Re: Tales of the Rune-Tech Sage - Chapter 409
Chapter 409: Carnage II
CH409 Carnage II
***
Unlike lycanthropes like Kavakan—who loved battle for the sheer thrill, glory, and bloodshed—Dravo tribe barbarians like Mogal fought for a different reason entirely.
They sought challenge.
And fought to test themselves against the strong.
Compared to Kavakan, Mogal was far more suited to being a champion duellist, the kind responsible for killing—or at least holding back—the enemy’s top combatants.
With his fists clenched and totemic energy roaring, Mogal charged into battle, taking the flank opposite Kavakan.
Where Kavakan excelled at mowing through large groups of weaklings with wild, predatory abandon, Mogal’s fists only felled one foe at a time.
But when he hit that one, his targets stayed down.
Following Alex’s orders, Mogal didn’t waste a moment on common rabble. He sprinted past them, heading straight for the Bronze-ranked officers rushing toward Kavakan to halt the weretiger’s slaughter.
Because Kavakan had been exclusively fighting ordinary and elite soldiers—barely Class 0—the fortress officers drastically underestimated him. They judged him only slightly stronger than a Bronze rank, but likely not at the level of a Silver.
Even so, none of the Silver-ranked officers wanted to take the risk.
‘Who knew what strange abilities these heathens carried?’
‘Why be the one to find out?’
They thought.
Not eager to join the priest and paladins in Juror’s holy kingdom just yet, they pushed the responsibility onto the Bronze ranks.
A squad of six Bronze-ranked mid-level officers charged toward the weretiger.
Kavakan saw them coming and immediately swerved away to continue his massacre elsewhere.
Mogal, however, sprinted straight at them.
Boom!
A shockwave ruptured through the battlefield as Mogal fired a powerful air punch, blasting a path through the mass of soldiers between him and the incoming Bronze ranks.
“You’ve got a death wish, heretic!” the strongest among them—a 3-Star Bronze rank—shouted as he swung his sword in a wide arc to intercept Mogal.
“Hmph.” Mogal snorted and threw another punch.
[Iron Body]! [Bull Power]!
Right before fist met steel, a cascade of buff spells landed on Mogal.
The punch Mogal had meant merely to divert the Bronze officer’s blade shattered the sword entirely. Metal fragments sprayed outward, bouncing harmlessly off the barbarian’s buffed, rock-hard muscles.
“AHHH!!!”
The Bronze officer wasn’t so fortunate. A shard pierced his eye, sending him into a shrieking panic.
“Hmph.” Mogal snorted again—but this time in displeasure.
Still, he wouldn’t waste such a generous opening.
Bam!
His empowered punch smashed into the officer’s head, decapitating him. The head shot through the air like a fired cannonball—slamming into another Bronze officer who had been rushing forward to assist.
Mogal raised his trunk-like legs—thicker than most people’s heads—and fired them forward like a catapult, launching another Bronze officer straight into his colleagues. Whether either man lived was anyone’s guess.
But the opening gave the last two Bronze officers enough time to reach Mogal from behind.
A mace and a sword crashed down on his broad, bear-like back.
Bam…
Unfortunately for them, the hulking barbarian hardly even twitched. Between his monstrous natural defence and the layered protection of [Iron Body], the blows amounted to little more than an itchy nuisance.
In fact, they only made him more disappointed… and angry.
Mogal spun with a speed utterly unbecoming for his enormous frame, seizing both Bronze ranks by the head. Before either could gasp, he smashed their skulls together—
Crack!
—reducing them to nothing but a trembling, dripping pulp.
“Too weak,” he groaned in genuine frustration.
His eyes slid across the battlefield and landed on Mordor, who was darting to and fro, layering buffs on the expedition members and hexes on the fortress elites. Mogal’s disapproving glare was impossible to miss.
Mordor felt it immediately and turned to meet his eyes. Seeing Mogal’s expression, he quickly understood—
The barbarian believed his duel had been interfered with, making the weak even weaker.
Mordor frantically pointed at his ear, signalling that Alex had ordered it.
