Re: Tales of the Rune-Tech Sage-Chapter 524: Bar Fight

CH524 Bar Fight

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When Alex and Wayne Achard returned from the branch master’s office, Martin had already finished helping Alex’s wives register their party with the Association.

With the registration completed and Alex’s meeting concluded, the group prepared to leave when a thought suddenly struck him.

"By the way, what did you name our party?" he asked.

"Fortuna," Udara replied.

"Fortuna?" Alex raised an eyebrow. "Why that?"

"You’ve been speaking in that old tongue of yours quite a lot," Zora explained. "So we decided to pick a name from it. Fortuna is the only word whose meaning we’re certain of, so..."

’Fortune, huh...’ Alex mused inwardly.

He simply nodded, and the group headed out.

--

A few hours later, Alex stepped into a tavern not far from Dragonstone’s eastern gate.

"Is that him...?" someone muttered.

"Yes. What other young noble with such poise is in town?" another replied.

"What do you mean, poise? Just admit you’ve never seen a noble sorcerer dressed like a rogue," a third voice scoffed.

Alex smiled wryly. His arrival had clearly stirred a commotion.

The patrons likely thought that whispering—and the fact that nearly every table was buzzing with conversation—would be enough to drown things out.

Unfortunately for them, Alex heard everything.

He simply chose not to react.

As he moved toward the counter, he noticed several familiar faces scattered around the tavern.

Kavakan sat among a band of loud, boisterous mercenaries and adventurers. Mogal occupied a corner table alone, positioned so he could watch the entrance. Meanwhile, Havel leaned against the bar itself.

Alex pretended not to recognise the noble race ronin and took a seat two stools away from him, right at the edge of the counter.

He gestured to the bartender— a middle-aged man with a claw scar running diagonally across his face.

Clearly, a man with a story.

Alex placed five low-grade berserk stones onto the counter, and the bartender’s eyes flashed.

"What will you be having?" the man asked, smoothly sweeping the stones away.

"Can I get milk and honey?" Alex asked.

The bartender raised an eyebrow. "This is a tavern, not a general store."

"Then I’ll just have water," Alex replied.

The exchange did not go unnoticed by the man seated to Alex’s right, at a table positioned along the edge of the counter.

The bartender soon returned with a cup.

Alex’s nose twitched.

The scent of stale liquor clung to it so strongly the cup might as well have been filled with wine.

"Now," the bartender said, "what exactly are you looking for? You’re clearly not here for the drink."

Alex pushed the tainted cup aside and leaned forward over the counter, lowering his voice as if about to share a secret.

"I’m looking for a man named Raven Horn," Alex said. "I’m told he frequents your... fine establishment."

"Who are you?" the bartender asked, eyes narrowing.

"Just a traveller looking for a guide and some advice," Alex replied calmly.

"Then you’d best be on your way, traveller. There is no such person here." The bartender’s face grimaced, the long scar across it making him look even more ominous.

"As for your stones, I’ll keep them as payment for this advice. Don’t flaunt your wealth, and don’t pay for a service before receiving it."

Alex nodded, not appearing offended in the slightest.

"That’s very sound advice. You can keep the stones," he said.

Then his eyes glinted.

"After all, you’ll be needing them very soon.

"Have a nice day."

Before the bartender could process what that meant, Alex rose from the stool and pulled up his hood.

Almost immediately, chaos erupted inside the tavern.

The moment Alex pulled his hood over his head, Kavakan rose to his feet.

"A toast..." He lifted his cup high. "...to all of you sons of bitches crazy enough to roam these godforsaken lands!"

"Toast!" the hardy, already drunk adventurers and mercenaries roared back, raising their cups.

They tipped them in one savage motion. Liquor ran down Kavakan’s lips, dripping through the hair on his chin and onto his broad, hairy chest.

Laughter erupted.

Men choked, coughed, wiped their mouths, slamming cups down as the mood surged.

Kavakan laughed with them.

Then, without warning, he smashed the cup straight into the face of the nearest mercenary.

"Come on!" he roared, swaying theatrically as if drunk beyond reason. "Let’s celebrate with a fight! Which of you sons of bitches dares to fight me?!"

The tavern paused.

The adventurers and mercenaries look around, amused, but no one dared to make the first move.

Seeing their hesitation, Mogal suddenly rushed in from behind and grabbed Kavakan by the collar.

With a heave, he hurled the weretiger across a table and into two adventurers on the far side.

"You!" Kavakan’s eyes went wide as saucers as he scrambled up, pointing accusingly at Mogal.

