Re: Tales of the Rune-Tech Sage - Chapter 380

Chapter 380: CH380 May Providence Guide Your Path
CH380 May Providence Guide Your Path

***

[A.N: 2-in-1 chapter]

Some time earlier…

Alric Wastelander stood before a floating orb. Within its shimmering surface, the faces of Otto Reichert and Erman Machholt flickered into view.

The orb was a magic crystal ball—one of the older communication methods used by the powerhouses of Pangea long before the advent of the Rune Phone.

The magic crystal balls were the most widespread long-distance communication tool favoured by the major factions of the Arun Continent before the Rune Phone.

Though “favoured” was used generously.

The communication method had a major flaw. Every call required mana stones. Not only that, it didn’t matter was grade of stone was used to power the crystal orb, the stone was consumed completely irrespective of how short the call was.

Even a single second of communication would consume a high-grade mana stone in its entirety.

Considering mana stones had far more practical uses, it was no surprise that few were willing to waste them on casual conversation.

“Is your information confirmed?” Alric asked.

“Yes,” Otto Reichert replied immediately. “We’ve verified it. Earl Drake is currently inside the Enclave.”

“If the Mad Earl is in DragonHold, then it must be time,” Erman Machholt said with a low hum. “When are you planning to make your move?”

“Don’t concern yourselves with that,” Alric replied calmly. “Just wait for the news. Things are going to change soon—drastically. Make sure you’re ready to take advantage when it happens. I won’t have you saying I didn’t warn you when you miss the opportunity.”

With that, Alric cut off the connection.

Seeing Alric end the call, Erman had nothing further to say to Otto and disconnected as well.

Otto didn’t mind the abruptness. In truth, he was relieved. He was somewhat ophidiophobic, and these two men always made him feel as if vipers were coiling around his neck.

Every meeting with them left him uneasy, even though his role was minor—only having to provide intelligence using the Reichert family’s vast network.

But now isn’t the time to relax, Otto reminded himself, exhaling slowly.

‘Snakes or not, we still have to be ready. Especially if Alric is right. We’ll need to move the moment the opportunity shows itself.’

He steeled his mind.

The game had begun.

–

“Looks like it was just as you suspected,” an old man remarked after Erman Machholt switched off the magic crystal communication orb.

This was the same old representative who had attended the Enclave auction on behalf of the Machholt family.

“That’s true,” Erman confirmed. “Alric has clearly given up on Lady Zora Frost. It also explains his brother’s strange behaviour at the auction. Alric likely intends to take her off the board entirely—along with Alex Fury.”

The old representative stroked his long, greying beard in thought.

“You still haven’t told me why you presumed he would take such a drastic step,” he said.

Erman’s eyes brightened.

He knew the old man had already pieced together the reasoning himself and was merely testing him. If his explanation met the old man’s standards—if he impressed him—Erman would certainly earn more resources from the family to pursue his plans and ambitions.

“I tried placing myself in his shoes,” Erman said slowly. “Alric is insidious—no doubt—but he is also frighteningly intelligent. His political and psychological insight is… impressive. Even I might concede to him when it comes to reading a room.”

He leaned back, brows furrowed.

“Alric must have realised during the auction that Zora was already out of his reach. Even if he were to remove Alex Fury from the picture, he would inevitably become the prime suspect. He would never be able to get near Lady Zora, not to mention have her hand in marriage.

“Since he cannot have her either way, his next logical move would be to eliminate her and use her death as a stepping stone to further his goals.”

“And what goal is this?” the old man asked lightly. He neither confirmed nor denied Erman’s reasoning, simply listening with a neutral expression.

“The east,” Erman replied without hesitation. “His ambition hasn’t changed from the Wastelander family’s generations-old objective. His sights are still on the DragonMourn Highlands and the Nearmarch Confederacy. The difference now is that I suspect he has secured the assistance of an external party—almost certainly a shadow organisation.”

The old representative’s silence and curt nod urged him to continue.

Erman obliged.

“I believe Alric’s intent is to earn the Dragon Clan’s goodwill by killing the DragonSlayer’s daughter for them. The dragons fear Merlin Pendragon, yes—but fear is only part of it. Arrogant creatures like them must resent him even more. And Alric… well, Alric would see an opportunity in that resentment. He must believe that hurting the DragonSlayer on their behalf will earn him enough dragon goodwill to secure covert support.”

“A bold assumption,” the old man murmured.

“Bold,” Erman admitted, “but entirely within the character of someone like him. A twisted strategy, but exactly the kind of strategy his mind would devise.”

He paused briefly to gather his thoughts before continuing.

“There are several reasons I believe he has partnered with, or at least enlisted the services of, a shadow faction. The first concerns the Confederacy. By targeting Lady Zora, Alric has intentionally discarded any diplomatic route he might have pursued with them. The Frost Family’s main line ends with her. Her death destroys any chance of a soft-power alliance. He has, knowingly, backed himself into a purely military option.”

He took a deep breath.

