CH678 Fortuna 300 II

***

Alex placed Kavakan in command of the Barbarians and Orcs, forming them into an elite shock unit. At the same time, he reorganised the Fury Knights, assigning them as leaders over newly formed units composed of the incoming BattleBane elites.

The Fury Knights had served under him the longest and were far more familiar with his tactical style than the BattleBanes. Entrusting them with leadership roles was both practical and a clear reward for their loyalty.

Silver, along with the Fury Crossbowmen, was placed in charge of an expanded marksman unit.

Mordor was assigned to move alongside the Fury Knights’ units, while Sugud was formally attached to the marksman unit.

In truth, Sugud’s placement was largely symbolic. The rear positioning of the marksman unit allowed him greater opportunity to observe his rifle-crossbow designs in action on the battlefield.

Speaking of Sugud, once the sub-units had been organised, he personally distributed the pump-action and bolt-action crossbows to the newly integrated members.

He had previously crafted one hundred pump-action crossbows and fifty bolt-action variants, believing that number to be excessive at the time. Now, however, it seemed they were barely sufficient.

As he handed over each weapon, his gaze carried a silent but unmistakable warning—anyone who mishandled or disrespected his creations would answer for it.

—

After an hour of reorganisation, the Fortuna force took on a clear and structured formation:

Main Force Unit — 200 strong, led by Sergeant Lopota

Divided into:

100-man Pump-Action Crossbow unit 100-man Conventional Infantry unit

Supported by Mordor

Marksman Unit — 50 strong, led de facto by Silver

Equipped with bolt-action crossbows Supported by Sugud

Strike Unit — 40 strong

Led by Kavakan Includes Havel and Mogal

Autonomous (Force Multiplier) Unit

Udara, Eleanore, Zora, Fen, Senu

Commander — Alex

—

Alex gave a satisfied nod as he observed everyone settling into their assigned roles with minimal friction.

His gaze then shifted towards the vast, untamed expanse of the Wildlands stretching endlessly before them.

For a fleeting moment, his expression turned cold—tinged with a faint, dangerous madness.

Eleanore, Udara, and Zora, standing beside him, immediately recognised the change. They knew he was about to do something excessive.

They simply did not yet know what.

Alex turned back towards his assembled force and gave a final nod.

Then, with a slight pressure of his legs, he urged Dread forward.

The king stallion surged into motion instantly, breaking into a powerful sprint.

Behind him, the three-hundred-strong mounted force followed without hesitation, charging as one into the vast wilderness of the Wildlands.

Over the next few days, it was as though a violent storm had swept through the Wildlands surrounding BloodIron. Every major stronghold of the Lost Heathens within the region was systematically located... and utterly destroyed.

Nothing remained at these sites but ruin—and a single, chilling mark.

Drawn in the blood of the strongest among the fallen Lost Heathens was a symbol:

A skull and crossbones (pirate/danger flag).

The same emblem that had once flown under Brock Peyton’s brother’s banner.

The same emblem now claimed by Fortuna.

This was not a declaration of war.

No—this was a declaration of annihilation.

—

With the combined advantages of his Truth-Seeker Eyes, Senu’s shared vision, and a suite of spells, Alex commanded his forces with terrifying precision.

Each engagement ended decisively. Thousands bearing the Lost Heathen banner fell in rapid succession, while Fortuna’s losses remained minimal.

Though these battles were small in scale when measured against the wider world, Alex had firmly established himself as a formidable commander—both in strategy and in personal combat strength.

Like the very elements he embodied, his forces moved with frightening synergy.

Hidden and deceptive like Darkness.

Swift and overwhelming like Lightning.

Relentless and consuming like Fire.

Piercing and bright like Light.

Where they passed, nothing remained.

Like reapers sweeping across the land, the Fortuna force struck across the Hollowcrest Wildlands, erasing more than a dozen Lost Heathen operations from existence.

No matter how the Lost Heathens—or any other faction—attempted to track them, their trail would vanish without warning, leaving their movements unpredictable and impossible to pin down.

—

Shatter—!

Back within his residence in BloodIron, Brock Peyton hurled an ornate sculpture—one he had once purchased at an exorbitant price with no real appreciation for its artistry—against the wall.

It shattered into dozens of fragments upon impact.

"That damned brat!" he roared, his voice thick with rage.

"I want his head. Do you hear me? I want his head!" he bellowed at his vice-captain.

The one-eyed vice-leader of the Lost Heathens did not move.

He simply stood where he was, watching with his single good eye as Brock Peyton continued to smash everything within reach, venting his fury upon the room.

Soon enough, there was nothing left to destroy.

And with nothing left to break, Peyton was forced to confront the anger still burning within him.

"Has anyone found them?" he asked at last.

Though the outburst had not fully extinguished his rage, it had cleared his mind—if only slightly.

"No," the one-eyed man replied, shaking his head.

"How is it possible that no one has found them?" Peyton slammed his hand down onto the desk.

The vice-leader remained silent.

He had served Peyton long enough to understand one thing clearly—his boss had no patience for excuses. In fact, offering one was often the quickest path to an early retirement.

And in their line of work, retirement meant only one thing.

The grave.

So, he kept his mouth shut.

Peyton’s expression gradually eased, the fury in his eyes dimming into a colder and more calculating gaze. He took a few steady breaths, forcing his emotions back under control.

"Are you certain that brat has no backing?" he asked suddenly.

"According to all the information we have on him—yes. He has no backing," the vice-leader replied.

"Did you verify it thoroughly?" Peyton pressed.

"I did, boss. You know I am not careless with matters like this." The man raised a hand and brushed lightly over the eye concealed beneath his patch. "I used all of our usual channels to confirm it. Every source reported the same conclusion."

Peyton gave a slow nod.

His vice-leader was meticulous—painfully so.

After once offending someone he should never have crossed, an incident that had cost him an eye, the man had never again taken risks when it came to gathering intelligence. If he had verified something, it was rarely wrong.

Which left Peyton with two possibilities.

Either the vice-leader had intentionally pushed him into a conflict with someone far more dangerous than expected...

Or the man truly did not know.

Peyton leaned towards the latter, but he did not dismiss the former outright. After all, there was no honour among thieves.

It would not be the first time someone used an external threat as a stepping stone to seize control from within.

’I did something similar myself back then,’ Peyton recalled, a faint, humourless smile tugging at his lips.

***