He seized one of the men beside him and flung him bodily into a cluster of mercenaries.

Then he punched the second man square in the jaw, as though blaming him for being used as a cushion.

The tavern exploded with noise.

While every eye turned toward the escalating madness, Alex quietly slid the wine-tainted cup toward Havel, who still sat at the counter.

Havel grabbed it.

And smashed it against the bartender’s head.

The man nearly fainted.

"Damn you, maggots!" Havel roared. "Keep it down! I’m trying to drink here! If you’re going to fight, then fight!"

"You—!" someone shouted, pointing.

"What?!" Havel bared his teeth.

He charged.

One punch... then another... and another.

With Mogal, Kavakan and Havel igniting the spark, the rest of the rabble needed no further invitation.

Fists flew.

Boots kicked.

Cups, jugs, stools, tables, chairs—anything that could be lifted became a weapon and went hurtling through the air.

Within the chaos, Alex stepped away from the counter.

Right on cue, a wine jar came hurtling toward him.

He caught it cleanly out of the air, dipped under a wild hook aimed at his head, and in the same breath smashed the jar across the attacker’s face.

The man dropped like a sack of grain, crashing to the floor—whether conscious or not, Alex didn’t care.

He was already moving.

His eyes turned onto the man seated at the corner table by the counter—the one who had been quietly listening to his conversation with the bartender.

’Found you.’

Alex took a step.

Someone grabbed him from behind.

Without even turning, Alex drove his elbow backward. The strike blasted the assailant’s face, knocking them off balance and straight into Havel, who had already moved to guard his rear.

Havel caught the unfortunate man and, with frightening efficiency, executed something very close to a judo throw.

The body sailed.

It disappeared into the hurricane of brawling men.

By then, the man at the corner table was already on his feet.

Drunk—or pretending to be—he threw a punch without a word.

Alex caught the wrist with his right hand and, almost lazily, drove his left into the man’s exposed liver.

For a split second, his instincts got ahead of him.

Mana surged, and the Beta Bracer almost answered the call, ready to spit out its hidden blade.

Alex’s heart skipped.

He hurried cut off his mana, bring the blade to a stop in the Bracer, just as the punch landed true on the man’s side.

Air exploded from the man’s lungs as his knees buckled.

Alex seized the moment, twisted, and slammed him back-first onto the table, cracking it.

His ruby-red eyes looked down at the man, amusement flashing within them.

"Good to finally meet you, Raven Horn," Alex said pleasantly. "I’m in need of your expertise."

"I am not—"

Alex’s fist snapped out.

A clean hook caused the man’s head to whip sideways, and he went limp.

"Don’t speak yet," Alex said lightly as the body sagged into unconsciousness. "We’ll have plenty of time for this denial dance somewhere more... conducive."

The bartender finally recovered himself from Havel’s strike and lunged from behind the counter.

However, he didn’t make it.

Havel stuck a boot out.

The man stumbled, and before he could recover, Havel grabbed him by the collar and introduced his forehead to the wooden counter, hard!

Bam!

Alex raised an eyebrow at Havel.

"He shouldn’t be dead from just that," Havel replied with a shrug.

Alex decided he couldn’t be bothered to lecture him.

"Open a path," was all he said.

He bent, hoisted the unconscious Raven Horn over his shoulder, then used the chaos of the brawl as cover to move.

Mogal, Kavakan, Havel, and Alex—carrying the limp man like an overly intoxicated companion—flowed toward the exit while fists, chairs, and curses continued to fly behind them.

They slipped out without resistance.

Once on the street, Mogal relieved Alex of the burden, easily throwing the dead weight across his own shoulder as if it were nothing.

They had barely made it a few metres away when two bodies were hurled out of the tavern window.

Thud!

The men groaned... then, incredibly, staggered back to their feet, dusted themselves off, and rushed straight back inside.

Alex suddenly felt a twinge of guilt.

’I wonder if five berserk stones will be enough...’

Keeping up the act, the group walked away while pretending to escort a drunk friend away from trouble.

No one paid them any particular attention.

As they turned the corner, Alex glanced back once.

A faint smile tugged at his lips.

"I guess Kenway would be proud," he muttered.

With that, he pulled his hood back over his head.

The wrist blade of the Beta Bracer slid out with a soft flash... then retracted just as quickly.

A silent salute.

A tribute to the brotherhood.

And then they were gone.

***

AUTHOR’S NOTE

8/2/2026

My head was a little blank yesterday, so I had no choice but to take a break.

See you in the next Chapter.

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