Dark Horizon - A League of Legends Story

by BruderBaer

Summary:

Ambition - driven by greed, the pursuit of knowledge, trapped in a maelstrom of despair, the search for purpose, the fight for hope or glory, the call of duty or the belief in fate. Runeterra is an ancient world where everyone can find something of their own. The great empire of Noxus, situated in the eastern part of the northern continent, was always a realm whose ambitions were many and insatiable. For nearly a hundred years, they gradually conquered the central lands of Valoran and seemed unstoppable. However, as the empire pushed further west and south, they met a worthy opponent in the kingdom of Demacia. Not only did the Demacians push the Noxians back from their own borders after three years of war, but within the next half century they liberated all the kingdoms that Noxus had conquered, and the Noxians retreated to the east of Valoran, where they became a shadow of their former size for decades. Soon, however, the Noxian drums of war will beat again, and with them, many new ambitions will collide. Few suspect, and even fewer know, that this could be the beginning of the end.

Notes:

Hello dear readers,

I thought that Arcane was, on the whole, a real blast. Season 1 is better than 2, but that's hardly important! :) Of course, many are now thirsting for more Arcane and League stories, but we all know that it will take at least 2 or rather 3 years before we get the spin-off with Noxus/Ionia/Demacia.

So I thought I'd try to bridge the gap and at the same time try to write a kind of premonition. With Dark Horizons, I want to write in the same universe as Arcane. That means I'll try to predict what the creators will present to us in the new series. But before we pick up where Arcane left off, with Mel (most likely) returning to Noxus and Jinx (most likely) flying towards Demacia in her airship, we will cover the years leading up to the first Ionian Invasion and try to stay on the same timeline as Arcane. But since we only had vague hints in the series, I can only guess at the time periods here and work with what Arcane has given us. For example, the end. The three-eyed raven can only mean that Swain has his demon Raum and therefore the first Ionia invasion is over and Darkwill has probably been overthrown. We also know that Caitlyn's lockdown of Zaun lasted about a year, or that Vi was in prison for about 7 years. So you see, there are quite a few points in time that I can work with :)
In general, I will try to include all the characters from the respective regions and (hopefully) do them justice. (I love Swain, I can't mess him up >:<

That also means that I want to tell a good story. You won't find any romance pairing, focus on it or otherwise here. If it fits organically into the story, so be it, but otherwise - no.

Furthermore, I will use the Noxian calendar to document the approximate timeline of when something takes place. FYI: The Noxian calendar is based on the historical record after the founding of Noxus (AN/After Noxus) and to stay with the Arcane example from before, the end of Arcane Season 2 is probably around the year 989 AN (After Noxus).

P.S. I can write and speak english halfway decent but i´ll use an AI to translate this story from german to english. So if it may sound weird here and there, dont be confused.

Chapter 1

983 AN

To have steel singing in the midst of this fray, cutting throats or piercing bellies, was much too mundane for him. He needed an announcement instead, the attention of his enemies and he was full of expectation, while he swung the two axes in his hands. They hung on specially made, spiked iron rings, so that they could always rotate and they actually looked more like a mixture of scythe and sword, but for him they were axes.

“Draven! Finally attack!” Darius ordered loudly. He was Draven's brother and commander of the Noxian squad in this part of the skirmish. “NOW!”

“He he he, alright, big brother,” Draven laughed dirty, before he obeyed the order. Equipped only with a light leather armor, but very agile, the just 16-year-old stormed fearlessly, even keen to support the front in distress. Several enemy soldiers saw the ax-wielder and ran towards him with their swords. Not cowards, Draven liked it that way and greeted them by throwing one of his axes. The rotating blade tore a soldier's helmet off with full force and ricocheted off him, sending it flying high into the air. Meanwhile, Draven charged forward, effortlessly cleaving the surrounding enemies with his second Axe of Hatred.

The entrance into the fray served its intended purpose, and a dozen enemy soldiers who could have been helping their allies overpower several Noxians were now focused on the new threat.

“Only twelve?” Draven grinned. He did not take these men and women seriously. ‘You don't want a fair fight?’ He stopped the rotation of the axe in his hand and surprised his opponents twice as he lunged at them. Furthermore, none had noticed the ax flying through the air, which Draven masterfully caught in his run and stopped as well, so that he now fought with both blades as with swords. He was the embodiment of pure offense, which shocked the majority of his enemies and took them by surprise.

With a fixed gaze and his characteristically iron expression, Darius watched the fight from higher up. He knew from the start that his troops would be outnumbered three to one, but he had chosen the battlefield well. The slope behind him rose, and next to his five best soldiers, he looked out over the backs of 100 heavily armored Noxians, who were standing in a long line on both sides. They held halberds in one hand and an extremely thick steel shield, wider and taller than themselves, with a viewing slit, in the other. “It's time! Give the first signal!” Darius ordered as he and his five soldiers moved to the only gap in the formation, which closed behind them. “Show them what happens when you defy Noxus!” He and his five soldiers ran forward with a loud battle cry, Darius wielding his trusty two-handed axe, the ends of which were long and sharply curved to cause maximum damage to his opponents' flesh.

A flag with the symbol for the heavy formation rose into the air and a horn was blown. The single line closed behind Darius and in the name of pure discipline, the 100 soldiers aligned their halberds perfectly in sync and they raised their shields before they marched slowly down the slope.

The horn was also a sign for the nearly 300 soldiers of the frontline troops to retreat to the advancing halberds, and they did so. Only Draven enjoyed the party a little longer. “

“Listen to the music bois!” He warned the enemies, who preferred to rush after the axeman's allies. It was an opportunity for Draven to get his axes rotating again, but this time the blades picked up an extreme pace. This allowed him to use a special function of his weapon and he threw both axes forward in a line. Like two insane saw blades, the axes ate their way through the earthy ground and slaughtered their way through the ranks of the enemy troops, while Draven ran towards his allies. What the opponents didn't know or see were the wafer-thin, steel threads that stretched from the blade rings to Draven's hands. With a single movement, he activated a mechanism within the rings, causing the still-spinning axes to move back towards Draven and slice through even more enemies. “WOO-HOO!”

With horror and anger, the rebellious enemies in the back rows watched the gruesome spectacle. “Sir, your orders?”, one of the sergeants asked.

The enemy commander clenched his fist and drew his sword. “The Noxians are retreating!” he said, brandishing his sword. “They have no archers and are outnumbered! Send in the reserves and let our archers advance to take aim at the halberds! We will crush these dogs once and for all and drive them back to the east! ATTACK!"

Spurred on by the words of their commander and the promise of imminent victory, the rebels of the Principality of Brightwood unleashed the rest of their forces: 600 soldiers for the front line, followed slowly by 150 archers.

The retreating Noxian frontline met Darius. “Now show them true strength!” Darius shouted, running past Frontline. He always led by example, and sought to be a true reflection of what the Empire stood for in the eyes of Noxus. Despite his formidable armor, and with the help of the sloping terrain, the commander leaped, vaulting over his brother, and swinging his axe. With all his strength, he split a well-armored opponent before he spun his two-handed sword around with just one hand. The blade was more than a slaughtering tool, because with the lower, thinly wound ax head ends, he hooked them into the necks of his opponents. He pulled them towards him, only to brutally beat them down with his steel-armored fist.

Draven's axes began to assist his brother, and like a circus, he kept tossing them at the enemies attacking his brother's flanks, catching them as they came back for another throw.

The Noxian front line clashed with the enemy's, while the reserves of Brightwood ran up the slope and their archers took up position to attack the halberds. The rebels had no idea that this was part of Darius' plan, and his hornblower knew what to do. He blew a short, triple note, signaling the start of phase two.

Almost a full day before this battle, two dozen Noxian scouts had taken position in prepared, camouflaged holes at the start of the slope, and now they burst out of their caves. Red in the colors of Noxus, they wore even less protective leather than Draven, but that didn't matter. The rebels' archers, caught completely by surprise and left defenseless, were struck down by flying knives and fast short swords, preventing them from providing any sort of support fire.

At the same time, a good 100 Noxian archers rose from slightly larger hiding places, which lay behind the protective line of the steadily marching halberds, and rained their arrows down on the end of the Brightwood reserves.

“A trap!” shouted a rebel soldier, whose neck was pierced by an arrow.

“Let's end this, brother!” said Darius, whose face was stained by the blood of his enemies. “Each a flank!”

Draven, on the other hand, was almost sclean, except for some dirt on his pants. “Like dancing, hehehe,” he laughed, and both led half of the front line to the edge of the halberd formation.

Thus the massive wall of steel advanced on the Brightwood forces, while the front troops surrounded their opponents from the other sides and the Noxian archers fired relentlessly at the rearmost ranks of the reserve. There was no way out for the Brightwood soldiers, so that in their desperation and with brute force, a large part of them threw themselves at the halberds. The heavily armored shield-bearers simply stopped and let their thick shields sink into the ground, even though they were still holding them. The weight and mass of the steel, together with the advantage of the slope, made the wall of halberds, who retreated their thrusting weapons, an impenetrable wall against which the enemy soldiers rained blows. The halberds thrust their weapons forward with force, bringing down the first 100 opponents. The fact that the next wave struck the halberds' shields with their swords, morning stars and axes did not prevent them from striking the next wave.

The sergeants of the Brightwood troops looked to their commander. “Sir, orders?!”

The commander tried to keep his composure, but the horror of the slaughter of his men was hard to bear. “Retreat! Immediate retreat!” he ordered the small remainder of his personal entourage, while Noxus once again earned himself.

As red as their banners and the cloth that could be seen on the sides of their armor, the battlefield was stained with the blood of their enemies, and there was only one thing left to do. It was an honor befitting of Darius as commander, and he climbed atop the highest pile of corpses to raise his two-handed axe in triumph and in the setting sun. “FOR NOXUS!” he shouted, proudly swelling his chest and reaping a wordless but powerful thumping from the breastplates of his troops, except for Draven. He was crestfallen that the party was over, but it didn't matter.

Once more, Noxus was able to add another notch to the endless number of victories and send a warning to the world. In the end, no one can stand against Noxus. At least that would be the message to the Noxian population.

Chapter 2

Summary:

After their victory, Darius and Draven return with 350 surviving soldiers to the nearby camp of the warband they are part of. The camp's strength, including their squad, is around 3,000 and it is under the command of General Marcus Du Couteau, a man from the old high nobility of Noxus. Darius wants to report to him, while Draven prefers the company of the simple soldiers and a victory celebration.

983 AN

 

Evening had fallen and an uncomfortable wind blew over the flat, surrounding grassy plain. However, that did not dampen the good mood in General De Couteau's warband, and between an endless sea of red tents and blazing communal fires, the Noxian soldiers got drunk and sang about their victories that day.

“Well then,” Draven took a deep breath of smoke and beer fumes. “Have fun with the General.”

“And don't you have too much fun,” Darius admonished his brother. He, like no other, knew about Draven's tendency to exaggerate. “Understood?”

“You're always just way too serious,” Draven appeased the demand. He couldn't resist a side blow. “Sometimes I really wonder how Quilletta puts up with you, you buzzkill.”

Darius was not a man who talked about his wife or two children. At least he didn't do so readily in public, and even his family was held up as a paragon of Noxian ideals for him. “Because she is stronger and more disciplined than any woman in the world and in Noxus.”

“I have a feeling it will soon be time for Uncle Draven to pay your chiildren a visit again,” Draven grinned promisingly. “It's hard to imagine what would happen if Decius and Invetia became too much like you. Neither Noxus nor the world could bear that, hehehe.”

Darius and his brother often had heated discussions about Draven's tendency to take things lightly, especially within Noxian military forces. But Darius still had a report to file, and duty always came first for him. “If you wake up in the middle of camp again in your own puke, I'll send you to the rearguard in the next battle,” he promised his brother as he marched toward the center of the camp with his cloak flying.

That was a horror concept for Draven. “No reason to put the ax on my neck,” he replied, sighing, but he was so quiet with his last words that it could hardly be heard. “I'll wake up at least in my own tent ... or whatever I make my tent.”

 

 

It was often difficult for Darius when it came to his brother, and not so much because he was his brother. Draven's talents in combat were exceptionally formidable, but he could be very selfish and always seeking personal glory and fun, coupled with a lack of discipline. Darius simply couldn't understand why his brother was like that and why he accepted the cornerstones of Noxus only half-heartedly. After all, they had both been orphans who had to endure harsh deprivations in their young years, and every day had been a struggle for survival before they had even come to Noxus. They knew the necessity of strength and an unbending will before they had been taught it again in Noxus. “General Du Couteau!” Darius greeted him with a blow to his own chest after entering the general's tent.

“Commander Darius,” Marcus nodded. Dressed in his usual style, he wore a fine purple cloak and underneath that, red silk, but that did nothing to soften his ever-present stern and expectant look, which was also reflected in his voice. “I assume congratulations are in order?”

