.

And at its forefront, was Brock Peyton.

Peyton’s face twisted into a mask of fury as his gaze fell upon the annihilated caravan lying behind the Fortuna formation.

Alex’s expression, however, grew solemn.

His eyes locked onto the figures flanking Brock Peyton—four distinct presences radiating Combat Master-level energy.

’Good. All of the Lost Heathens’ Combat Masters are here... saves me the trouble,’ he thought calmly.

”Alex Fury!!!” Brock Peyton roared the moment he recognised him.

”Do not shout my name with that filthy mouth of yours,” Alex replied, his cold voice carrying clearly across the battlefield, reaching every ear among the Lost Heathen ranks.

”I will kill you... and drink wine from your skull!” Peyton snarled.

”As expected of a savage thug,” Alex answered evenly. ”I gave you the opportunity to resolve this peacefully, yet you chose violence. This... is the result of your choice.”

He paused briefly before adding,

”Enough talk. Come and die.”

”Kill them all!” Peyton roared, his rage boiling over.

A vanguard of five hundred broke away from the main Lost Heathen force and surged forward.

Peyton might have been impulsive—but he was not foolish.

The caravan had been bait, meant to lure Fortuna into position. Yet Alex’s forces had obliterated it within minutes—before the main force, trailing just beyond sight, could close in.

This vanguard consisted largely of hired mercenaries—men drawn in by promises of coin... or rather, berserk stones—upon Fortuna’s defeat.

Alex calmly withdrew from the front line, clearing space for his eager strike unit.

He watched the approaching five hundred—disorganised, reckless—charging headlong towards them.

Then—

Thwack! Thwack!! Thwack!!!

Fortuna responded without hesitation.

A storm of bolts rained down.

The charging force collapsed almost instantly.

Over seventy percent fell within moments.

Even more horses were struck down, turning the advance into chaos.

The survivors broke ranks, panic spreading as they attempted to flee, trampling one another in desperate retreat.

Without needing a command, Fortuna’s formation moved—ready to advance and finish the job.

[Link]!

Alex activated the modified goblin spell.

Energy, stamina, and defensives surge through the formation, binding each member into a unified whole.

The strain on individuals lessened instantly—burdens that were distributed evenly across the group.

More importantly, it allowed the support casters to operate efficiently... and discreetly.

With the link established, Eleanore and Mordor—hidden within the ranks—began casting their buffs.

Unlike traditional methods, there were no obvious surges of power or visible emissions to reveal their positions.

Every enhancement flowed seamlessly through the network, reaching exactly where it was needed.

Alex gave a faint nod to himself and was just about to turn his attention back to the five leaders of the Lost Heathen formation when something... changed.

Time seemed to halt.

—or rather, his perception of it slowed to an almost imperceptible crawl.

From his forehead, the small Fortune-Suppressing Dragon emerged.

It hovered above the Fortuna formation, stretching out its tiny hands towards them.

Then—

Using the connection established by the [Link], the dragon began drawing out thin golden threads from each member of the Fortuna company.

Those threads shimmered faintly, pulsing with something deeper than mere mana—something tied to belief, loyalty, and intent.

Within its grasp, the dragon gathered and moulded them together.

Slowly, it formed a single object.

A token...

A command token.

With a flick of its small claw, the token shot directly into Alex’s hand.

He caught it instinctively.

It felt... strange.

Solid—like carved wood—yet undeniably an energy construct.

Alex’s eyes flickered as he examined it closely.

Etched upon its surface, in the runes of Rune-Tech, were two inscriptions—

On one side: Army.

On the other: Fortuna.

’An Army Fortune-Suppressing Token...?’ Alex inferred.

The moment his grip tightened around it, a profound connection surged through him.

He could feel every member of the Fortuna company—

Their loyalty.

Their belief.

Their morale.

It was as though the token itself contained an advanced, innate and intricate form of the [Link] spell.

Beyond that, it was doing something else.

It was drawing upon the collective emotional energy of the formation... refining it into a subtle, abstruse force within itself.

The Fortune-Suppressing Dragon was not finished.

It pulled forth more golden threads from the formation, then drew upon the energy now stored within the command token.

In its tiny hands, the energy separated—splitting into four smaller orbs.

For a fleeting instant, Alex felt his thoughts overlap with the dragon’s.

And in that moment, the four orbs transformed.

A flag.

A coat.

An armband.

A hat.

Each took form instantly, shaped by instinct, purpose, and intent.

Then, just as swiftly, the constructs shot back into the command token.

Information flooded Alex’s mind.

The flag represented the unit fortune of the Main Force. The coat symbolised the Strike Unit. The hat corresponded to the Marksman Unit. The armband embodied the Autonomous Unit.

The dragon gave a small, exhausted yawn.

Its energy clearly spent, it wobbled back towards Alex and—without ceremony—pierced through his forehead once more.

It passed straight into his Mindspace... then through OmniRune itself, returning to the Sanctuary beyond.

Barriers, safeguards—none of it seemed to matter to the creature.

Alex could only shake his head wryly at its blatant disregard for the natural order of things.

The moment it disappeared, time resumed.

The battlefield roared back into motion.

Before him, the Fortuna company surged forward, charging directly at the main Lost Heathen force.

On instinct—

Alex channelled his mana into the ethereal command token resting in his hand.

***

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