“Even if the dragons turn a blind eye or even assist from the shadows, the defence of the Nearmarch Confederacy is not something the Wastelander forces can breach alone—not if they intend to capture land and, more importantly, hold it. For him to make such a rash move, he must have a partner inside the Confederacy.”

Erman tapped his fingers against the armrest.

“A partner capable of turning Lady Zora’s death—the death of the final direct descendant of the Frost dynasty—into the spark of an internal crisis.”

He continued,

“And there are many ways to engineer that spark. The simplest is a succession war. The Frost dynasty’s wealth and influence span almost the entire Confederacy. Every confederate member state has Frost blood somewhere in their lineage. All of them can claim legitimacy. It is a powder keg waiting to explode.”

His eyes narrowed.

“And all it needs… is someone willing to light the fuse.”

Erman continued calmly, “For this plan to work, the spark must come from within the Confederacy itself. There must be a faction capable of influencing the member states to take the bait. And that same faction must also possess enough reach across the border into our Empire to attract Alric’s attention in the first place. Otherwise, he would never risk aligning with them.”

The old representative nodded thoughtfully.

“And the second reason?” he asked.

“Duke Siegmund Wastelander,” Erman answered without hesitation. “This entire plan contradicts the Duke’s character. It is not something I believe he would ever approve. If he intended something this extreme, he would have chosen it from the beginning. He would not have wasted time or coin attempting to marry Zora into the family through Alric.”

Erman folded his arms.

“And after what happened during his Legendary progression? Duke Wastelander is terrified of the DragonSlayer—especially now that Merlin Pendragon has been publicly revealed as an Archmage. The Duke would never sanction a move that risks making him an enemy of the DragonSlayer.”

He looked the old man squarely in the eye.

“So it is extremely reasonable—and far safer—to assume Duke Siegmund Wastelander has no involvement in this plot.”

The old representative said nothing, urging Erman to continue with a faint gesture.

“But if the Duke has no part in it… then where is Alric getting his resources?” Erman asked rhetorically. “The laws governing high nobility are clear: as long as the Duke sits in that seat, the Wastelander family’s powerhouses—including their rumoured Epic—cannot act behind his back. They wouldn’t support his son in undermining his authority. They would, instead, strip him of his position outright, hand it to Alric, and support Alric’s ambitions above board.”

He tapped his fingers on the table.

“Since none of that is happening, it means the support Alric is drawing on—the person or group shielding him from the DragonSlayer’s potential retaliation—is neither House Wastelander nor anyone within it. That leaves only one possibility: a powerful shadow organisation.”

The old representative stroked his beard slowly, nodding once.

“Your reasoning is sound,” he said. “A little weak in some places and speculative, but not unreasonable. Still, there’s no harm in letting the situation develop further to see whether your deductions prove accurate.”

He fixed Erman with a level look.

“What do you intend to do now?”

Erman inhaled, then spoke plainly.

“I know the Family also has a plan taking root within the Confederacy. Lady Zora’s death would certainly accelerate that plan. However, Alric’s follow-up actions would interfere with it—at least as things stand. I will propose adjustments so we can take advantage of the chaos Alric and his shadow backers are bound to stir up.”

He added with an analytical gaze.

“For now, the best course is to wait. Let Alric kill Alex Fury and Lady Zora. Once he has done the difficult work—and drawn all the heat to himself—we will harvest the benefits. Both within House Fury… and the Confederacy.”

The old man’s thin smile widened just a fraction.

“Good. That is what I like to hear. Remember—we are not brutes. Our weapons are not blades, spells, or bloodlines… our weapon is the mind. We are the ones who direct the flow of the Empire, quietly, subtly, always for the good of the House. Let the brutes clash and bleed. In the end, no matter who kills who, the true victory will always return to us.”

“The mind is the strongest weapon,” Erman echoed, clearly elated.

The old representative’s tone made it clear that Erman had passed yet another test.

And so came the reward.

“Go to the Library and choose one tome,” the old man instructed. “Something to sharpen your mind further. As a blade requires a whetstone, so too does the mind require knowledge.”

“You are dismissed.”

Erman bowed deeply before practically rushing from the room. His excitement was palpable.

The Library he was headed toward did not hold ordinary books. It contained materials designed specifically to cultivate the mind—resources refined through the Machholt family’s unique Mental Cultivation method.

To be granted access was aa major privilege.

As soon as the door closed behind Erman, another presence stepped from the shadows.

In truth, the figure had been in the room the entire time. Erman simply hadn’t noticed.

“What do you think?” the old representative asked.

The newcomer’s reply was cool and dispassionate.

“The boy has potential. But he still underestimates people too easily. There is a reason we regard the Fury family as variables—they do not move according to common logic.”

“No matter,” the figure added. “Continue to guide him. Once his eyes are fully opened, he will be far more useful to the Family.”

“As you wish.” The old representative bowed low. “For the good of the Family.”

“For the Family,” the figure echoed.