“No, General,” Darius shook his head. In this battle, he had failed his superiors, where victory must be attained at any cost. “Our task was the complete annihilation of the enemy's flanking forces and the capture of the opposing commander, but he escaped with a few of his men.”

“So it is,” Marcus nodded, but even if the mission had only been partially accomplished, he appreciated the efficiency of the effort. “Still, I would have expected more casualties on your side. A true testament to Noxian superiority.”

“A sign, at best, General,” Darius respectfully countered. “It will be a true victory only when we crush the main force of Brightwood”

“One that is only days away,” Marcus said as he and the commander approached the map table. Several figures stood on the table, marked with the symbols of Noxus and their opponents. There were two lone figures off to the side, and he removed the opposing one and pushed the Noxian one toward the main force. “Our ruse worked, and we weakened Brightwood. Nevertheless, they still have the support of nearby counties and their hired mercenaries. It is said that there are also a handful of volunteers, Demacian soldiers in their ranks. This will not be an easy victory.“

”An easy victory would not be a true victory."

“Indeed,” Marcus agreed. “Thanks to your success today, my forces were also able to decimate the main troops of Brightwood. Now they are on the defensive and must await our move.

”And what move would that be?"

“First, we will strike a blow to the enemy's morale,” Marcus explained. He was a general, but he was also a master of the Du Couteau Assassin's Guild. “We will take out one of their heroes to show them that nothing and no one is safe from Noxus' grasp. For too many years, Brightwood has been free from our rule, and they have forgotten much.”

“We will remind them, General,” Darius promised, slapping his chest. “We will beat the enemy until they become our ally.”

“Excellent, commander,” Marcus agreed before dismissing his subordinate. “That will be all for now.”

“General,” Darius bowed his head and left the tent.

 

 

Marcus waited a moment before he went to his desk and took care of some parchments. Even here on the battlefield, he had to take care of the obligations as the lord of his house, as well as political activities. “If he were still available, he would be a good option as a husband for you,” he said openly. ‘A true son of Noxus, who would carry our standard everywhere and do everything for the glory and good of the empire.’

The general's tent was certainly the largest in the camp and accordingly equipped with amenities and privacy. Nevertheless, there were hardly any corners in which one could hide for a longer period of time and with sufficient privacy, but she had managed it. “It would be a waste of my talents,” said a young female voice, not very convinced. “Me, as a wife, with a swollen belly. Just an obstacle to my duties."

Marcus could only laugh about that, but not because it was funny. ‘When your mother carried your sister Cassiopeia under her heart, her belly was already visibly swollen and yet, during that time, she pulled off the greatest success of her life so far,’ he mentioned. Not that Marcus' wife Soreana was an accomplished assassin like him, but her struggle of politics and diplomacy was no less dangerous and her greatest success was of course known to his fifteen-year-old, eldest daughter. “So you see, a child in your womb is no obstacle. It's more of an excuse for weaklings.”

Katarina was both incited and honored that her mother was holding herself up as a standard for her. “I am not weak, nor is Darius, but would you accept a man like that?” Katarina asked as she emerged from behind some curtains. She had experienced first hand what a merciless teacher her father was, and she knew just as well that he was even harder to impress. “One from the very lowest rung?”

“Your tongue is as sharp as your knives, and yet still dull from lack of experience,” Marcus scoffed, slightly disappointed by his daughter's words. He didn't even blink in her direction, continuing his work. ‘He breathes and lives Noxus’ principles. He may have been a man of the lowest status, but like Noxus, he saw what he wanted and took it with strength. You, on the other hand, had the privilege of being born into a powerful family, raised on the deeds of our ancestors and sustained by those who possess the necessary strength. And so far you still owe me the proof of whether all the years of my efforts on you have been a waste.

“Then it was probably more than overdue that you summoned me today,” Katarina replied ambitiously. She did not go down on her knees, because if there was one thing a true Noxian did not do, it was kneeling. “What is my first mission to serve Noxus?

Here stood Marcus's firstborn daughter, the heiress of his house, and yet he had no qualms about putting her to use and sending her into grave danger, if only to finally gauge her worth. “You will sneak into the main camp of Brightwood and kill a sergeant. His name is Demetrius.”

Katarina accepted the order with an unchanging expression, but this task was not what she had expected and it angered her inwardly. “Consider it done,” she said, bowing her head. “Is there anything else to add?”

“No, begin your task,” Marcus dismissed his daughter, unmoved. “And don't disappoint me.”

Chapter 3

Summary:

In the darkness of the night, Katarina infiltrates the main camp of Brightwood to fulfill her first mission as an assassin. Driven by ambition and blinded by pride, she makes a decision that goes against her father's orders.

 

983 AN

 

 

Kill Corporal Demetrius – that was Katarina's very first, real mission as an assassin. She had waited long enough for this day, and she was angry, even outraged. Take out a simple corporal, who belonged to a mere peasant revolt?! He was probably a peasant himself, hardly able to wield a sword. This was to be Katarina's first victim? It was an insult to her, and she thought back to all the extremely hard years of training that had gone far beyond that of her father. How often had she snuck out at night to climb over the roofs of Noxus Prime, the capital of Noxus, to jump, undetected and on silent feet. She had committed burglary after burglary, especially in questionable pharmacies, where she stole poisons that she tested on herself and thus, in addition to the explanations from her books, also learned the practical effects of these remedies. Likewise, Katarina had been able to build up a certain resistance to a variety of poisons, although she was not immune. No, she had made her own decision and would certainly accomplish something far more effective with it. Instead of eliminating Demetrius, she focused on the opposing commander of the Brightoood forces. Eliminating him would not only give the Noxian forces an immense advantage, but would certainly leave a lasting impression on her father. After all, Marcus seemed impressed even by Darius, and that rankled with Katarina, because her father had spoken so often of legacy and glory, but someone who had risen from the gutter was worthy of his words of praise, but in all these years not one for her? She would change that tonight!

It was a night of the new moon, absolutely ideal for assassins. Even the many torches and guard fires couldn't bring enough light into the darkness to make Katarina visible for even a second. Whether between the tents or over their soft roofs, on which she left no dents in the fabric or footprints in the earth, the assassin penetrated deep into the enemy camp. She didn't even have to take out a single guard, so great was her skill as she approached the tent of the commander-in-chief. But how would she kill him? Katarina was neither diabolical nor cruel, but she only wanted to achieve the best possible effect. So sending him into eternal sleep with a simple poison would not do it. A more painful poison would certainly have a deterrent effect, but that did not occur to her either, and she realized that only the blade itself could serve as a message. Silently, she murdered the sleeping man, with a bloody cut through the throat and soaked in the living red of her victim, Katarina drew the symbol of Noxus on the white tent wall above the head of his bunk. Katarina had done it, but she was not satisfied. Even this success seemed far too easy to her as she stood in the semi-darkness of the tent, her emerald eyes gleaming in the twilight as she surveyed the dead man. She knew that the mark of a master assassin was the fact that no one saw them coming or going. Katarina, however, didn't just want to be a master assassin, as every other had always been – she wanted to be the assassin! She went to the commander-in-chief's planning table and, after memorizing the latest information on the enemy, she deliberately knocked over an inkwell.

The clink of the glass was enough to alert the two guards outside the tent, and they rushed in, startled. There they saw her, this figure in the semi-darkness, her mouth and nose covered, but her eyes glowing, like those of a demon. “Commander!” said one of the guards, seeing the sign of Noxus and the bloody corpse on the cot. ‘MURDERER! ALERT!’

Faster than the wind, like the shadows of the night itself, Katarina disappeared from the tent and began her escape, in the now stirred up camp. She was so sure of herself that not even an alarmed camp would see her again, let alone catch her. It was a small extra hurdle that made her feel better about this mundane first mission. As sly as a lynx, she followed every movement, no matter how small, and listened to the trampling of countless iron feet, along with the rustling of chain mail, and she realized that this would delay her return to the Noxian camp until the early morning, but that didn't matter. Her mission had been accomplished, and she would be happy to report to her father what she had done.

 

 

The day had dawned, even if the sun was still waiting and only its dawn was shining on the horizon. It was still bright enough, though, and in the main Noxian camp the first soldiers began to awaken from their sleep, or coma. No one in Noxus denied their soldiers the intoxication of victory as long as they were ready for their duties afterwards. Stomachs able to hold their liquor were therefore a great advantage, but a tub of cold water or a friendly kick from a sober comrade or encouraging officer helped just as much.

General Marcus was not affected in this regard and he had already been on his feet when the first light had appeared, talking to his logistic advisors, protected by his personal guard, in his opened tent. “So we have enough oil barrels?” he asked, while his faithful servant brought him a fresh fish and potatoes.

“More than enough, General,” the head of logistics confirmed. The same fish was also served for breakfast to the advisors, which was sometimes a habit of the general. His guests had to eat first, and they did so. “With this, we can fumigate and burn down the forests in the vicinity twice. Brightwood must therefore meet us in an open field.”

“Then we will deal them the final blow tomorrow,” Markus decided before turning to his fish. He was able to be in a camp full of rough, lowly soldiers, but he ate in a manner befitting his rank and heritage. “It's about time to return to Noxus Prime. I heard that Imperator Darkwill has new plans in mind.”

“You are too kind to share this information with us,” the head of logistics thanked him. After all, he was a man of nobility, albeit of a little-known house. “Was there also mention what our emperor has in mind?”

“Does it matter?” Marcus asked rhetorically. “What he commands is our will, for his will is Noxus' will.”

“Of course. Forgive me, General.”

“An alert mind is always welcome, but it should know his limits and focus on what lies ahead,” Marcus advised, although he was adept at feeding curiosity and duty. “And if, thanks to your help, what lies ahead is crowned with success, I will mention that to our Imperator in glowing terms, and perhaps then you will learn about and even be included in what he has in mind."

This prospect visibly pleased the advisors. “We will not disappoint our emperor or you,” promised the head of logistics. “Then I will make another run after this breakfast to provide the barrels you need for your plans.”

“So be it,” Marcus agreed, and everyone enjoyed the rest of breakfast.

 

 

Half an hour later, with the dawn growing ever brighter, the general walked with his adjutants and his guard through a part of the camp to inspect it. “Darius' men will definitely form the vanguard,” Marcus decided. “They have more than earned that honor an-

Suddenly, a thunderous noise went through the camp, as if dozens of horses and crashing wood. Alarmed and surprised screams went along with the sound of clashing steel, which was only drowned out by angry warriors. Several tents were pulled down as several mounted horses and a single cart appeared. All the riders had bales of Brightwood fabric around their torsos, and on the cart stood a fearsome man with his face smeared in ash.

“Demetrius?!” Marcus cried, caught off guard as his personal guard leapt into action. Just in time, the men managed to raise their shields and extend their spears, causing the charging horses to shy back and knock some of their riders off.

This did not stop the invaders, however, who immediately rose again, drew their weapons and, enraged, struck down the approaching Noxian soldiers, while the remaining riders swarmed out and wreaked havoc in the camp.

Demetrius remained in place as he leaped from the cart and, like a berserker, smashed a dozen Noxian soldiers with his huge, two-handed morning star. All the while, the rebel's eyes were fixed on Marcus, whose personal guard took turns facing the raging corporal. Demetrius took injuries, but he refused to be stopped by the guards, who he dispatched one by one, until Marcus was in range.

The general's robe was not exactly the best armor for defending one's skin, and the storm and recklessness with which Demetrius confronted him had caught the experienced assassin guild master still completely by suprise. He grabbed one of the guards' shields lying around to absorb the mighty force of the morning star. However, the shield almost broke in the process, and Marcus not only flew through the air, but also felt his arm bone break. As he fell, he suffered a laceration on his head.

“Now you will pay, Noxian bastard!” Demetrius announced as he swung the maul down at the general.

Marcus saw the jagged club descend on his face when, out of nowhere, a mighty two-handed axe crashed against the maul and both weapons became wedged over the general.

It was Darius who had come to his general's aid and with the greatest of effort, he managed to repel Demetrius' attack. No words were exchanged and the commander entered into a fierce duel with the rebel, who was more than a match for him.

While the two warriors fought each other, however, more and more Noxian soldiers came to their aid and the few angry Brightwood soldiers ultimately fell to the superior numbers.

“Corporal Demetrius!” shouted one of two rebel riders who rushed to the aid of their ally.

Darius knocked one of them from his horse by cutting the animal's front legs off with his axe.

However, this was enough time for Demetrius to swing himself onto the saddle of the other rider and flee with him. “THIS IS NOT YET OVER, NOXIAN! WE WILL NEVER SURRENDER!”

 

 

“General!” Darius said, rushing to his aid, followed by Marcus's aides. “Are you badly hurt? How could this happen?”

Marcus had survived far worse injuries, although today death had been only centimeters from his face. “I'm fine,” he managed to say between his lips. He didn't want to appear too weak in front of his soldiers when he was helped up. “And it seems that someone has failed completely.” He did not address these words to Darius, for his eyes stared across the square in contempt.

