Re: Tales of the Rune-Tech Sage

Chapter 836: Plans of the Military Intel Director II

CH836 Plan of the Military Intel Director II

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“Indeed. I’m merely a young man who only came of age a couple of years ago. It’s only natural that I make mistakes and occasionally throw a tantrum.

“If I go around acting too mature, those people sitting comfortably in their ivory towers might decide to throw unnecessary trouble my way.

“I can’t have that now, can I?” Alex smiled coldly.

“Besides, don’t you know? According to the Stronghold’s official records, the army that marched from the Stronghold and arrived here prepared to attack a settlement within my domain had actually been ordered to assist us in suppressing the beast tide within our Frontier March—a tide that had ended for more than two weeks already.

“So, between me and the Stronghold, who do you think can craft the more convincing narrative?” he asked rhetorically.

Zora stared at Alex for a long moment.

She carefully considered everything he had just said, the implications hidden beneath his words, and the way he clearly intended to respond to whatever came next.

Gradually, the entire roadmap took shape within her mind.

“I see… So that’s your real objective,” Zora said.

“Are you certain we have the strength to pull it off?”

“Not yet.” Alex shook his head.

Then his expression grew solemn.

“But we must.”

He glanced towards his wife standing beside him.

“We didn’t come to this plane simply to play the role of a domain lord. It isn’t the purpose of our Interplanar Expedition, nor is it the role the force lurking in the shadows—one that has been nurturing this world’s tribulation—has prepared for us.

“Whether it’s for our own goals or those of the force that allegedly brought us here, this is the path we need to walk.”

Zora could only sigh.

Alex pushed himself away from the battlement before gently pulling her into his embrace.

“I know you don’t like the filth of politics or aristocratic games. Just leave all of that to me, and don’t worry yourself about them.” he said as he gently brushed her hair.

Zora let the moment in his embrace last for a few quiet breaths.

Then, without warning, she pinched his waist, causing him to recoil with a wince.

“Who exactly do you think you’re talking to? Some delicate, naïve young lady? Do you have any idea how many schemes and political intrigues I witnessed as the Majordomo of the DragonHold Enclave? Or how many I personally took part in—or even orchestrated?”

“Yes, yes, my lady… my Empress.” Alex rubbed his aching waist with an exaggerated expression of suffering.

“Forgive this foolish one for his grievous mistake.”

The nearby soldiers who happened to notice the interaction immediately looked elsewhere.

Some suddenly found themselves intensely focused on imaginary problems, while others became inexplicably fascinated by the tiniest stain upon the battlement.

All the while, every one of them struggled to suppress their laughter at the all-too-familiar sight of the playful exchange between husband and wife.

“Udara should be there by now, shouldn’t she? When will your Phase Two begin?” Zora asked after their banter had settled.

“I’ve delegated full authority over this matter to the Director of Military Intelligence. We’ll defer to her judgement. After all, it was her plan,” Alex replied with a smile.

He turned towards the south of the domain—in the direction of the Frontier Stronghold.

His gaze seemed to pierce the distance itself as though he were looking directly upon the Stronghold.

‘Now then…’

‘Now that your plan has failed, will you be able to withstand our retaliation?’

A week after the battle—or rather, the massacre—at Ashwell Town, three dishevelled men riding emaciated horses arrived at the gates of the Frontier Stronghold.

The soldiers standing guard had almost turned them away, had it not been for one of them noticing the tattered remains of a Stronghold uniform upon one of the riders.

Only then did the guards take a closer look at their faces and finally recognise them.

“The army… all… gone… dead…”

One of the men barely managed to force out the words before collapsing from his horse.

Shocked by the news, the guards hurriedly carried the three survivors inside to receive medical attention.

Before long, one of the men regained consciousness long enough to deliver a proper report—a report that sent massive ripples throughout the Stronghold.

The three survivors belonged to the platoon that had remained behind to guard the tunnel entrance.

They had barely managed to escape alive after being overwhelmed by the swarm of gigantic Vulture Bee drones.

According to the report they gave, the expeditionary force had been ambushed by a horde of previously unseen beasts and swiftly annihilated.

Smash!!

The sound of furniture being violently shattered echoed throughout the corridor outside the Commander’s office.

It took little imagination to guess Viscount Dunhill’s state of mind.

For what Viscount Dunhill had expected to be a simple operation, reality had turned out very differently.

Not only had he lost approximately a third of the Stronghold’s soldiers, but, more importantly, he had also lost one of his most trusted subordinates.

And all of it without achieving anything that could remotely justify such a sacrifice.

It was a devastating blow to the Stronghold in every sense.

