Re: Tales of the Rune-Tech Sage Chapter 777: Tavern Rumours I

Chapter 777: Tavern Rumours I

CH777 Tavern Rumours I

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One week had passed since the massacre in Castin Town, yet it remained the dominant topic throughout the domain. Such were the far-reaching consequences of the incident.

Even now, rumours claiming to reveal the truth behind the massacre circulated through gathering places across the domain.

Fonterra, as the capital of the domain and the seat of Count Skywalker’s authority, was no exception.

In fact, the newest rumours spreading through Fonterra were perhaps the loudest… and, to a considerable extent, the most convincing.

Inside a humble tavern near the town’s business district, jeers and laughter echoed as a man well known for being both a braggart and a drunkard—an unhealthy bination—held court before the amused patrons.

“Hey, Reuters. What new rumours have you got for us?” a burly middle-aged man called out.

A thin, emaciated, shifty-eyed old man—the tavern’s resident jester—turned towards the burly man but remained silent.

“Haha, don’t you know the rules? Old Reuters doesn’t perform without payment.” Another grey-haired elder chuckled. “Here, let me help.”

“Wendy, a mug of premium ale for Old Reuters.”

A busty tavern wench sashayed over and refilled the old man’s empty wooden mug.

The old man, known as Reuters, took a long gulp before smacking his lips, as though using the ale to loosen both his tongue and throat.

Apparently satisfied with the offering, he rose to his feet once more and began his performance.

“I heard from a cousin’s friend’s sister’s daughter that old Bartha lost her favourite pair of underwear. The old wench is offering a tit rub to any ‘man’ who can find them!” Reuters declared crudely.

“Boo!” the crowd jeered.

“What lost underwear? Bartha probably hid them herself,” someone in the crowd shouted.

“Why would she do that?” another tavern patron asked.

“Are you new here? Everyone knows Bartha has been thirsty for some action for months now. Her last husband—bless the unfortunate sod’s soul—croaked while ploughing her.

“No one dares go after her anymore. After all, it’s been two brave sods her mighty hole has sent to the great beyond now.” The previous tavern-goer laughed as he explained.

“Is that so?” Tavern-goer B asked curiously.

“What? Thinking of seeing whether your little junior can survive Bartha’s powerful meaty embrace?” Tavern-goer A chuckled.

“Well, I mean… there are only a few better ways to go.” Tavern-goer B winked.

“My man… We’ve got a man of culture here, everyone! A drink for this man!” Tavern-goer A jeered loudly.

Back at Reuters, the burly man remained unimpressed by the rumours the old man had been sharing. He motioned for the tavern wench to bring over another drink while refilling Reuters’ now-empty mug.

“I am curious about the recent massacre in Castin Town. This place lies directly under the Count’s authority. I believe the juiciest rumours should be here. What can you tell me about it?” the burly man asked directly.

Reuters’ eyes seemed to clear slightly as he stared intently at the burly man.

However, it was only an illusion, as his eyelids drooped again the very next moment.

“That… premium information. A full jar.” Reuters bargained.

The burly man gritted his teeth, but eventually nodded to the tavern wench to bring out an entire jar. He was too curious to let a mere jar of ale stand between him and the juiciest rumour in town.

After thoroughly wetting his mouth and throat once more, Reuters began his tale.

“You have e to the right place. No one outside the magistrate’s administration knows more about this event than me. I heard it directly from my cousin’s sister’s lover’s younger brother’s friend.” Reuters began, earning an eye roll from most of the tavern patrons.

‘Isn’t your cousin’s sister also your cousin?’ they wondered.

Reuters lowered his voice, as though he were about to reveal a tremendous secret to everyone present.

“The massacre in Castin was carried out by… men from the Frontier Stronghold, acting under Marquis Brandford’s orders!” he declared.

Many in the crowd rolled their eyes again. This was a mon rumour making the rounds, but most people found it difficult to believe.

Why would Marquis Brandford, effectively the highest-ranking noble in the north-east of the Celahan Empire, massacre the five clans of a mere frontier town like Castin?

Reuters paid no mind to the crowd’s reaction. Instead, he took another gulp of his ale before continuing.

Surprisingly, the more Reuters drank, the clearer his speech seemed to bee.

“The news first came from Alain Winkler. Do you know who that is? The strongest man in Castin Town’s garrison—a Gold Ranker!

“Alain Winkler survived the ambush meant to kill him, managing to escape into the woods surrounding Castin Town, where he lost the assassins thanks to his greater familiarity with the terrain.

“After escaping, and through sheer willpower alone, Alain made his way back towards Castin Town, where he was rescued by the Count’s men. Thankfully, the Count had summoned one of his wives to Castin to treat anyone who might have survived. Did you know one of the Count’s wives is a Saintess?”

Reuters cast out the bait, but realising no one took it, he returned to his original tale.

“Anyway, just before losing consciousness, Alain told the Count the names of those who attacked him—men from the Frontier Stronghold and Marquis Brandford.

“When the Count heard this, he tried to keep the matter under wraps, but the people who overheard it quickly spread the news.”

“This is nothing new. We’ve all heard that already,” one tavern-goer said. “Don’t you have anything new?” he teased.

The burly man nodded.

This was something he had already heard, and it certainly wasn’t worth an entire jar of ale.

“Patience. I was only bringing everyone up to speed. Now here’s what my cousin’s brother’s friend’s lover’s uncle, who works for the magistrate, told me…” Reuters said nonchalantly.

‘Wasn’t it your cousin’s sister’s lover’s younger brother’s friend?’ the crowd wondered.

“When the Count’s men investigated the five clans to discover where the assassins had gone after the attacks, they found missives exchanged between the clans, Viscount Dunhill and Marquis Brandford. It turned out the five clans had been working for the Viscount and the Marquis all this time to prevent the development of our Frontier March!” Reuters alleged.

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