Katarina had not heard her father's words at that distance, but his gaze for the assassin was stronger than a thousand words could have been. She had heard the name Demetrius echo through the camp on her return and she realized that this enemy of her abilities had been more than worthy. There was only one thing she could do now, and as the daughter and heir of her house, and for the honor of the Du Couteau Guild, she would punish Demetrius and fulfill her mission, just as her father had instructed. Katarina set out immediately and went in pursuit.

While Darius took the general to the nearest healing tent and the rest of the Noxians hurried like chickens through the camp, between debris, corpses and injured, a tired yawn came from the only tent in the near vicinity that had not been knocked down. “All right, all right, I'm up,” Draven murmured hungrily. His upper body was naked and he rubbed his eyes. “Hopefully you smelly Poros have already made breakfast, eh, hu?” Darius' brother's eyes wandered less in horror than in amazement at the chaos. “I shouldn't wake up in my own puke, but the rest let themselves go like that?” he shook his head. His skull was buzzing and he saw a dead, seated soldier next to his tent, who had a plate of breakfast on his lap. “Are you still eating that? No? Can I have it? Ho very kind of you.” With these thanks and a hearty meal in the morning, Draven retired to his tent.

Chapter 4

Summary:

Katarina is hunting for Demetrius, but will his death be enough to rehabilitate herself in her father's eyes? At the same time, General Marcus receives a message from Noxus Prime.

983 AN

Brightwood, near the western Noxian border.

 

The horse's tracks became clearer and Katarina had been jumping from tree to tree for an hour. However, she wasn't trying to catch Demetrius before he returned to the enemy camp. She was fast, but she would have trouble catching a horse under fire, and she didn't want to. Demetrius should enjoy his supposed victory before Katarina would infiltrate the now alarmed camp of the enemies of Noxus once more and show them the futility of their cause once and for all. She also wanted to take a short break to catch her breath and let the events sink in. Why hadn't her father told her how dangerous this Demetrius was? Was he testing her obedience again? Hadn't she passed test after test after test for years?! Was he just waiting for her to make a mistake, or was he jealous because she had surpassed him long ago?! No, that wasn't it. She was Noxian and she had failed, she and only she. Nevertheless, she would definitely confront her father as soon as she returned with Demetrius' head, when something snapped her out of her thoughts and challenged her trained reflexes to evade.

Only millimeters away from the assassin's left eye, a knife sliced through her skin, leaving a visible, bloody wound. The eye was only just missed.

Katarina landed between two trees and grasped the affected eye to wipe away the blood, but it immediately flowed back in and obstructed her vision. Nevertheless, she searched for the source of the attack when a knife flew out of a bush and toward her, which she deflected with her blade.

Whoever the attacker was, he was silent and swift at the same time.

Katarina immediately suspected that this could only be another assassin and that he had come to kill her. She was ready and drew her blades.

The thought was fully realized and from his hiding place, the attacker observed every little movement of the masked woman. Again, he sensed the same carelessness in his target as he had seen before and attacked.

 

Much later, in the main Noxian camp, the excitement had died down and the damage had been repaired.

Marcus had been patched up, with a splint for his broken arm and stitches on his head, but continued to work as if nothing had happened. At the moment, he was reading a letter that was lying in front of him before the severed head of Demetrius landed next to the document and he still didn't look up. “So many years,” he murmured in utter disappointment. “And in your very first mission, you tear down all the pillars of hard work, or no, they were always fragile. You always thought you were too good, the best, and in the end you couldn't control your pride and ambition. That's why you forgot one of the most important lessons that our guild teaches – the greatest assassins don't crave recognition or fame. We serve in the shadows and don't question orders.

Katarina listened quietly as she ran her fingers over the deep cut, marked with dried blood. “Just like the one you sent after me before I plunged the blade into his heart.”

“Yes, he also paid the price for your shame,” Marcus replied coolly. He had no regrets about sending an assassin, one of his own protégés, after his own daughter, and he still didn't give her the courtesy of a glance as he finished reading the letter. “And though he was only from the lower ranks of our guild, he had internalized this important lesson.”

“And I had considered letting you share Demetrius' fate as well,” Katarina admitted just as indifferently, before humbly bowing her proud neck and head. ”But on the way back here, I realized that you did the right thing by ordering my death. I have failed as a daughter of a noble house, as an assassin, and most of all, as a Noxian.” She once more ran her hand over the wound on her eye, even though it was only a visible wound. ”I will forever bear the consequences of these actions.

“The first wisdom from your tongue, but too late,” Marcus said. He took the letter from the table and walked past his daughter without a second thought. “Get ready to leave. We're returning to Noxus Prime.”

“Yes, General,” Katarina replied. Before her failure, she would have questioned why, but that was gone forever. She vowed to redeem her failure at all costs. She knew that she had lost her father's favor forever, no matter what deeds she would accomplish, but that was no longer of any consequence, because it never was. She would serve Noxus loyally, always.

 

In his tent, Darius was conversing with Draven and a female sergeant when General Du Couteau entered. “General!” he and the sergeant slapped each other on the chest. His brother, on the other hand, merely raised a hand.

“Commander,” Marcus nodded, the indiscipline of Draven was not new to him, but he tolerated it for the moment. “I have big news.”

“Should I send my soldiers out?”

“No, the sergeants may remain,” Marcus conceded. He held the letter from Noxus Prime in his hand, which he demonstratively showed rolled up. “There are new orders from the capital.”

Darius nodded gratefully. “Well, what words does Imperator Darkwill send us?”

“Of great victory,” Marcus replied. He didn't believe the message at first, but he didn't doubt its veracity. “After all this time, Noxus has finally established a beachhead in Shurima.”

Darius and his sergeant exchanged astonished glances, while Draven spoke. “That barren desert?” he said, unimpressed. “I thought the emperor had abandoned all campaigns on the southern continent?”

“Noxus never gives up,” Darius corrected his brother with far more severity than usual. “Shurima's barren lands have few suitable landing options, and as far as I know, all that was needed were new plans, which now seem to have borne fruit. Who accomplished this feat that so many others have failed at?”

“The heir to House Swain, Jericho.”

“Jericho?” Darius sat up. He hadn't had much contact with him, but he recognized the name. “I've heard of him. He's had some impressive victories here on the western border as well.”

Marcus noticed the interest. “Do you admire him?”

“I respect anyone who fulfills their duty to Noxus,” Darius said laudably. “But a man who could finally land a Shurima? Yes, that deserves a certain admiration.”

“Perhaps you can expect a little of the same,” Marcus suggested without much fanfare. “I'm being ordered back to Noxus Prime with immediate effect, and in my place you will lead this warband from now on, with the rank of supreme commander.

Darius also did not make a big deal out of the news, but accepted it as an honor and a duty. “I will make Noxus proud and carry our standard deeper to the west, General,” he promised, before Draven and the sergeant began to beat themselves on the left chest in time.

General Marcus waited a proper time for this praise to come to an end. “So shall it be,” the general nodded, and he left the tent. “I expect you in my tent in an hour, when we will discuss the details of your impending victory and what follows.”

“By your command, General!”

“Well deserved, Supreme Commander,” the female sergeant congratulated Darius.

Draven's fingers and toes were itching far more, but he waited a few extra seconds to make sure General Du Couteau was out of range. ‘Woo-hoo, Supreme Commander! Now we can finally show how good we really are!’

“You know that I rarely approve of your way of doing things!” Darius said urgently, so that he visibly curbed his brother's exuberant euphoria. However, it was one of the few occasions when Darius had tricked Draven. “But on this occasion, you are more than right!” “Oh yes!” Draven grinned enthusiastically. ‘And I suppose that makes your sergeant into commanders?’ ‘With all the privileges,’ Darius noted, but he added a joke: ‘And far more duties.’

Draven's grin got smaller, but he saw the good in it. “Well, at least you can't push me into the rearguard anymore and I can transfer myself to the front.”

“As a good commander should do, leading by example,” Darius praised his brother, glancing at the female sergeant as well. “With strength and wit.”

“Then we will have the opportunity to put that into practice in the approaching battle!” the sergeant affirmed. “For Noxus!”

 

For Noxus, spoken more than once that day and carried like an echo on the winds over the heads of the Noxian legions when the sun was at its highest and shone over their 3000 backs. Set up in solid, long blocks at the front, covered by heavy cavalry on the right and supported by hundreds of archers and mechanical catapults, which were stationed far behind the Noxian lines.

The woods to the left of the battlefield had only been partially set on fire, for the forces of Brightwood had been more than halved and no sophisticated tactics were to be expected. Some 2000 of them still stood against the Noxians, bereft of many officers, knights, and all of their mercenaries after losing their supreme commander and Demetrius. A large part of them were just drafted militias, simple citizens who had never really fought before and were called to fight against Noxus by their leaders, especially the nobility, and now had been abandoned by almost all of them.

Darius, however, was a different man, for he was a man of his word and of his actions at the frontline. “Forward!” he commanded, swinging his axe. “ATTACK!”

The necessary flags and signals were raised, with the marvels of engineering in the rearmost ranks of Noxus making a start. Propelled by a complex system of cogs and chains, the momentum of which was fueled by a hot fire in their steel belly, their tracks hurled flaming oil barrels far across the battlefield. Their aim was not particularly accurate, but the barrels that were distributed slammed into the last rows of the enemy forces, unleashing small infernos that scattered some of the troops from Brightwood.

Led by Darius, the front third of the Noxian force charged forward, the rest following at a slow walk as the flaming barrels flew over the heads of the troops and painted a hellish path through the sky.

The fire in their ranks was one reason, as was the desperation, but Brightwood's troops began to run towards their enemies with loud cries of rage.

Only the birds or the gods themselves could see from above the two walls of flesh and steel running towards each other, over a once green sea of meadows, now marked by fire, smoke and furrows. The last barrels landed in the enemy lines before the two avalanches of troops met and all that could be heard was the clashing of steel and the thunderous cries of battle. The battle lasted a full hour, but in the end Leuchtgrund was outnumbered, had no real support, and was far less experienced than their opponents. If there was one thing Noxians did in most cases, it was treat a brave enemy with respect, especially after beating them.

Noxus had lost nearly 500 soldiers and had to care for several hundred lightly and seriously wounded. Of Leuchtgrund's original 2000, around 600 survived and were sitting as prisoners in large groups all over the place, guarded by Noxian infantry and awaiting their fate. Except for the wind and the blowing of the Noxian flags, nothing else could be heard.

In the midst of this crowd of captives, Darius walked slowly until he was as close to the center as possible. Here they had set up a primitive megaphone for him. It was a kind of funnel that amplified the voice of anyone who had one as loud as Darius'. “A fight always reveals the truth,” he began meaningfully. “And the truth is that the decades-long absence of Noxus has done the lands of Brightwood no favors."

Not a prisoner's voice was raised, but they clenched their fists and, still ready for a fight, their eyes were filled with anger.

“But I'm not talking about the fact that you were beaten,” Darius sincerely clarified. “Instead, you were abandoned by almost everyone who had first called you together and united you for this fight, and yet you stayed and faced the indomitable strength of Noxus.”

None of the captives spoke it, but some looked sideways or at each other, and all knew that the Noxian spoke the truth. The common people had been abandoned.

“With this strength, we will take Brightwood back under the Noxian banner after all these years and ensure that such courage is not left unrewarded and that those who shirk their duties are punished,” Darius promised, and in connection with his words, he offered his hand. ”Therefore, stand up. If you want peace and order to return to your homeland, you can only do so by rising up and demanding it - join Noxus. Become our brothers and sisters and regain the glory that your forefathers secured before they were robbed of it. Just as you would fight against us, you now have the choice of a better future and your freedom.

The prisoners couldn't believe what they were hearing. Many had expected the worst: death, slavery, or oppression, as they had often been warned about Noxus. Instead, they were now offered a chance at something greater, on equal terms with those who could determine their fate. Nevertheless, the offer was not immediately accepted, and many faces betrayed that they were thinking about what had been said. Not everyone believed the Noxian one hundred percent, and some were simply afraid, but slowly the first rebels stood up and looked approvingly at Darius. Yes, these brave men and women had been abandoned after they had been drawn into the fight. This sting of betrayal was just as much a motivation to follow the belief in something better, with more and more rebels rising up, ready to fight under the banner of Noxus.

Chapter 5

Summary:

Much of the southern coastal region, stretching far into the western reaches of the northern continent, remained part of the Noxian Empire even after decades of Demacian intervention. At the westernmost edge of this region, just beyond the Gates of Mourning, lie the rocky hills of Trevale. It is a place where the Empire cultivates farms. Each harvest is hard-won from the land, and mostly reaped by the hands of war orphans. One such orphan is a young girl on the cusp of womanhood, who has always dreamed of a life that offers more than the meager bread earned from her hard labor.

