Re: Tales of the Rune-Tech Sage-Chapter 517: Ungentlemanly Operation II

CH517 Ungentlemanly Operation II

***

To the northeast of the Virellian Empire, a lone man wandered the streets of a city so lavish that even the City of Ashes across, on the other side of the empire could not compare.

There was nothing remarkable about the man.

Nothing about him that drew the eyes.

Most people didn’t even realise he had passed them. To them, it was as if he had no presence at all.

He strolled without hurry, tracing an aimless path through the city, as though he had nowhere in particular to be.

Eventually, he arrived at a bar perched at the edge of the city’s bustling business district. The establishment was ostentatious to the point of excess — marble pillars, gilded trims, polished glass, and patrons dressed in silk and jewels.

By appearance alone, the man had no business entering such a place.

Yet the guards at the door did not so much as blink as he walked past them.

He moved straight through the bar toward the back, slipping through a staff-only corridor and descending into the wine cellar.

Between two towering racks of casks, a concealed door waited.

He knocked in a distinct, deliberate rhythm.

A small latch slid open. A pair of suspicious eyes peered out.

"Password."

"The sun shall never set in the east," the man replied calmly.

Bolts clanked and locks turned.

The door opened.

He stepped through without a word.

Beyond lay a long, dimly lit tunnel that eventually split into multiple paths. Without hesitation, the man chose one and continued on.

It quickly became apparent that the underground network was a maze — a web of passages designed to confuse and trap anyone unfamiliar with its layout.

After several turns, he reached a reinforced bunker door. The same procedure followed: knock, password, entry.

Inside, he found himself in a subterranean chamber filled with similarly shadowy figures — people who looked like they preferred to remain unseen.

"Blout! You’re here. On time as usual."

A burly middle-aged man strode over and slung an arm across Blout’s shoulders, half dragging him forward in a friendly, overbearing gesture.

Neither the man nor the nearby guards noticed the faint ripple that shivered through the air the instant contact was made — an almost imperceptible distortion that recoiled away from Blout’s body as if something unseen had been disturbed.

The illusory quake — like heat distortion rippling above desert sands — drifted through the bunker undisturbed. It passed corridors, checkpoints, and sealed chambers, until it finally reached a door that appeared to lead into the very heart of the underground complex.

There, it stopped.

As if waiting.

For nearly half an hour, it remained unnoticed and unmoving. Then the door opened, and someone stepped out.

The moment the gap appeared, the distortion slipped inside before the door closed again.

The apparition found itself within a vast archive-like chamber. Book shelves and cabinets lined the walls, arranged with meticulous care.

The distortion floated about, adjusting subtly, as though searching for the optimal position.

At last, it settled.

A masculine human hand emerged from within the distortion and flicked a tiny cube — no larger than a die — into the air. The cube stuck seamlessly to the ceiling.

Unless one deliberately scanned the ceiling at close range, the device would likely remain undiscovered indefinitely.

An almost imperceptible beam of light emitted from the cube, sweeping across the entire room in a slow, methodical scan.

"Scanning complete. Position satisfactory," the cube transmitted on a frequency that required specialised equipment to detect.

With its task complete, the illusory quake withdrew. It slipped back through the door, which opened and closed without anyone noticing.

The distortion retraced its path through the bunker, heading toward the exit.

By chance, the guard stationed at the outer door had stepped slightly away from his post, but not far enough that the distortion could open and slip through the door unnoticed.

The distortion stretched — as if forming a hand.

A single drop of liquid shot forth, striking the stone floor a short distance from the guard’s feet. The substance hissed on contact, eating into the ground and releasing a thin plume of smoke.

"What the—?" the guard muttered, stepping closer to investigate.

That was enough.

The illusory quake slipped out through the door. The open bolts might be noticed later, but escape took priority over subtlety.

The distortion followed Blout’s earlier path, emerging back into the bar, just in time for another to pass through the cellar door. It quickly passed the door, then exited the bar before dissolving into the flow of pedestrians outside. Two blocks away, it turned into a narrow alley.

Moments later, a handsome young man in his twenties stepped out onto the street — striking enough to draw lingering glances from women, and a few men, as he passed.

"Objective completed," he muttered quietly.

"Heading for exfil."

In another, far less luxurious city within the Virellian Empire, a festival was in full swing. The entire city celebrated the birth of the city lord’s newborn son.

Crowds flooded the streets, revelling in the carnival-like atmosphere.

The largest gathering was at the central plaza, where a grand masked ball had taken over the square. Citizens arrived in their finest attire, faces hidden behind ornate masks, moving to the rhythm played by the city’s finest orchestra.

"Tom, you’ve been buried in that office for too long," a chubby man laughed as he shoved a mask into his thin-faced friend’s hand. "Take this and join the dance. Who knows? Maybe you’ll finally find a lady to marry."

The thin-faced, middle-aged man had deep dark bags under his eyes — the unmistakable signs of sleepless nights and endless paperwork.

"Fine, Pam," Tom sighed. "But I won’t get my hopes up about marriage."

He put on the mask. Fortunately, it hid the exhaustion etched across his face. With that concealed, his naturally athletic build stood out, and within moments, a group of women pulled him onto the dance floor.

The dance rotated partners frequently. Tom allowed himself to be carried by the rhythm, moving from one partner to another as required by the choreography.

For a brief moment, he forgot everything.

"Ugh!"

A sudden jolt tore through his body.

Tom froze mid-step.

He looked down and saw blood seeping through his clothes from his lower torso.

His strength drained rapidly. He tried to speak, but no words came. The music and laughter around him continued, unaware.

He staggered toward a nearby bench and collapsed onto it, barely managing to sit upright.

That was all he could manage.

So he lifted his head and stared at the night sky one last time.

’Ah... I knew I should have stayed in the office. Well... at least I am finally free from the torture... of pa...per...work...’

Tom exhaled his last breath.

Nearly an hour passed before anyone realised the man on the bench was not merely resting. By then, panic spread through the plaza.

By then, the one responsible had long since left the city.

"Target neutralised," a calm voice reported quietly.

"Already at the exfil location."

***