He turned and walked toward the door—yet with every step, his body flickered in and out of sight, as though reality struggled to hold his presence. A clear sign that this was no ordinary man.

–

Present time…

“Audentes fortuna iuvat… Providence favours the bold.”

Leaving those words to echo behind him, Alex strode toward the Interplanar Gate. He stepped onto the vast runic platform, gave a reassuring nod to his expedition party… and then the world shifted.

The twin curved pillars flanking the gate erupted with energy—massive torrents that surged upward like rivers of light, instantly transmuting into chains of runes that spiralled in the air above the formation.

Alex’s eyes widened. Even with Spirit Sight, he could barely keep up. Instinctively, he channelled mana to his eyes.

[Spirit Sights Lv.2]!

The world snapped into impossible clarity.

Before him, unfolded the fastest ‘coding session’ he had ever witnessed: an incomprehensible cascade of runic instructions, entire sequences forming and dissolving in the span of milliseconds. His mind strained, unable to process, let alone commit, the majority of it to memory.

But he forced himself to look.

He isolated the core sequence—the source code, the command line that governed the portal’s initialization—and focused everything on memorising that stream alone.

He managed to capture only the barest fraction before his entire perception wobbled.

A sharp pain lanced through his skull—

—and then darkness.

Spirit Sight Lv.2 forcibly shut down, severing him from the storm of runes. Alex staggered slightly as reality refocused—and then a cold spike of dread stabbed through his chest.

Just before his sight collapsed, he had seen something.

A flare of negative intentions directed at him.

From one of the spatial mages.

His face drained.

“Father! Stop him!” Alex roared, pointing.

[Abyssal Conqueror’s Step – Third Step: Wraith’s Crossing]!

Drake didn’t need more than a word.

Before Alex’s shout fully left his throat, Drake appeared beside the mage like a ghost. Two strikes—one to the head, one to the heart—killed the traitor instantly. A jolt of lightning followed, ensuring there could be no twitch— no accidental movement nor death spell that could make matters worse.

But it was already too late.

“Stop it!” Drake barked at the remaining two spatial mages.

The nearest mage looked at him with despair.

“We can’t! The formation—its core has been corrupted! There’s nothing we ca—”

He never got to finish.

A bright flash swallowed Alex and everyone standing on the formation. In an instant, the entire expedition party vanished—ripped from Pangea in a violently unstable beam of light that shot into the heavens.

Drake’s fury erupted.

“MERLIN!”

An old figure appeared beside him.

Merlin Pendragon—The DragonSlayer—stood at Drake’s side.

But something was wrong.

His eyes were empty –hollow and lifeless.

The eyes of a puppet.

–

Somewhere deep within a hidden space of the DragonMourn mountain range, a colossal being stirred.

Then—

ROAR!!!

The eyelids of an ancient behemoth snapped open, revealing timeless, abyss-deep pupils. Its roar rippled through all of Pangea. Most creatures were far too weak to truly hear or even comprehend it, yet for a single breath, every living being felt an indescribable terror lance through their souls.

The unknown Ancient Dragon—Uthvaazgol—had awakened!

Awakened by unfathomable rage!

The behemoth slowly raised a draconic claw. The very fabric of space collapsed into irrelevance; time slowed to a trembling halt. Suspended in that frozen realm, the erratic Interplanar beam carrying Alex, Zora, and their companions appeared before the Ancient Dragon’s sight.

A spell circle—vast enough to rival the Dragonspine mountain range—began forming from Uthvaazgol’s claw.

This was no mere spell.

This was something beyond Tier 15.

Beyond the scope of any Class 7 Archmage.

Beyond anything mortals were meant to witness.

But just before the spell completed—

it shattered.

“You dare stop me… Pangea?!” Uthvaazgol bellowed in a tongue older than history itself.

Then the world froze.

A golden beam descended from the heavens and struck between the ancient dragon’s eyes.

It wasn’t an attack—

It was Pangea itself… communicating.

It is unclear what was shown to Uthvaazgol, but the Ancient Dragon’s wrath subsided.

“Very well.”

The behemoth’s overwhelming aura receded. Its massive body slowly lowered, folding back into its resting position. As its eyes drifted shut, a low, resonant chuckle echoed through the secret chamber.

“So… that is how it is. That… explains… everything.”

And with that, Uthvaazgol returned to slumber.

–

Back at the gate site, Merlin Pendragon’s eyes regained their life. The DragonSlayer inhaled sharply—but he looked as though decades had been carved from his lifespan in an instant.

Yet a serene smile rested on his aged face.

“May Providence guide your path.”

He nodded to Drake… and then vanished without another word.

The weight of his expression, however, was enough to steady the storm inside the Mad Earl.

Only now did the surrounding troops finally register what had just transpired. Panic, confusion, and shock filled their eyes as they looked toward the Earl—awaiting direction.

Drake Fury turned to face them.

A ruthless glint ignited in his gaze.

Once again… it was time to remind the world why he was called—

The Mad Earl.

***

VOLUME 1 — END