The one thousand five hundred soldiers deployed alongside the hired mercenaries might not have been the Stronghold’s strongest or most elite troops, but they nonetheless represented the culmination of years of training, experience, and resources.

Time and resources that had now been squandered, leaving the Stronghold in a dangerously vulnerable position.

The Frontier Stronghold maintained a standing force of five thousand proper soldiers—all fully fledged Combat Warriors—under its banner.

For last couple of decades, approximately one thousand five hundred of these soldiers had always been stationed, together with reserve troops comprised of ordinary non-Combat Warriors, across strategically important locations within neighbouring domains.

Officially, their deployment existed to provide regional security, particularly against stray Berserk Beasts and the occasional beast nest.

In reality, however, everyone understood that their presence served as a constant projection and demonstration of the Stronghold’s military might, ensuring its sphere of influence over the surrounding domains remained unchallenged.

Of the remaining three thousand five hundred soldiers stationed at the Stronghold itself, Viscount Dunhill had committed close to half to the campaign against the Frontier March.

The decision alone demonstrated just how important he had considered the operation.

Now, however, he found himself confronted with an unenviable dilemma.

He could recall the security detachments stationed throughout the neighbouring domains to replenish the Stronghold’s depleted garrison, or he could leave them where they were and accept the risk of defending the fortress with a significantly weakened army—while they accepted new recruits.

Neither option appealed to the Viscount.

Recalling those forces would inevitably weaken the Stronghold’s grip over its sphere of influence, creating opportunities for rival powers to expand at his expense.

Leaving them in place, on the other hand, meant entrusting the defence of the Frontier Stronghold itself to barely two thousand Combat Warriors.

Either choice carried severe consequences—all unacceptable.

And that only fuelled Viscount Dunhill’s fury at how thoroughly the situation had spiralled beyond his control.

Elsewhere within the fortress, Fabien Ingram received the same report in his office within the Procurement Department.

He found that he wasn’t particularly surprised by the army’s destruction.

What truly surprised him was the manner in which it had happened.

‘They were wiped out by beasts just as they were preparing to attack the Frontier March—an attack the Count hinted would be the Stronghold’s response during our meeting?’

‘Can the world really be that convenient?’

Fabien remained sceptical.

‘Count Skywalker…’

The name lingered in his thoughts.

Fabien had a strong feeling that Count Skywalker had played a role in all of this.

He simply had no idea how.

Furthermore, he also sensed that, if his suspicions were correct—that the Count had somehow orchestrated these events—then…

‘It is unlikely he’s finished with just this,’ he thought.

A moment later, realisation struck him.

‘He wouldn’t…!’

A shudder ran down Fabien’s spine.

Unfortunately, there was no one with whom he could share his suspicions.

Although it had never been particularly public or outspoken, it was no secret that he had opposed the army’s deployment. As a result, he was hardly a welcome figure amongst the Stronghold’s senior officers at the moment.

If he were to approach them now with such an outlandish theory while they were still struggling to come to terms with the expeditionary force’s catastrophic destruction…

Fabien did not even want to imagine how they would react if they took his words the wrong way—which he was convinced they would.

‘I really hope I’m wrong.’

Unfortunately, his hope—his prayer—was destined to be dashed.

Roaming through Mirador, the lower city of the Stronghold, a cloaked figure gazed towards the fortress itself, their eyes gleaming with cold indifference.

Urging on a powerful black horse, the cloaked figure rode towards a secluded house tucked away within the city.

After entering the house, the figure lowered their hood, revealing a dark-skinned woman of breathtaking beauty, her seductive features framed by a pair of elegant elven ears.

It was none other than Udara.

“Every piece is in place, and the timing is right… It’s time.” She quietly muttered to herself.

Making her way to the room at the very end of the house’s solitary corridor, she stepped inside.

The room was completely bare, devoid of even the slightest piece of furniture, but this was exactly how she wanted it.

Reaching into the pouch at her waist, she took out a scroll before carefully unfurling it on the floor.

Moments later, a faint pillar of light rose vertically from the scroll, stopping just short of the ceiling.

It then expanded sideways, unfolding into a broad spatial gateway that spanned almost the entire width of the room.

Not long afterwards, one after another, figures wearing animal-themed masks stepped through the Space Gate.

An eagle-shaped mask appeared in Udara’s hand.

She calmly placed it over her face before stepping forward to receive the new arrivals.

“Welcome,” Udara said as she stood before them.

“Time is of the essence. I will now brief you on our mission.”

Unbeknownst to either the Frontier Stronghold or the people of Mirador, arguably the Frontier March’s most dangerous unit had just descended upon the city.

And with their arrival, the coming night was destined to be anything but peaceful.

***