Re: Tales of the Rune-Tech Sage Chapter 681: Bandit Becometh the Raided I

CH681 Bandit Beeth the Raided I

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The next day...

After a string of successful raids on Lost Heathen bases, outposts, and caravans, Alex and the Fortuna pany finally enjoyed a full night of uninterrupted rest.

The irony was not lost on Alex.

His pany had effectively bee a band of raiders—preying upon the Lost Heathens, who were themselves a notorious bandit group.

It was no accident.

It was simply Alex’s—arguably twisted—method of retaliation.

Beat them at their own game.

While the Lost Heathens across the Wildlands likely spent the night in fear and sleepless vigilance, the Fortuna pany rested soundly.

As dawn broke and the group prepared their morning meal, many cast subtle glances towards the young man who had led them from one decisive victory to the next.

At this point, they were more eager to fight under his mand than he was to lead them into battle.

Alex noticed the looks and could only offer a wry smile in response.

He shook his head lightly and returned his focus to his meal.

Once they had finished eating, the pany conducted a swift but thorough supply check—paying particular attention to the number of bolts available to each unit.

The importance of ammunition had been made abundantly clear in recent engagements.

Without needing instruction, each sub-unit leader ensured that every spent bolt had been recovered. Even bent or damaged ones were collected—on the off chance they could be repaired and reused.

After the inspection, the pany began making preparations to move out once more.

Alex paused for a moment.

His eyes narrowed slightly as he spotted a figure descending rapidly from the sky.

He raised his arm.

A messenger bird landed gracefully upon it.

Alex untied the message secured to its leg before releasing it. The bird immediately took flight, returning to wherever it had e from.

He unfolded the note, read its contents, then gave a faint nod.

A flicker of AetherKindle flame reduced the paper to ash in his hand.

"The next location has been confirmed," Alex called out to Kavakan. "Prepare the troops."

One of the key reasons the Fortuna pany had been able to locate and destroy so many Lost Heathen strongholds lay in a battle their enemies did not even realise they were fighting—

An information war.

Alex had financed and instructed Raven Horn to discreetly establish an information bounty network.

In exchange for rewards ranging from a single low-grade berserk stone to as much as a hundred mid-grade berserk stones—or their equivalent—locals were more than willing to provide intelligence on Lost Heathen operations scattered throughout the Wildlands.

And as long as the information proved credible...

The rewards were paid without hesitation.

Interestingly, much of the intelligence gathered through the bounty network was so precise—so intimately detailed—that only insiders within the Lost Heathens themselves could have provided it.

’No honour among thieves and bandits... as expected,’ Alex mused inwardly.

Within minutes, the camp had been cleared, and the entire pany was mounted and ready to move.

With Senu circling overhead and relaying her vision directly to Alex, and Fen’s temporary pack guarding the flanks, the Fortuna pany advanced swiftly towards the newly revealed location.

Their route took them through a rugged mountain range that encircled a wide basin. Water flowing down from the surrounding heights often became trapped within it, allowing for surprisingly rich vegetation to flourish within the basin.

Under normal circumstances, it might have made for an ideal settlement.

Unfortunately, the region was plagued by unpredictable flooding during its irregular rainy seasons, making permanent habitation untenable.

Even so, it served as an excellent travel route—much like the Rock Monkey Gorge that separated Camp Red Rock and Dragonstone Town from the BloodIron region.

The rising morning sun cast a hazy glow across the landscape, and a thin fog lingered over the basin, obscuring visibility from the higher elevations.

Alex’s lips curled into a faint sneer as he discerned the enemy’s intentions.

Still, he chose to play along.

He ordered the pany to take position near the basin’s exit and wait.

Before long, a caravan came into view.

At first glance, it appeared modest—far fewer carriages than expected.

Some members of Fortuna murmured in quiet disappointment. Fewer carriages meant less loot.

After all, Alex’s campaign was not driven by vengeance alone.

The spoils taken from each raid helped soothe the lingering grief within the ranks—especially among those who had lost rades during earlier engagements.

At the same time, the loot served another purpose.

It kept morale high among the newer recruits—those who did not share the same personal vendetta against the Lost Heathens—strengthening unity and reinforcing their collective drive.

However, the disappointment did not last long.

As the caravan drew closer, it became clear that the number of guards far exceeded what would normally acpany such a small convoy.

The implication was obvious.

Whatever the caravan carried, it was exceptionally valuable—goods worth far more per unit than ordinary cargo.

Alex raised his hand.

An eager barbarian immediately rushed forward, moving to signal the caravan to halt.

The caravan guards could scarcely believe what they were seeing.

They bore the banner of the Lost Heathens—a flag that, under normal circumstances, was enough to deter any bandit group from even considering an ambush.

And yet, on this day, that symbol held no power.

A bandit force had stopped them regardless.

The caravan leader’s expression hardened.

He raised his hand sharply, signalling the caravan to halt and assume defensive formation.

The guards reacted instantly—weapons drawn, shields raised, eyes locked onto the approaching threat.

The man had spent decades traversing the Wildlands before eventually settling into his role as a caravan leader for the Lost Heathens. He understood one simple truth—

If someone dared intercept a convoy bearing their flag... then they were fully prepared for what followed.

Alex urged Dread forward, breaking from the formation before ing to a halt at the forefront of the Fortuna pany.

He waited deliberately.

He allowed the caravan time to plete their defensive preparations, his cold gaze fixed beyond them, as though already looking past the oute.

Only once they were ready did he raise his hand.

With eerie calm, he gave the mand—

"Kill them all."

"Charge!"

The roar came from multiple sub-unit leaders at once.

Formation after formation surged forward, disciplined and precise despite the ferocity of their advance.

Kavakan’s strike unit led the charge.

The front line—posed of orcs and barbarians—advanced with massive tower shields, many of which had been... ’confiscated’ from various Lost Heathen weapon caches.

Directly behind them moved the main force under Sergeant Lopota, while Silver’s marksman unit maintained position just beyond, ready to provide covering fire.

The caravan’s archers responded swiftly, loosing volleys of arrows in high arcs, aiming to bypass the shield wall.

But before the arrows could land—

Mogal stepped forward.

[One-Heart Punch] [Unyielding]!

Drawing upon the stored force within the Chain of Unyielding, he unleashed a single, devastating punch.

The sheer pressure of the blow disrupted the air itself—scattering the ining arrows mid-flight.

Those that did manage to fall upon the formation landed with greatly diminished force.

The attack claimed no lives, only succeeding in shattering the Lost Heathen’s own morale.

Fortuna’s ranged units retaliated instantly.

The hundred-strong pump-action crossbow division and the fifty marksmen armed with bolt-action crossbows unleashed a coordinated barrage.

Heavy bolts tore through the air—

Thwack!

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