983 AN

Southern coastal region of Noxus, hill country of Trevale

 

If there was one thing that Noxus' constant expansion and conflicts brought about, it was an excess of war orphans. Many of them were put to work on empire-built farms and similar workshops. This was not about slavery or cheap labor, although it was seen that way outside of Noxus. In fact, it was intended to strengthen the children and produce those who would one day be more worthy of serving the empire in the field or at least have some other vital use.

“Time to eat!” shrilled Korquichs' voice. He was a one-eyed, elderly yordle and rang the break bell. “Come on now! Those who are not there on time will go hungry until dinner!”

Most of the children, who were between the ages of seven and sixteen, hastily ran off. Their origins, species, and gender were also very diverse, although humans were slightly in the majority.

One of these children was Riven, a girl of 15 years of age, who had short-cropped white hair and dark brown eyes. She was not hurrying to get to the midday meal, however, because she was carrying a heavy sack of grain on her broad, well-muscled arms and broad shoulders, which she wanted to take to the barn. She wasn't worried about not having anything more to eat, because she was one of the best workers on the farm and she was on good terms with Korchuch, who always gave her a little leeway. Besides, the yordle didn't have the last word.

“Come on, Riven,” said Asa Konte. He was forty years old, her adoptive father and the owner of this farm, and had a scraggly black-gray goatee. He had once served in the Noxian army himself, but after he lost his right forearm, he was no longer able to fully perform his duties and retired. “Time to eat.”

“Right away,” Riven wheezed. She heaved the sack of grain from her shoulders onto the stack in the barn and then wiped the sweat from her brow. “Besides, the bread and vegetables won't run away on me.”

“Yes, but that's all that's left,” Asa pointed out with a grin. “Korquich delivered the last load to the warehouse and, as a reward for the surplus, we got meat.”

Meat. That was like a magic word that Riven would have liked to have heard sooner. “Really?” she replied. For the children of this and other farms, meat was a rarity and the greatest reward they could get, and Riven was very confident. “As if the rest of them would dare not leave me any meat.”

“You're probably right, but come now,” Asa nodded in the direction of the main house where he and his wife Shava lived. “Besides, we have a surprise for you children.”

Two surprises in one day? Riven had only memories of this farm and could not remember ever having experienced anything like this. “What could be better than meat?”

“You'll see,” Asa promised. He and his wife had no children of their own, but they had both served in the military and were well aware of the fate of war orphans. They were good people who nevertheless lived by the principles of Noxus. That included a lot of rigor, as well as fairness, and they were by no means cruel or without feelings, because blood alone did not determine family for them, and they tried to teach their adopted children that as well.

Riven was one of the children who had taken these teachings well. “Well, if you say so, there must be something to it.”.

 

In the large, rustic dining room of the main house, twenty-five people were sitting at long tables. Many had already had their portions and it all looked like a barracks where soldiers ate their rations. Korquich was waiting at the wooden counter, where only one plate was left, his fingers were tapping. “Well, Riven, at last!“ he grumbled, followed by a grin. ‘I saved you a piece of meat.’

”You mean you warned the others,” Riven suspected with amusement, while she filled her plate with a loaf of bread, cabbage, and the aforementioned roasted piece of meat.

“I did mention beatings, yes,” Korquich laughed. He didn't own the farm or have final say over the children, but his role was that of an Imperial overseer. He judged the progress of potential recruits and handled everything related to harvest yields and logistics. “Now enjoy your chunk. I've already tried it myself. This is really fine quality and melts in your mouth.“

”Thank you Korquich,” Riven nodded in respect to the yordle. She knew he was a good guy too. At least when he wasn't pushing the slide rule and raging at shortages or drinking too much. Riven walked between the full tables and the smell of roasted meat rose to her nose. Of course, no one had dared to leave her anything. For a girl, at 1.80 meters she was not only considerably tall, but also very strong. Not that she was bulging with exaggerated muscles, but the taut lines of her body were clearly defined.

“That looks really delicious,” Ranos said. He was a Vastaya, whose features were mainly human, but he had the ears and nose of a rabbit and was very tall at 1.95 meters. He simply took the meat of a smaller boy. “And you apparently took the biggest piece of meat - by what right?!”

Confrontations were not uncommon among the orphans, no matter where, but for Miko it was all still new. “I-I just took what was available,” he mentioned with his eyes cast down. He was also a Vastaya, just 10 years old, and resembled a mixture of half human and half fish. “I didn't mean any harm.”

Vastaya were the descendants of an ancient species and their name was more of an umbrella term, since they came in a very wide variety. Their ancestors had harnessed the power of the spirit realm so that they could change their forms. This resulted in the enormous diversity among their descendants, since they could be many things, although the vastaya were usually unable to change their appearance: humanoid cats, humans with wolf tails, dragon-like lizards, something like Ranos and Miko and many more.

“No harm? You don't deserve any!” Ranos said, slapping Mikos' piece of meat onto his own plate, while his two, somewhat younger adoptive brothers giggled behind him. “Wimp!”

Riven could clearly hear the call of battle and after she had put down her plate, she intervened. “What are you doing, Ranos?”

“Nothing special, sister,” Ranos shrugged. “I'm just teaching our new brother that special gifts have to be earned and he hasn't earned any.”

“Give him back his meat,” Riven demanded calmly. She wasn't frightened by the superior numbers of Ranos and his two brothers.

“The mighty Riven,” Ranos smirked. “So strong and yet with a fatal weakness. You always try to bring the unworthy along with you.”

The scene naturally had the full attention of all the adoptive siblings in the room, which didn't bother Riven. She was completely focused on Ranos. “You're 16 and he's 10,” she stated openly. “Besides, he's only been with us for two months.”

“All the more important that he learns how it's done,” Ranos agreed, now devoting his full attention to his sister. “You're not doing him any favors!”

“He worked hard for the meat, like all of us.”

“Worked hard? The little runt is the slowest of us all!”

Riven smirked. “He reminds me of a certain rabbit I knew a few years ago, who was much older than he was when he arrived here.”

Many siblings chuckled softly, which made Ranos angry. “Okay, you want to defend your little brother? Defend him!” he demanded, stomping over to Riven.

“Enough!” a more mature female voice said. It was Shava, who had been watching everything. “No fighting, show some discipline!”

The brawlers stopped, Riven looking at her adoptive mother. “I was just trying to beat some sense into Ranos.”

“I heard and saw everything,” Shava said sternly. “And Ranos is right.”

Ranos grinned, while Riven narrowed her eyes. “But, Mother!”

“Enough now!” Shava said, raising her index finger. “If Miko really wanted to, he would have defended himself. This only shows that he really needs to learn what life is like. Without strength and will, it is nothing but suffering.”

Riven didn't dare to contradict her. “Of course... Mother,” she murmured to herself, but there was one thing she could do. “Then I'll...”

“You will give him nothing of yourself!” Shava cut her daughter off. “Now, sit down and eat. Miko should be grateful that there is anything on his plate. Noxus takes care of his children. Elsewhere, he would probably starve.

Even Korquich was a little nervous around Shava, and he looked back and forth between her and Riven before slipping away.

All was quiet and Riven at least sat with Miko, before all the children ate in silence. Miko stared with sad, longing eyes and silently smacking mouth at the other children's pieces of meat before breaking his bread and eating.

Once the silence had been secured, Asa spoke up. “So enjoy your meal and listen carefully,” he announced with a certain pride. “I received word earlier that we will have a larger warband in the area in a few days, and you know what that means.

Many of the older ones and the children who had been here for a while pricked up their ears, but they remained silent and ate their meal.

“It's a chance for many to be drafted by the warband and to serve Noxus, to earn respect and a place in our society,” Asa said from experience, although of course he only mentioned the good parts. He knew that his children would have to experience the rest for themselves. “So show what you have learned and what strength lies within you. Not only will this open up a new life for you, but you will also make your parents proud, because I know that I am not raising weaklings.”

Yes, that was the truth. Asa and Shava demanded a lot from their children, but they did so with a grindstone and a mind, and whenever they saw one of their children leave, a piece of them left to serve Noxus once more and secure the realm.

This surprise was truly successful and with the end of Asa's little speech, a crowd of children fell into excited chatter, with Riven not being one of them. Her discipline was great and she did not let herself be overcome by joy, although it was abundant in her.

 

Despite this big news, the rest of the day went by like any other, and after work and dinner, the orphans had their only free time. Riven often used this time to sit on a small hill on the north side of the farm. With the clear night sky above her and the very fresh climate, the seemingly endless mountain range of the Argent Mountains rose on the horizon. No matter which direction Riven looked, they didn't end in the west or the east, and since time immemorial, these mountains had served as a natural barrier for the central lands of Valoran against Noxus, as well as for Noxus against their enemies. Finally, Riven's chance had come to turn her dreams into reality. The last warband had passed through here over a year ago, and back then she had been in bed with a fever.

“Big day coming up, eh?” a voice murmured from the side.

Riven looked at the yordle overseer. “A long overdue one.”

“Yes,” Korquich laughed, smokily. “And it's probably for the best. Then you'll finally stop filling my ears with how you're going to raise your blade for Noxus and be a hero of the Empire.”

“And you came out in the cold of the evening just to tell me that?” Riven chuckled.

Korquich looked around once. When he felt safe, he sat down next to the girl and lit a cigarette with a match. “That and this,” he said, taking a small piece of roasted meat out of his pocket. “Give this to the little boy if you want.”

Riven was surprised and hesitated to take the meat. “But mother said-”

“Come now, it's just another lesson,” Korquich waved her off. “If you really want to, you're there for your comrades in the field. No soldier can win a war alone. Besides, I don't want that little Mizo to collapse at work because he's too scrawny.”

“His name is Miko,” Riven corrected before taking the piece of meat and tucking into it. “Thank you.”

“Now don't go all mushy on me,” Korquich laughed, relaxed and enjoying his cigarette.

Chapter 6

983 AN

Southern Coastal Region of Noxus, hill country of Trevale

 

Miko tried his best. The sack he was dragging was much larger than he was, but he didn't give up and dragged it inch by inch.

Some of his adopted siblings laughed at him and laughed behind their hands.

At the same time, he had long since reached the third breath and was barely making any progress, as he was so close to the cart that he was too loaded. He brought the sack to the cart, but he was unable to lift it and he looked at the ground, his face drenched with sweat, gasping for air.

The siblings, who were also bringing their sacks to the cart, didn't make the slightest effort to help him and even looked down on him.

He hoped that his big sister Riven would help him, but she was standing next to the barn just watching him. She had given him a piece of meat last night, which made him so happy that he wanted to work much harder for it.

Riven's expression, however, was stern and she leaned against the barn, tapping it with her foot.

When Miko was sure that no one else was looking at him, he reached into his pocket and took out a tiny piece of meat, which he quickly ate. He got a nod from Riven, but he noticed that the nod was more towards the ground, towards her pounding foot. There he saw a rope lying and it dawned on him. He looked for Riven's gaze and she smiled before Miko hurried to the rope. With it, he climbed onto the cart and managed to pull up the much-too-heavy sack.

Korquich had seen that. “Not bad, kid, and now even faster!”

Miko had new motivation and ran back to the barn smiling.

Riven brushed a strand of hair out of his face and was about to continue working when a horn sounded in the distance that was all too familiar to her.

Immediately, her brothers and sisters, as well as Korquich and Shava, paused, and while the adults slowly made their way towards the southeast hill, all the children ran as if they had been stung by bees. It was one of those moments when indiscipline and being a child was tolerated, even desired.

 

From the southeast hill, the road led into a valley, so that the Noxian banners and thousands of soldiers resembled a red sea that had already filled half of this valley and was steadily growing. Despite their distance, the steps of the advancing troops still made the earth tremble slightly, along with the hooves of their horses and the wheels of the wondrous war machines they carried. Drumbeats marked the march, and as the clouds parted, even a handful of Noxian transport and war airships, carried by spherical balloons, appeared.

As the last to arrive, Asa reached the southeast hill and he brought a well-maintained Noxian banner with him. He rammed its silver steel into the ground where it was clearly visible before putting his left arm around his wife and enjoying the display of Noxian power with her and their mostly seated children.

The larger the warband became and approached the farmlands, the more the troops concentrated and used the given paths instead of trampling the harvested fields. One of these paths led past Konte Farm in an arc, with a rider approaching the family. “Noxus greets his brothers and sisters,” said the man, with a blow to the chest. He wore light armor and a full helmet, but from the sound of his voice, he seemed to be at least 50 or older.

Immediately, Asa and Shava fell back into military mode and returned the greeting with a blow to the chest. “How can we serve you?” Shava asked, with the children now also standing up and greeting the foreign soldier accordingly.

“We will set up camp further north from here,” the rider replied. “Meanwhile, our general would like to pay a visit to you and the surrounding farms.”

“We will be happy to receive the general,” Asa nodded obediently. “Who is leading this warband?”

“My lord, General Jericho Swain. Expect his arrival in an hour!” the rider announced before spurring his horse and riding back to the formation.

