Re: Tales of the Rune-Tech Sage - Chapter 404

Chapter 404: Dark Realm Heathens; Sorcerers
CH404 Dark Realm Heathens; Sorcerers

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A few minutes earlier…

When Alex and his expeditionary party eliminated the guards atop the fortress walls and stepped foot onto the grounds, they inadvertently triggered the fortress’s spiritual warning system.

The presence of the Temple within the fortress rendered the entire stronghold consecrated ground of Juror—the Verdantis Navi of Light and Justice.

Eleanor’s Navi-blinding spell could no longer veil them. The moment they trespassed into Juror’s territory, the protection thinned away like ice before heat.

Inside the Temple, the Juror Priest—peacefully slumbering within the fabricated heavenly kingdom of his Lord’s indoctrination—was violently jolted awake as a divine premonition crashed into his mind.

“THE BEASTS FROM THE OTHER PLANE HAVE INVADED! RAISE THE ALARM!” the Priest roared, hurling himself out of bed.

His three Paladins burst into the chamber moments later.

“Priest!” they called, scanning frantically for intruders.

“Don’t waste time! Wake the other paladins and clergy. Alert the fortress immediately!” the Priest snapped, his face twisted in righteous fury.

He didn’t even bother dressing properly. In nothing more than his ceremonial sleepwear, he hurried out—the orders of Lord Juror took precedence over dignity.

Two Paladins formed a guard on either side, guiding him swiftly toward the Temple’s deepest chamber, where the primary altar to Juror resided. The third Paladin sprinted away to rouse the remaining clergy.

Reaching the altar, the Priest dropped to his knees and began his invocation—an urgent plea for a miracle that would empower the fortress to smite these heathens from a godforsaken external plane.

But the invaders acted faster than he anticipated.

Bang!

Boom!

BOOM!!!

Three consecutive impacts tore through the Temple, shaking the holy structure to its foundations.

If not for the divine grace infused into its walls over years of worship, the temple of mighty Lord Juror might have collapsed entirely.

A shudder ran down the Priest’s spine.

A large portion of Juror’s sources of faith had just been extinguished.

There was only one explanation:

The invaders’ attack had slaughtered the clergy in their beds.

The Priest trembled—not with fear, but with incandescent fury.

The building had endured, but the Temple—its faithful clergy—had suffered grievous losses.

Perhaps only he and the three guardian Paladins still lived, as these cowardly, dishonourable invaders had attacked while the other clergy slept and were unable to defend themselves.

Worst still, most of the accumulated faith energy—the so-called Divine Energy—had been exhausted to shield the Temple from destruction. The temple no longer possessed the reserves necessary for the priest to complete the miracle in the short window remaining.

Knowing the invaders would not give him the time needed to slowly regather scattered faith energy, the Priest decisively abandoned the ritual. Instead, he chose to aid the fortress directly.

‘I will make them die the worst death imaginable! Only by making them suffer and offering their lives and souls to Lord Juror can they atone for the heresy they’ve committed!’

The Priest fumed with sacred fury as he led his Paladins out.

—

Meanwhile, inside the Fortress’s main castle…

Bang! Boom! BOOM!!!

The successive explosions ripped Baron Helton from the warm embrace of his two concubines.

Stark naked, he rushed to the window—and his heart nearly leapt out of his throat.

The Temple was ablaze.

Fortunately, a breath later, divine light flared from within, quenching the flames and preventing further damage to the sacred edifice.

Relief came, but only slightly.

The Baron spun around and hastily donned his clothing and armour from his dresser, bolting from the chamber without sparing a single word for the anxious women left behind.

His thoughts churned violently.

It wasn’t difficult to piece together the situation.

The attackers were likely the invaders from the dark realms—creatures unenlightened by the grace of the divines.

There were countless stories of such incursions.

Invaders from unenlightened worlds, beings of malice who sought to drag Verdantis into darkness.

Until now, every invader who had breached the realm had been an unintelligent beast.

Baron Helton’s hand drifted unconsciously to his chest.

Even beneath metal armour, he could still feel the phantom heat of the scar that ran over his heart.

He remembered—far too vividly—the terror of a decade past, when he joined the crusade to slay one such outer-world beast that had torn into their plane.

He had been lucky to survive.

In that brutal three-day battle, the Lumeria Empire lost a Combat Sage… and alongside him, five 3-Star and sixteen 2-Star Combat Saints.

A wound so severe that even after more than a decade, the Empire had yet to fully recover.

And now, these new invaders were human—or at least humanoid. Worse still, among them stood a sorcerer.

Judging by the damage inflicted upon the Temple—evidenced by its drastically weakened divine ambience—this sorcerer was anything but ordinary.

‘A Gold-ranked sorcerer, perhaps…’ Baron Helton thought grimly.

In this region of Verdantis—this backwater corner of the world—sorcerers were almost mythical.

A Gold-ranked sorcerer?

Unheard of.

Any such individual would command prestige surpassing even Baron Helton himself.

His own title was acknowledged only within the Luxen Duchy.

A sorcerer, however, would be honoured anywhere within the Holy Lumeria Empire.

This prestige came not merely from rarity, but from capability.

Only Sorcerers could wield, and maybe craft, the mystical artefacts—ancient relics from the prosperous Age of Antiquity, when the deities first shone their light upon the world.

Each such artefact was unimaginably valuable.

The ability to use one made a man influential.

The ability to create anything comparable made him a prestigious.

It was often said that this prestige, power, and wealth were why sorcerers kept their numbers intentionally low.

Each sorcerer was allowed only a limited number of disciples—a number that increased only as their own rank advanced. This restricted supply, in turn, kept their value—and fame—exceptionally high.

Aristocratic families would pay any price, call in any favour, to have even a single scion accepted by a sorcerer. The prestige attached to raising one within the family was immeasurable.

But behind all the admiration and reverence laid as well another undeniable fact. Sorcerers held destructive power far surpassing priests and warriors alike.

Their very title carried an undertone of fear.

And now… heathens from another world had such a person among them.

Baron Helton clenched his jaw.

He could only hope the clergy within the Temple—the same Temple the Luxen Duchy had spent a fortune to commission—possessed the means to hold that sorcerer at bay.

If not…

Then their only remaining option would be to force the sorcerer to exhaust his energy.

Even if the cost was the lives of the fortress’s troops—

the Baron’s own men.

‘For the Light of Lord Juror. For the Empire!’

***