Right on cue, Alex’s voice rang in Mogal’s ear.
“Don’t waste time with the weak ones. The faster you clean them up, the sooner the strong will stop hiding and face you in a sacred duel.”
Mogal’s eyes lit up.
“Alright, leader.”
His voice rumbled with barely restrained excitement.
Another batch of fortress officers rushed toward Kavakan. Mogal shifted his stance and sprinted toward them, eager for a better challenge.
—
On another side of the battlefield, the Fury soldiers clashed with the fortress troops.
The Fury soldiers weren’t monstrous powerhouses like Alex’s direct followers. But what they lacked in raw force, they more than compensated for with hardened battlefield experience and flawless teamwork.
Even without Alex’s or Zora’s micromanagement, the soldiers used the fortress’s own layout—its sprawling size, its buildings, its tight alleyways—to prevent the enemy from ever capitalising on their superior numbers.
Zora’s timely, controlled wide-range spells worked in their favour as well. By deforming the terrain with ice, she stripped away the home-field advantage of the fortress troops. Their familiarity became irrelevant, and the Fury soldiers’ tactical superiority shone through.
The two elite teams of four moved fluidly—attacking, retreating, rotating positions—with a cohesion that would impress even low-tier special forces units from Alex’s past life’s military.
And this was with nothing but ‘cold’ weapons.
Combined with Alex’s real-time direction via Senu’s aerial view, the Fury troops darted through the battlefield, striking and disengaging before they could ever be surrounded.
To the fortress commanders, it was infuriating.
To the Fury soldiers, it was simply another day at work.
After all, honour and chivalry on the battlefield was nothing but a useless joke to Fury soldiers and knights.
Alex, for his part, darted across the battlefield, sowing chaos wherever he appeared. Every movement disrupted the fortress troops’ attempts to form a proper encirclement around his expedition party.
The Draconic Baton in his hand proved to be the perfect weapon. Depending on how he channelled mana through it, the baton shifted seamlessly between slashing, piercing, and blunt-force attacks. Whatever he needed, whenever he needed it.
Ironically, his exhausted mana reserves turned into an advantage.
Because he hadn’t trained extensively with the baton before this battle, using it at full mana capacity would’ve cost him tremendous mental and spiritual strain. But with his mana mostly drained, the burden of directing it was far lighter.
His precision naturally increased.
As his mana recovered in small increments, so too did his fine control.
Stroke by stroke, strike by strike, his proficiency rose—his mastery catching up to his recovery.
Soon, even with his full, monstrous mana pool—colossal compared to others of his rank—Alex would wield the Draconic Baton flawlessly.
He had just intercepted and dismantled a squad aiming to ambush a Fury knight team when he sensed movement from the left flank through Senu’s shared aerial vision.
Another unit of fortress troops spilled out from a nearby building—perfectly positioned to ambush Mogal and Kavakan.
Ordinarily, Alex would have ignored them. After all, the two hulks could more than handle themselves.
But this unit wasn’t ordinary.
Mixed among the ten elite soldiers were two 3-Star Bronze officers and one 2-Star Silver officer.
Given the right moment, they could land a devastating blow on his two hulking followers—even with his warning.
He moved instantly.
[Abyssal Conqueror’s Steps: Wraith’s Crossing]!
Lightning cracked around him. The world blurred.
In a single flash, Alex appeared in front of the incoming unit, blocking their path.
“Tch… Sorcerer,” the Silver-ranked officer muttered, his expression tightening.
Then his eyes sharpened.
“So… You dare appear before us while your energy is so greatly drained?”
He could see it—Alex’s mana was largely burned out.
“Pathetic,” the man sneered. “If you surrender now and swear fealty to Lord Juror, perhaps your heresy will be forgiven. You may even keep your pitiful life a little longer.”
Alex didn’t bother responding.
His red eyes simply swept over the unit—their spacing, their stance, their likely reaction pattern… Calculating and setting up the kill.
The Silver ranked officer’s face darkened.
“So be it.” He raised his weapon. “Kill him first. Then… we go after the rest of the heretics.”
***