“You heard it, family!” Asa said in drill tone. “Until the general arrives, I want all sacks and wagons out of the yard! Forward!”

 

With their stomachs full of meat and the prospect of a general paying his respects to the farm, the children finished today's work at a rapid pace. This allowed Korquich, along with some workers from the city of Trevale, to take the carts of grain away and the Konte family awaited the arrival of the general with more banners flying.

Life on the farm was hard and there was no luxury, but for such special occasions, the children at least had a set of decent Noxian recruit's clothing. This included the red linen shirt and black balloon-like trousers, and matching practical shoes, which they put on after a round at the wash tub.

When a bugle announced the general, the courtyard was like a barracks. The children lined up in an orderly row, with the oldest and tallest at the front. Those who were too young or small stood in the second row, simply because they were not yet ready for possible recruitment.

Asa and Shava had also put on their old ceremonial uniforms, with a dark cloak over them.

This time, no horse appeared, while a cohort of personal guards took up position at several points in smaller and one large group. Judging by his armor, the messenger from before was also present, only this time he wasn't wearing a helmet and his scarred face, with a burnt-out eye, clearly stood out.

Looking almost like an ordinary officer, a man with white-grey, longer hair that fell to his shoulders entered the courtyard. While he wore a flexible breastplate, underneath it was a practical, dashing jacket sewn with golden thread, and what at first glance looked like a cape was in fact a Noxian coat, but he only wore it over his shoulders and did not have his arms in the sleeves.

“General Swain,” Asa greeted the commander respectfully. “We are honored by your visit. Welcome to Konte Farm.”

Swain took his time and his eyes carefully inspected both the couple and their children. Judging by his striking facial features, which alone demanded that he be taken seriously, one could have guessed his age to be at least 40 or more. When he raised his weighty voice, which nevertheless carried a certain calmness, he revealed himself to be a man who should always be listened to. “Captain Asa Konte, hero of the Rokrund Plunder,” he first acknowledged the man, since his past deed was more honorable. ‘Shava Konte, the best lance-rider south of the Argent Mountains. The Empire greets you.’

Both Asa and Shava were amazed that the general was aware of this. “Deeds of the past,” Shava said modestly. “That you know of them and mention them at all honors us all the more.”

“Only a disrespectful fool would enter foreign grounds without learning their history first,” Swain replied, approaching relatively close to the couple for a high-ranking officer and nobleman, with the older messenger at his back. “At least if he values his life.”

Asa smiled, while the expressions of his wife and Swain remained unchanged. “Or he has the strength to defend his ignorance.”

“Excellent,” Swain nodded in agreement before subtly imposing himself. “The only question is whether your children have internalized this teaching.”

Asa and Shava approached the general and began to walk with him along the first row of their children. “We have prepared them very well for a life of toil,” Shava said conscientiously. “No other farm is as productive as ours. I think that speaks for itself.”

“Partly,” Swain replied. Whether he was impressed, however, was obscured. “Do you give your children combat training as well?”

“No.”

“No?” Swain murmured, interested. “Why is that?”

Shava ash to her husband, for he had decided this philosophy. “To not weaken them,” said Asa. “Our connection to them should not influence them or transfer possible peculiarities. If they serve Noxus once, they must experience the fight and everything that goes with it without us.”

“An unusual but clever approach,” Swain said, a little praise at last. “I'd like to see how it plays out.”

“A demonstration exercise?”

“I had a bit more in mind,” Swain revealed when he arrived at Ranos. He paid the tall Vastaya a little more attention, which made the boy grin confidently. Swain then looked directly at Riven, who was about the same height as him, and gave him a serious, hungry look. “Tell me, girl – could you send all your siblings to the dust without any combat experience?“

Without blinking, Riven replied, ‘The question of ’could' is not applicable, General Swain – because I already have.”

“Our past may hold clues, but it does not illuminate the present,” Swain said. He sensed potential in the young woman, her seemingly unbending will and a desire for a test of her strength. “But if you're so sure of yourself, could you do the same to the children of other farms, who have likely already received some basic training in combat?”

“Give me the chance,” Riven demanded, eager to answer the question for himself rather than for others. “And blood will flow for Noxus - theirs or mine.”

Swain gave what could be called a smirk, but it made him more threatening than approachable. “My favorite kind of soldier,” Swain said. Then he turned around so that he was speaking to both the couple and the children, and he meant what he said. “My warband is building a small arena in our camp. Tomorrow night, all the farm families will appear and compete against each other. Blood will flow, but only with training weapons. Many of you will die sooner or later, but on a battlefield and not pointlessly.”

All the children of the Konte stamped their feet in unison and placed their fists on their chests with hammers, making Riven feel as if her heart was about to burst with excitement and joy.

“This invitation is a great honor, General,” Asa thanked him.

“Return the favor. Invite me over your threshold. There are still a few details to discuss.”

“Of course, General Swain,” smiled Shava, who gestured invitingly towards the house with her arms. “Please, come in.”

Swain said nothing in reply and entered the house, followed by his messenger and the couple.

Chapter 7

Summary:

The kids don't know any better, but the prospect of tonight makes them feel like gladiators from arenas all over Noxus, the Reckoners. However, almost no one knows that Jericho Swain didn't schedule these practice fights just as a test for the kids.

983 AN

Southern Coastal Region of Noxus, hill country of Trevale, camp of Swain's warband

 

"Normally, captains and leaders of warbands only came directly to the farms to recruit potential recruits. The fact that the children of the Konte, as well as half a dozen other farms, were now passing through a real Noxian war camp was the first of many times for them that evening. The sky was still lit gray, but the sun had already sunk below the horizon and the simple campfires, as well as all the coal pans and torches, gave the bustling, rough camp a somewhat woolly look.

“Well then,” Asa said. He had accompanied the children to the tent next to the small wooden arena that had been set up. Basically, it was just a raised grandstand with a flimsy barrier, but he had drummed the importance of the evening into his children. “From here on out, you're on your own. Your mother and I have been invited to watch the fighting with General Swain.” No, Asa didn't get all mushy or anything, he showed his feelings in a Noxian way by cheering on his charges in a firm but confident manner. ”This is your night. You may never have held a weapon before, let alone swung one, but you know what iron discipline and unbending willpower are. Break your opponents and claim your place in Noxus.

“We will make you and mother proud!” Ranos promised with fervor, and his siblings' gestures agreed with him. He watched his father go towards the arena while he and his siblings remained in front of the equipment tent. “Don't make me regret promising that!”

Riven wasn't looking for a fight with her brother tonight, but she had her opinion. “I don't care what you promised,” she said. “After tonight, we probably won't see each other for a long time.”

“Ha, because you'll be stuck on the farm?”

“You're speaking from experience, I see,” Riven smirked, because ther brother hadn't been recruited when the last warband had visited and he had been fully fit, unlike her. “But let's turn our strength and stubbornness against everyone else today. Like you said, we have to make our parents proud.”

Ranos took the little dig sportingly and he smiled. “Then let's choose our weapons,” he said, and the twelve siblings entered the warmed tent.

Inside, the older messenger who had announced and accompanied the general was waiting. “Children of the Konte Farm, my name is Oxo and I am General Swain's personal adjutant,” he introduced himself, and without his armor, his rather lanky but extremely wiry body was easier to see. There were racks of weapons and equipment around him. While the equipment was real, but rather small aids, all the different weapons were made entirely of wood. “I assume that you have been explained the rules, but I'd rather be safe than sorry: We only use training weapons. Take whatever you want and fight with all your might, but no one is killed. Three body hits with a weapon means you have lost. Hits with hands, feet or head count as half a hit. Any questions?"

The adjutant's question went unanswered, so he went to the second, curtained exit of the tent. ‘Well then, we start in about twenty minutes. When you hear your name, step outside. Noxus awaits you.’

As soon as Oxo had left the tent, most of the children could hardly contain their excitement. Fun and games had never been on their agenda, because they were usually too exhausted from all the hard work, but now, in the presence of all this equipment and weapons, the inner child took over in many of them to some extent. Their parents had taught them the seriousness of a weapon, but in the face of all this, they were like children choosing their favorite toy for the first time in their lives.

“Warhammer and big shield, my kind of thing!” Ranos laughed as he swung the chosen items impressively.

“Sheer power isn't everything,” said Marit, one of Riven's adoptive sisters. The redhead liked a spear whose end was blunt and covered with a thick, soft ball. “Almost like our pitchforks.”

“For the first time we're getting more than shovels or pitchforks and you take a spear?”

“Says the guy who takes a warhammer,” Marit laughed, like a few of her sisters. “We use that to repair the drafty barn all the time.”

“Then you know who made the better choice,” Ranos countered, before he made a few clumsy practice swings and movements, which were, however, masked by his considerable speed.

Riven, meanwhile, had picked up a huge two-handed sword, which she stroked thoughtfully. Of all the weapon types, she was most attracted to this enormous tool of war, and yet something was wrong. This sword didn't feel right to her, so she carefully turned her head and scanned the tent.

 

Meanwhile, the stands were becoming very lively. All in all, the circular, functional arena had room for about 1500 spectators, which was by no means enough for the 4000-strong army. The most deserving and not too seriously wounded were granted the privilege of watching, although General Swain's platform was neither separate nor specially highlighted. He simply sat at the upper end of a platform, together with all the parents from the farms. “Oxo, have you briefed everyone again?”

“I have, General,” replied Oxo, who had just arrived and took a seat next to his lord. “I'm really looking forward to this. There are many promising candidates.”

“All the better, that should make it easy for us,” said Swain. He stood up and grabbed a megaphone. “Noxians! You fought bravely and with dedication in Shurima, so that after a long time we were finally able to take the coastal city of Urzeris!” The soldiers cheered so loudly that it could be heard across the silent farmlands of Trevale, and Swain presented one of many rewards. “The only question is whether we will see future soldiers here who can do the same as you! Let the fighting begin! I call upon Marit Konte and Nois Akon!”

While Rivens's adopted sister entered the arena first, Swain took a seat again. “I still think you should have made the opening match much more exciting.”

Oxo stood by his decision. “I want to put this philosophy of the Konte family to the test. It will be a huge success either way.

“I have no doubt.”

Flares flickered through the lenses of floodlights, centering their light, which was swung by operators in the direction of Marit. That and the sounds of the crowd were something completely new for the young girl and she felt as if she could take on the whole world. At least that was the case until her and the eyes of the surprised spectators caught sight of her opponent.

“Damn!” one of the soldiers on the stage exclaimed, jabbing his elbow into the ribs of a fellow soldier. “That yordle wasn't exaggerating when he said this one was little Sion!”

“I saw a statue of Sion once, and small is an apt description,” the female soldier agreed, since Korquich had taken bets among the war troop and given many of the children colorful names.

Nois Akon was truly a different caliber. The young human was around 2.30 meters tall and similarly powerfully built like a minotaur. His shadow exceeded Marit's 1.65 meters by quite a bit and he carried a two-handed, giant war hammer as a weapon.

“Honey, this isn't even unfair anymore,” Shava whispered, worried on the stage. She was a Noxian through and through, but she was also a mother. “This is pointless.”

Asa took his wife's hand. “Unfortunately, this is life, and our children know that.”

Meanwhile, Marit stared in disbelief at her physically superior opponent and could hardly move. All her confidence had vanished in the blink of an eye and the loud horn that started the fight was like a rude awakening for her.

Immediately Nois swung his hammer from the hip and sent his opponent across the arena, where she crashed into the barrier, sending the crowd howling with the blow. Booing followed.

The attack had hit Marit really hard and she felt every fiber of her body. A huge gash on her forehead and some abrasions on her arms and legs also caused precious blood to flow, but the pain also fueled her anger, so she was able to slowly pull herself together. Her vision was blurry, but she squinted in the direction of her parents before Marit sat up as best she could and grimly assumed a defensive position.

belligerently grinned Nois and the colossus of a boy stormed forward, but to his and the audience's surprise, his injured opponent jumped over him and he felt the prick of her spear in his calf. The crowd gasped in awe as Nois angrily thundered his enormous fist onto the dusty ground. He would make her pay for that and went on to his next attack.

Marit's lack of combat experience was momentarily compensated by her agility and she dodged backwards. Suddenly, her opponent threw his hammer at her and it hit her hard. She dropped her spear and was knocked down by Nois.

Lying on the ground, Marit had to endure a hail of fists that left her black and blue and bleeding.

“THE FIGHT IS OVER!” Swain announced, accompanied by a loud horn that stopped Nois's frenzy. “The winner is Nois Akom!”

 

From inside the tent, Marit's siblings had watched the whole thing, and a good half of them got cold feet when it came to fighting. Ranos and Riven, however, were not among them, oh no. They were now all the more eager to see the fight, while Marit was dragged to the tent by two soldiers and Nois remained in the thunderous applause of the arena.

Inside the tent, the unconscious Marit, covered in blood, was laid on a plank bed. “The doctor will be here in a moment,” said one of the soldiers who had dragged her in. He then mockingly went back outside with his partner. “That was weak, but to be expected. The yordle who took the bets said that these kids have no fighting experience. They'll all end up like that."

Insecurity spread among the children as they looked at Marit. They were accustomed to hardship and had fought among themselves more often, but for the first time they were confronted with a spark of the truly brutal reality.

“That wasn't even close to fair!” Arrel complained. She was another of the adopted sisters. “Did you see that Nois?! Even with all the training, Marit wouldn't have had a chance!”

“Get a grip on yourself, sister,” Riven said, her anger suppressed. “Remember what our father and mother taught us. In war, there is no such thing as fair.”

“But this isn't war! These are training matches!”

“It doesn't matter what you call it. A fight is a fight.”

“Riven's right,” Ranos agreed as his name was called from the arena. “And I will avenge Marit!”

“Good luck, brother,” Riven said sincerely, and she received a solemn nod in return.

 

“And Hiugy Mazur!” Swain announced competitor number two. In Ranos' case, the physical aspects were at least even. His opponent was a human whose features clearly showed those of an Ionian and he wielded two short swords as a weapon. Ranos raised his large shield and placed his hammer on it, ready to strike. At the sound of the horn, his opponent came towards him, and Ranos was able to easily block his short swords with his large shield. However, Ranos's powerful but clumsy counterattack was fruitless, and every soldier recognized the inexperience of the Vastaya in his wooden movements. It wasn't long before he took the first blow to the arm and struck back hastily, only to be hit in the thigh by his opponent. The fight was truly a spectacle for novices, but it was cheerful to watch and at least Ranos managed to score a point during the course of the fight before Hiugy made it past him and struck him in the back with his swords

“Victory!” swain shouted. “For Higuy Mazuri!”

During the first few fights, these words would be heard often. The Konte children usually lost, although a few of them put up a good fight and a few won purely through sheer willpower, because not every child from the other farms really had more experience.

“At the end of the first round, I give you Lucia Akom!” Swain announced.

The one named was a 17-year-old Vastaya, who was more lizard than human and, at 1.90, had a remarkable stature. She made this clear when she raised her two-handed sword in the air and bathed in the roar of the crowd.

“Against - Riven, from Konte Farm!”

Most of the spectators didn't really take the Konte children seriously anymore, and some openly booed. When the girl entered the arena, some even started laughing maliciously. “Look at that, ha ha ha!”

Young Riven had black soot around her eyes and she wore two leather shoulder pads and a light doublet, but that wasn't what made the crowd laugh. Instead of one of the many training weapons, she laboriously ground a massive ironwood beam over the floor. None of the weapons had appealed to her, so she had removed one of the supports from the weapon stand and at least worked it so that she could place her hands around a handy grip.

“Who gave this to the girl?” Swain asked curiously. “This seems very unorthodox to me.”

“I'm not even sure what exactly it is,” Oxo replied thoughtfully. “But if you command it, we will take it from her.”

Swain touched his chin indecisively. The general's eyes flicked to the Konte parents, who themselves seemed irritated by this notion. “No, let her have her way,” he decided curiously. “I want to see how this plays out, and the girl has been clamoring for her chance, so she shall have it.”

“Very well, Lord Swain,” Oxo nodded. Even the veteran adjutant, who normally disapproved of such activities and had once been one of Noxus' better-known heroes, wanted to see what happened.

In the arena, Lucia smiled at her opponent's choice as well. “Small, slender girls shouldn't play with things that aren't made for them,” she said disparagingly, with a certain rumble in her voice. “Your siblings have already proven that to us several times.”

Riven stood still and did not provoke her, while her hands clutched the handle tighter. Because of the fresh sanding, sawdust kept flying up between Riven's hands and she tried to raise the beam slightly, without lifting its end off the ground.

In the moments before the start, Oxo and Asa were all the more astonished. The father and the aide recognized a basic, practiced fighting position in the young girl's muscles, and Oxo looked doubtfully at the head of the family. Had he lied? Had he trained this girl? These questions went through Oxo's mind as the arena's horn sounded, drawing his gaze back to the action.

Lucia cockily raised her two-handed sword above her head, and with a run-up and a mighty leap, the Vastaya appeared like an evil omen from above.

With a deep lungful of air, Riven released a warrior's scream, and in the blink of an eye, she had swung her beam over her head so that she could block Lucia's sword, along with all of her opponent's weight.

In that moment, all movement in the arena seemed to stop and the spectators couldn't believe what they were seeing as the young Riven won the clash of weapons and pushed her opponent forcefully aside.

Lucia rolled through the dust and under the thunderous cheers of the arena, and as if the beam were nothing to her, Riven ran after Vastaya. What no one, not even her parents, knew was that the girl had secretly watched her father practicing his moves many times at night. She had studied his movements and created something of her own, and now she completely overran her opponent.

Lucia had raw strength on her side and that helped her to block the storm of blows for a while. However, Riven's skills were superior to hers and Vastaya got to feel the heavy, extremely hard ironwood. More than three direct hits landed all over her body before she hit the ground with a blow to the head.

This bloody spectacle unleashed the enthusiasm of all the soldiers like no fight before and they shouted the girl's name. “Riven, Riven, Riven, Riven, Riven!” they all repeated, while Riven, drenched in sweat, spread her arms and bathed in the glory of her first victory.

In the general's box, everyone stood and congratulated Asa and Shava, who didn't let it drive them mad, but they couldn't have been prouder. Unlike the previous fights, even Swain gave a polite clap. “The girl should serve our purpose, yes?” he asked quietly, so that the families didn't hear.

“Most likely, General,” Oxo agreed. From his trained eye, he could tell from just watching this fight that the girl had definitely not been trained. “There is great potential and raw natural talent in her.”

“Excellent,” Swain replied, certain of his plans. “Let us see what the next few days of fighting will bring.”

Notes:

Heyho folks :D

How do you like the story so far? It would be nice to see some comments! And thx for the Kudos so far!

Chapter 8

Summary:

Two more nights of experience, victories and pain. The children of the farms continue to compete against each other, for the enjoyment and inspection of Swain's warband. Riven stands out in particular, proving her worth over and over again, especially to herself. However, the final evening of the exercises ends differently than she had imagined.

983 AN

Southern coastal region of Noxus, hill country of Trevale, camp of Swain's warband

 

The last evening of training matches had arrived, and there were three dozen soldiers outside the Konti children's equipment tent. They were all eager to exchange a word with young Riven or just get a glimpse of her, but two guards stood outside the tent, making sure no one entered.

Inside, there was a lot of activity, because although most of the Konte children had lost many of their fights, their fighting spirit was unbroken. This was not entirely because their sister Riven had won every fight and thus inspired everyone. It was more a mixture of zeal to do the same as well as a good portion of envy. Many wondered how Riven could be so good when there had never been any training, or had her parents lied? Had Riven been given preferential treatment and secretly taught? These thoughts swirled around in the heads of the older children, causing them to express rejection rather than admiration for Riven.

For children who didn't take part in the fights, however, it was pure adoration. “Your last fight will be next!” Miko looked forward to the spectacle. “And you two are the only ones who have won all of theirs!”

“Not quite right,” Riven winked cheekily. “I'll be the only one who has won all of her fights.”

Miko chuckled cheerfully. “Of course you will, big sister Riven!” he agreed, but then his mood clouded a bit. “And then... you'll leave and be a great hero of Noxus.”

“That's just what we're all being prepared for,” Riven answered honestly, rubbing the half-fish's scaly head. “But you know what the good news is?”

“No, what?”

“It's not goodbye forever,” Riven smiled confidently. “Work hard, follow your father and mother's words, and in a few years, a war party will take you too, and eventually we will meet again as respected warriors.”

“Do you really believe that?”; Miko asked with shining eyes. “That I'll make it that far?”

“I do,” Riven replied, confidently touching his shoulder. “In the end, however, it's not what I or anyone else believes or says that counts – only what you believe and your will alone can help you move forward.”

Those words meant the world to Miko, and he leaped to his feet, full of energy. “You'll see, big sister Riven!” he promised her. “We'll meet again as honorable soldiers, but now I have to get back out there, or Korquich will get mad.”

“Don't take the old yordle so seriously,” Riven grinned, “If you work harder, he'll be pretty easy to get along with on his own.”

Miko nodded, also grinning, before running out of the tent.

 

“Big Sister Riven,” Ranos mimicked the little boy. “Do you actually believe the lies you tell the weakling?”

“It wasn't a lie,” Riven replied annoyed. “It's entirely up to him, as it is for all of us.”

“Unless you get special treatment and secret training from both father and mother,” Ranos hissed, tossing one of the shields carelessly across the tent. “But let me guess: no, you didn't get any training. This is all you.”

“That's right,” Riven replied firmly. She wasn't going to call herself a liar, but there was no real reason to keep their little secret either. “What I did was observe Father in secret. Nothing more.”

“I see!” Ranos said, pointing at his sister. Many of the other siblings followed his finger as well. “So you have an unfair advantage!”

“Unfair? You've obviously forgotten the lessons of our parents,” Riven countered, and she walked towards her brother. “And how about you talking about unfair? What was that about a 16-year-old taking on a 10-year-old rookie? What were your words? He has to learn how it's done, and apparently you still have to, too.”

“Then tell me how it's done!” Ranos snarled between his teeth and the tall Vastaya went on a collision course with his sister. “What makes you so much better?”

“The fact that I've exhausted my resources,” Riven countered coldly. She first turned to her brother and then to the rest of the siblings before making one thing clear to all of them. “Any of you could have noticed that Father leaves the house on certain days and at certain times and you could have secretly learned from his movements, as I did. However, that escaped you and where would the strength be if I had to give you a hint first?"

With this Noxian philosophy, and her argument, many of the envious glances faded and they looked at each other uncertainly or away.

Ranos became a little embarrassed, but tried to hide it. “I mean, you, well, um, you could have told us anyway,” he said. He had won some fights, but like the rest, lost most of them. ‘At least it was experience for the fight. If we could have watched father as well, we would do much better in these exercises and not embarrass our parents so much!’

Riven could have said many things, such as that everyone should fight hard despite their lack of experience and not embarrass anyone, or that there would be other opportunities. Instead, however, she chose to give her brother a piece of advice. “I think Mother and Father are wondering why you don't use your fists,” Riven smirked, teasingly.

“What?”

“Your fists,” Riven repeated. “You and I have fought a few times, and for your size you're surprisingly quick and know how to use your fists. I bet if you used a pair of hard leather mittens instead of a shield and hammer, you'd win your last fight with ease.”

“You want me to fight weapons with my bare hands?” Ranos replied, looking at his hands. “Where did you get this nonsense?”

Riven put her arms on her hips. “Are you really questioning the one who has the most experience and all the victories?”

Ranos grumbled to himself and visibly considered the question. “Show-off,” he murmured and put away his equipment, exchanging it for hard leather gloves. “If this goes wrong, I'll stuff your pillow with cow dung and then kick the crap out of you.”

“Note,” Riven smirked. “It would be more effective to kick my ass and then stuff the pillow full of cow dung to lay me unconscious on it.”

“You're wrong,” Ranos chuckled dirty, while tightening the gloves. “I lure you with the pillow.”

“Lucky for you that won't happen, because you're about to win.”

 

When it was Ranos' turn to step out into the makeshift arena for the last time, he didn't feel lucky. The disparaging sounds from the crowd were nothing new for all the children, except Riven. Now, however, with the vastaya only wearing his hard leather gloves and a small round shield attached to each forearm, the crowd did not respond with loud rumbling or clear signs.

Rather, you could see an expression on almost everyone's face that said, “What the hell is this?” and the soldiers even felt offended that they were presented with something like this.

“It seems as if we are going to witness the creativity of the Konte family all over again,” Swain said with interest. “What do you think, Oxo?”

“In any other fight, I'd give Ranos a chance,” the adjutant replied with a shake of his head. On the other hand, he had already seen enough to change his mind. “But against the second best? Hard to imagine, but anything is possible in war.”

“We'll see, let's begin,” Swain said, and he gave the hornblower the sign.

The children in the arena took it easy, though, and Jasira Marban, the Vastaya's opponent, took it as a compliment. “You know you don't stand a chance, right?” she asked with amusement. She was a human and her skin was a roasted light brown, as was typical for the inhabitants of the Shurimas desert. “And that's why you came here unarmed? Reason is truly a good quality, for a soldier, too.“

”You better not open your mouth too wide,” Ranos warned the girl, while he made his fists ready and stepped forward with a smirk. ‘My sister just pissed me off and her beating is now intended for you.’

“So you're not reasonable, but disillusioned,” Jasira spat on the ground. Her self-confidence was well-deserved, being the most successful fighter after Nois and Riven, with her flexible mixture of cloth and leather armor and her agile Naginata, which she displayed impressively and energetically. “Let me show you reality!”

“No, because I'm going first!” Ranos shouted. Suddenly, he got off to a flying start and without having to hold a weapon and shield, he was able to focus much better on his target. His opponent saw this attack as hasty, so she wanted to trap him by thrusting her naginata forward in a flash. However, Ranos had a plan of his own and suddenly he dived down and slid the rest of the distance on his knees. The dust gave him cover and advantage when the tip of the enemy practice weapon flew towards his face. However, he crossed his arms and was able to repel the attack with the sheer force of both round shields and at the same time burst open Jasira's cover. This allowed Ranos to give her a hefty upper cut from his kneeling position, sending her flying.

To the loud cheers of the crowd, the caught-off-guard Jasira landed on her hind legs with an acrobatic somersault. “Luck and a cheap trick, you bastard!” she spat at him. “That won't work a second time!”

“Can you do more than talk?” Ranos taunted, deliberately and fiercely. “Show me what makes a Noxian!”

The provocation didn't make Jasira careless, though, and she kept her form. What followed was a feeling out of her opponent's defenses and he proved to have a natural affinity for it, as he immediately started blocking every attack with his two round shields as if he were taking punches. “Someone learned from his sister, eh?”

“You're annoying!” Ranos snarled. He fell for the provocation and exposed himself with an attack that Jasira dodged with a lateral turning jump, stabbing him in the ribs. “Damn!”

Jasira immediately followed up with a blow from above, but Ranos jerked his arm up in defense. He remained on the defensive for the time being, however, and held out against the nimble movements and blows of his opponent.

The spectators were beginning to enjoy the fight and just as they had cheered on Riven, their brother was now getting his first taste of support. “Show her! Beat her bloody!”

This spurred Ranos on and he put on a real show, for an untrained child. Nevertheless, his opponent landed hit number two on his head.

“One more time and you're the loser again,” said Jasira, but she now remained in an expectant position and didn't risk anything.

This time, however, Ranos did not allow himself to be lured in so easily and he hatched a plan. He pretended to prepare a new attack by crossing his arms in front of him. One shield covered the other and the hand of the vastaya that held it, allowing him to secretly reach for the innermost shield. Now he ran and halfway there, he threw his loose shield like a discus at Jasira.

The girl was caught off guard by the maneuver, but she knocked the shield aside and immediately tried to counterattack. However, her Naginata crashed into the second shield, which was still tied on, and she was now at her opponent's mercy. She took a solid three-part combination of blows to her upper body and face before she was able to force her opponent to back down with a single blow.

Now it was two all and when another blow was aimed at Ranos' feet, he jumped up and stomped his foot on the head of the Naginata.

An uncertain murmur went through the arena and Jasira also looked up at the general's tribune. “No point!” Swain decided. “Next!”

Angry and afraid of losing to a child, Jasira went on the offensive and thrust.

Ranos raised his arm, letting the naginata miss his armpit and jam the pole in it instead. This gave him control over his opponent and he pulled her towards him, letting her run into his other outstretched arm. She somersaulted and he snatched her weapon from her, presented it triumphantly and then threw it like a present onto the stands.

A soldier with a bushy moustache caught the practice weapon and showed it with joy.

“Give that back!” Jasira demanded with outstretched hand. “Right now!”

“Give us a real fight!” the soldier replied cheerfully, breaking the wooden weapon in half, which earned him a storm of cheers from the rest of the audience. “Hit each other until you're black and blue!”

Now both children were fighting unarmed, but Jasira did not give in. While it seemed as if she was running away from Ranos, who was chasing her, she actually lured him to a barrier. She used it as a springboard and with all the momentum, she performed a spinning kick.

The Vastaya took a painful blow to the skull, but he was able to avoid a follow-up, unpracticed punch and the two stood facing each other - the next point would decide the match. It brought the arena to a boil like hardly any other fight.

Ranos raised his fists and approached Jasira. She took up the same position, but it was obvious that she knew little about how to fight. Ranos repeatedly feinted blows, which unsettled his opponent. Due to his size, he had a range advantage here and Jasira almost didn't dare to launch an attack of her own. Once more, Ranos crossed his arms as if to end the fight, but this maneuver was also a deception. Instead of striking with his fists, he suddenly kicked forward and sent Jasira reeling with a kick to the solar plexus.

“Victory, for Ranos Konte!” Swain announced, to the thunderous roar of the soldiers, who shouted the name of the young Vastaya. “Ranos, Ranos, Ranos, Ranos, Ranos!”

 

Riven had watched the entire fight with her remaining siblings from the tent entrance and she smiled a little smugly before withdrawing.

From the other side, a more than cheerful Korquich approached her. “My golden goose!” he greeted. “You didn't have anything to do with this profitable victory, did you?”

“Not a thing,” Riven waved him off. “I just told Ranos that he was using the wrong weapons.”

“Oh, I'm really going to miss you when they've taken you away,” Korquich sighed. But that wasn't why he'd come. “Tell me, while you're solving problems, do you have any idea what's happened to Miko? He seems gone.”

“Gone? He was here before Rano's fight and then went out to do his work.”

“That's strange. I can't find the little fishhead anywhere.”

“Hm, that is really strange,” Riven murmured anxiously. “I still have one fight left before mine. I'll help you look.”

“Oh, that's not necessary,” Korquich declined the offer. “He can't have gone far. Maybe some soldiers are telling him battle stories or something.”

“Still, I'll look around,” Riven insisted on helping, and she passed the yordle.

“Okay, okay. Have it your way,” Korquich grumbled, and they each went in a different direction. “I'll check over there. You check the supply tent again. Maybe he's just playing hide-and-seek or something stupid.”

Riven didn't reply, but she didn't believe that Miko was playing or hiding somewhere else in the camp. Nevertheless, she kept her eyes open and looked for her little brother first at the large supply tent. Most of the soldiers were in the arena, so she mostly found quiet corners and empty tents.

Nevertheless, two soldiers were sitting by a brazier as guards at the supply tent. “Well, well,” a thoroughbred female cat Vastaya waved. ”What's the champion of fights doing here?”

“I'm looking for my little brother,” Riven replied informally. “He's a young Half-fish Vastaya.”

“Yes, he was here a while ago,” the femalie soldier mentioned, gesturing past the tent. “He asked where the second supply tent was and took a crate there. I haven't seen him since.”

“Thanks for the information,” Riven nodded, following the path she had been given.

“Anytime, and knock that huge blob into a pulp, ha! I've got quite a bit riding on you!”

At this statement, Riven just raised her hand and it became even quieter than before. The second supply tent was a little further away and in this corner of the camp it was not quite as light as around the arena. Only a few fires were burning and no soldiers were to be seen or heard. However, Riven found it strange that there were no guards at the second supply tent and there was no trace of Miko. Maybe there wasn't much or nothing valuable stored in the tent, she thought, and that's why there were no guards. For that reason, she ventured into the tent, but it was packed with sacks and crates. “Miko, are you here?” Riven asked, while she examined the gaps between the crates. With a start and her eyes widening, she found the unconscious and bound Vastaya in the far corner. “Miko!” She went to him immediately and sighed with relief when she saw that the boy was still breathing. She tried to loosen the bindings. “What´s going on?! Who did this to you?!”

This question was about to answer itself, as Riven had been followed for some time in the dark by a few dubious figures, of which she had not noticed anything. Were they men? Women? In the half-light of the evening, it was hard to tell and it didn't matter.

Riven only felt a hard blow to the back of her head, causing her to go to the ground, and with a blurred view of her attackers, she slowly lost consciousness.

Chapter 9

Summary:

The confusion in the arena was not as great as the massive disappointment over Rivens' failure to fight Nois, who was declared the winner of the exercises. No one knows where the girl and Miko went, although there are rumors that Riven took advantage of the situation and ran away with her young brother. The truth is that the talented warrior is being held for sale and, like Miko, is being held in a warehouse in the port of Trevale.

Notes:

Small note:

I've adjusted the year of the timeline a bit, as I realized I made a mistake with Katarina's age, which has implications for the ages of other character champions, as I was sort of using hers as a think piece and stepping stone. It's certainly not a big deal for some, but there are some Champions where it would look a bit weirder. That's why we're now at 983 AN instead of 81 and I've also lowered Katarina's age from 19 to 15 to make it fit the timeline a bit. It's really not easy to keep track of so many champions and all the events.

983 AN

Southern coastal region of Noxus, somewhere in Trevales harbor.

 

The children of the Konte Farm had searched every house and shown a few soldiers every possible hiding place, but there was no sign of Riven and Miko. Swain himself was currently present at the farm, standing with the parents and overseer Korquich under the covered balcony at the entrance to the main house. “Your family is truly good for surprises,” the general said, moderating his disbelief. ‘On both sides of the coin. That girl expects an extraordinary future and I would find it extremely regrettable if she didn't get it.’

“It's just not like Riven, General,” Shava said with conviction. Of all their children, this daughter was the one with the biggest dreams, albeit perhaps some of them naive. “To disappear without further ado. She's been waiting for her recruitment day for a long time.”

“I can attest to that, General,” grumbled Korquich, puffing on the end of his cigarette rather than inhaling. “Don't pay any attention to this foolish talk about her having run away.”

“At the top, you can't afford to close your eyes to anything, overseer,” Swain commented with deliberation. “But your assurance is noted, and she can't be far. The nearest port is Trevale, because for hundreds of kilometers there is nothing but farms and tiny villages.”

“I've already thought of that, General,” nodded Corquich, “And I want to be personally involved. I am responsible for the children of the farms and I know the ports better than anyone. Please let me take care of this matter.”

“Granted,” Swain agreed as he descended the balcony's few steps. “And I expect results as quickly as possible, or at least useful leads, overseer.”

Korquich lowered his eyes in submission as he watched Swain leave. “I will not fail you, General.”

 

Everything was dusty and covered in old rags. The only light came from a lantern in this sealed room, and Riven couldn't do a thing. Her mouth was stuffed with cloth and tied shut with a bandage. Her arms were bound behind her back and chained to the wall with solid iron chains, but at least she wasn't completely alone, even if that made her more angry than confident.

Miko was right next to her and just as carefully locked away, although at least he didn't have a stuffed and bandaged mouth. “This is all my fault, big sister Riven,” the young Vastaya sobbed. “I wasn't paying attention and because of me, you're here now.”

Riven snorted incomprehensible words into the fabric. She didn't see any guilt on her brother's part and tried to convey to him with her eyes alone that everything would be fine and that he should be strong.

“But it's true,” Miko said, as if he had understood every word. “Those two soldiers told me that you would soon be a great warrior and that the general had a freshly forged greatsword made for you. I was so curious and they offered to show it to me.”

It didn't make sense to Riven. So far, she had only seen her guard, a foul-mouthed, large brute who had gagged her after all her cries for help and cursing. But why was she here? Why would anyone kidnap Miko? Was it because he was a Vastaya? Because Riven knew that it was not uncommon. She had heard stories from her parents and Korquich that some Vastaya were seen as a rarity and a showpiece. Suddenly, Riven had trouble breathing and she tried to breathe deeply through her nose, but that didn't help her.

“What's the matter, sister?!” Miko was frightened. “HELP! HELP US! SHE'S CHOKING!”

The rusty, opaque metal door of the room clicked shut and the bearded guard entered. “Good heavens, you brats are annoying!” he said grimly. “What is it this time?!”

“SHE'S CHOKING!”

The guard looked at the struggling Riven with annoyance and took his time. “Lucky for you, you're so damn valuable,” the guard grumbled before removing both the cloth and the fabric from the girl's mouth. “But keep your damn mouth shut! If you start shouting again, I'll seal your hatch even tighter and I won't give a damn if you suffocate!"

After her airways were properly cleared again, Riven coughed and gasped for air, slowly calming down. For the moment, she listened to the sighing guard, who left the cell again. “Are you all right, Miko?”

“I'm fine!” the Vastaya nodded hastily. “Are you?”

“Yes, even Ranos has beaten me worse.”

“But what will happen now?!” Miko asked, frightened. “What did he mean by saying that you are valuable?”

“I'm not entirely sure,” Riven replied thoughtfully. One thing she was sure of, though. “But I think they're slavers who want to sell us.”

“S-Slavers?!” Miko swallowed and tried in vain to get free of his chains. “What do we do now?!”

Riven didn't really have an answer for that, and she was scared, too, but she looked at the Vastaya as expressively as possible. “First of all, we remember that we are Noxians,” she said calmly. “And Noxians don't give up easily.”

During this conversation, a small figure was lurking in the nearby dark corridors of the harbor building. Korquich was here, and he waited when he saw two crooks on patrol before moving on.

“I'm not Noxian,” Miko whispered sheepishly. He simply hadn't been on the farm long enough and the memories of his old home and his real parents were too fresh. “I want to go home and help my father in the workshop and make toys.”

Home, parents, an old life. None of that existed for Riven, nor did she know anything about it. Her real father had died in a meaningless battle for Noxus and her real mother had died giving birth to her. “Right now, what any of us want doesn't matter,” she said soberly. “We have to stick together and look for a way out.”

“But i, i,” Miko sobbed.

“Pull yourself together, little brother!” Riven said. She didn't know how to handle such an overt display of weakness, because when she had shed tears in the past, she had done so in secret and to herself. “Turn the pain into strength instead.”

The words had the opposite effect on Miko and he cried a little.

That was enough to make the door lock click again. “I can't stand this whining!” the guard said angrily. “Tell that stinking fish to stop or he'll get his blue ass kicked!”

The threat did not help Mikos' fear and sensitivity at all. He scrunched up his face, but he couldn't stop sobbing.

“Little, dirty--!”

“Leave him alone!” Riven warned the man. “And pick on someone your own size!”

Without thinking twice, the much larger guard slapped the girl hard across the face. “Then show me how it's done!”

Riven merely snarled in reply and received another vicious backhand as she bent down and caught sight of Korquich, who was peeking surreptitiously around the door! She immediately turned her eyes back to the guard. “Is that all you've got?!”

“You're pretty tough,” the guard praised, but he still sounded disparaging before he swung for a real blow. “We'll see about that!”

Korquich wasn't big, but the little yordle could still jump an amazing distance and rammed a winding dagger into the guard's calf, causing him to drop to his knees, screaming in pain, and almost to the yordle's height, who turned the weapon slightly and then pulled it out of the wound. “I don't think so,“ he warned the man, holding the dagger to his throat.

”Korquich!” Riven breathed. ‘Am I glad to see your ugly face!’

The yordle gave a strange chuckle, and he took the dagger from the wounded guard's throat and wiped the weapon on his jacket. “I told you she would not be harmed,” he chided. “Many times, yes, many times, I told you that.”

“These brats are unbearable!” the guard groaned, gritting his teeth. “And the fish is worthless anyway.”

“Yes, but as long as the fish boy is unharmed, the girl will comply.”

It took Riven a while to even begin to grasp what was going on. “Korquich, what are you talking about?!”

“Sorry, little one,” the yordle said, raising his arms and removing his mask. He was just as dotty and gregarious as before, but he was up to no good. “I plan to ship you to Urzeris, like I have other children before you. You'll be my biggest deal yet.”

“What?!” Riven snarled indignantly. “You're selling us children to Urzeris?! Why?!”

“Sometimes laborers, sometimes for the arenas there, but in the end it all comes down to coins,” Korquich said, unconcerned. Yes, he was involved in some shady dealings. “Or I take most of the surplus from the profitable harvests and sometimes give you a few leftovers, like meat. That's why I knocked you out with a fever last year. I couldn't let a hardworking worker like you leave, and now that I've seen your talents as a fighter, our paths have diverged."

“But, but, you're Noxian!” Riven protested, looking confused. Although the yordle was not particularly sociable, she did not understand this betrayal, which certainly applied to her.

“That's right, kid!” Korquich raised the finger he tapped his forehead with. “And only the strongest win, and here's a new lesson—strength is defined in many ways, and I've got muscles in my brain!” He had no mercy and looked at the shocked Riven without emotion until he gave his henchman an order. “Come on, cut them both loose. We need to get them out of here with the afternoon load.“

 

”You seem a little nervous,” said the guard, limping and dragging the bound children behind him with a moderately connected calf in a warehouse. There were other workers here as well, but they were all on the yordle's payroll.

“Oh, don't talk such nonsense!” Korquich waved it aside, although he was quite concerned. “I'm just being cautious. This General Swain wants me to look for the children, but that suits us very well.”

“Why is that?”

“He's Noxian nobility, and they don't really care what happens to little things like children,” Korquich grinned deviously. “However, the capture of Urzeris by Noxus could open up new possibilities for us. If I tell the general that I have evidence of a slave-trading ring that leads to Urzeris, he will surely task me with dismantling it.“

”But boss, isn't that dangerous?” the guard asked worriedly. ‘Won't we be betraying ourselves?’

“On the contrary!” emphasized Korquich. He saw a golden opportunity for enormous profits and was determined to take advantage of it. “If I get control of more resources to solve this case, I can eliminate the competition in Urzeris. This way, we present ourselves to the general as heroes and at the same time control the slave trade on this route. It's a perfect fit.”

The guard nodded. “That's a damn fine plan, boss.”

“And that's why you call me that!”

When the yordle and his sidekick arrived in the middle of the warehouse, a slow, unimpressed clap began to echo through the wide space, and it was hard to tell where it was coming from.

“Someone got too much time on their hands?” grumbled Korquich as he looked around. Of the workers he saw, however, no one clapped. “Or is someone here thinking they´re particularly funny?”

“On the contrary, overseer,” came a calm yet insistent voice from above. “My time is extremely precious and I am anything but pleased with the conditions in Trevale and your work.”

Riven, Miko, Korquich and the dozen laborers craned their necks and looked up to a wooden catwalk that provided access to the ropes and chains for the warehouse's hand-operated grippers. Someone was standing there in the shadows, but you could see the shape of a distinctive cloak, resting lightly on his shoulders.

“Then let me put you out of your misery, Mister Unrecognizable,” said Korquich, who drew a mechanical pistol, such as those found in Piltover, and pointed it at the shadow. “Come on! Show yourself!”

The man in the shadows did not flinch, nor did he betray any sign of fear, for he had the overseer precisely where he wanted him. “Well, here I am,” said Swain, stepping into the light. “And I am extremely curious to hear what you have to say about Urzeris.”

“G-General Swain!” stammered Korquich, hastily lowering his weapon. “I didn't know! I was just about to—!”

“So this is the game,” Swain sighed. He walked further along the catwalk without looking down and remained unmoved by the enemy numbers in the warehouse. “Oxo, I'll be down in a moment. Prepare for my arrival.”

“Of course, General,” replied Oxo's voice. He was standing in the hall, fully armed for battle, stepping out of a side niche. On his belt was a long greatsword, slightly curved at the end and pointed on one side only.

Insecurity and agitation gripped the hall. “Don't just stand there, you idiots!” shouted Korquich. “Kill him!”

All the laborers, even the guard who released the children's chains, pounced on the general's aide. Oxo, however, continued to walk slowly, and he let the first few centimeters of his blade slide out of the scabbard. He was confronted by knives, short swords, one-handed axes, and metal bars from all directions, but even pistols would have been the same to him. The old soldier was so far above the workers, some of whom were themselves soldiers, that he had little trouble meting out justice one by one. Only when Korquich raised his pistol to fire did Oxo have to make a lightning-fast move to cut it in half. Korquich fell backwards on his back in supplication, while Oxo calmly sheathed his blade and the clacking of footsteps announced the general.

 

“P-Please!” whimpered Korquich, as he huddled against a crate. “We can work this out! I'll give you all the gold I have!”

At this, Swain took a moment and approached the culprit at a leisurely pace, but he kept enough distance between them. “If you value your life, you should listen carefully,” he warned. For the general, this was about a lot more than just the act of rescue itself. “And your answers will determine whether or not I allow you to live.”

At the same time, Oxo set about taking the keys from the dead guard and freeing the children. As soon as he had done so, Miko sought protection from Riven, who gave him a moderate pat on the head.

“There have always been problems in Trevale. Children went missing, but that wasn't unusual. Runaways seemed plausible, but after we took Urzeris we started hearing rumors about the local battle pits and found some of the children sold there, now adults, who had been shipped out over the last few years,” Swain explained. When he noticed the yordle's gaze turning to Riven and Miko, Swain stepped between them, leaving the criminal to look intimidatingly at the general. “A yordle from Trevale was said to have his fingers in many deals, and there are only three yordles in the Trevale area with the influence to pull that off. That's why we staged our training fights, among other things, to see if this yordle could resist the temptation."

Korquich didn't quite understand why he was being told all this. “And you expect me to confess now?” he asked. He noticed eight figures cloaked and hooded, appearing from all directions, apparently belonging to the general.

Swain was not here for games. “We're way past confession,” he said, obviously. The fact that he had used the children as decoys, and possible losses, did not make him grow any gray hairs. “A battle pit owner mentioned an interesting detail about the business with this yordle. He should pay attention to whether children show signs of hidden magical abilities, which brings me to another conclusion - you are the face, but who pulls your strings? Your answer will determine whether you live or die."

“I want a guarantee,” said Korquich. He knew he had valuable information that he could use as a bargaining chip. “I want your promise! If I tell you, my life will be spared!”

“You already have heard that, so speak.”

“Okay, okay!” Korquich nodded quickly, before singing like a little bird. “It's Judge Wivern! She's keeping some guards away from me, giving me the information I need, and telling me to keep an eye out for magically talented children. That's all I know, I swear!”

Swain's mouth twitched slightly in revulsion. “The oath of a man who steals the future of Noxus and sells it for a few coins is of no value,” the general said. He took a few steps back and subtly raised his left arm from under his cloak. “As is the case with all those whose lives are at stake. Nevertheless, I believe you, and I grant you your life.”

“Too gracious, mighty, great General Swain!” Korquich breathed a sigh of relief and fell to his knees in gratitude. What he didn't see was the hooded figures closing in. “I will leave Noxus at once and-”

“I have no doubt you will,” Swain cut him off, as the eight figures surrounded the yordle and drew their weapons.

Korquich became aware of this. “My Lord Swain!” he said, his hands shaking. “You promised me!”

“What is a promise to a liar and a cheat?” Swain replied coldly. ‘And yet I keep mine, but you're not the only one to whom a promise was made to.’ After this statement, the hooded figures removed their hoods and none if not the overseer knew who he was looking at. They were all parents of farms from which the yordle had stolen children, and Swain had promised them revenge. “Be grateful, yordle. You could have spent your eternal life in a cell, forever deprived of your freedom, in darkness and loneliness, until your mind went mad. Instead, you will experience a fraction of the pain you have caused, and if, against all odds, you decide to be reborn into the mortal world and return from Bandle City, never dare to set foot in Noxus again or betray anyone."

The general turned away and went to the freed children. “PLEASE! GENERAL! DON'T DO THIS TO ME!” Korquich pleaded again, but in vain. He saw it in the gloomy eyes of all the parents that they would take their time.

That was exactly what Riven wanted to see, and she came closer before Swain's arm blocked her. “You have had a first taste of the cruel logic of this world today, girl,” he said sternly. “But one step at a time. Take heed of this lesson when we take you to Noxus Prime and soon you will see more of it. Come.” The general's words were not a request, and Riven, after staring at the slowly disappearing Korquich for a few moments, accompanied the general, with Miko and Oxo, out.

Chapter 10: Noxus/Demacia

Summary:

Rivens' return has caused quite a stir, but the general has ordered her to keep the exact circumstances of her and Miko's disappearance to herself for the time being. This does not suit the young girl at all, but the prospect of leaving today makes up for it and Swain can continue to pursue his plan to stamp out corruption in Noxus.

On the slopes of Silver Mountains, from the Gates of Mourning, Demacians are keeping a close eye on the general's large war camp. The situation is serious for the adults, but for a twelve-year-old boy and especially his seven-year-old sister, it is a great adventure.

983 AN

Southern coastal region of Noxus, hill country of Trevale and Argent Mountainst, The Gates of Mourning

 

All the belongings were packed, the chosen children were wearing freshly issued red Noxian recruit's clothing, and Riven stood with Ranos, Marit, and the rest of the line in front of the farm's main house, ready to go. Of course, they would not leave without bidding their parents a proper farewell, while Noxian banners fluttered in the gusty midday wind and the siblings who had not been selected were also present.

General Swain himself was there, with only a small contingent of his personal guard, while Oxo and his other subordinates were picking up the children from the other farms. However, the noble commander kept a low profile as much as possible, aware that this was the parents' moment and that he would not deprive them of this small honor. As a young man, he might have done so, he made no illusions about that. Many nobles, especially from the old and high houses, had a tendency to isolate themselves from the views and desires of the common people, but his life as a soldier, who not only sat behind a desk and in the warmth of his tent, had taught Swain a lot in recent years.

When Asa and Shava stepped out of the main house, the selected recruits stood at attention with a stomp, and they turned their heads in the direction of the house in sync. Outsiders would have expected some kind of inspection and hardly any words of love, but despite all the rigor and discipline, Noxians were also human, and Shava began at the front row and embraced each of her children in a farewell embrace. Her husband Asa behaved similarly, always following her and touching each child on the shoulder with his healthy left hand, looking at each of them with confidence and proud.

Nowhere were there tears. Neither the parents nor the recruited children cried, but some of their facial expressions indicated restrained emotions. Riven was not one of them, but she accepted the grateful gestures of her parents with an almost healed face and respect.

Afterwards, the parents lined up at a distance from each other in the center of the row. “You've already experienced this day a few times,” Asa reminded them. It didn't matter how often he said this goodbye, it always sounded sincere and he spoke new words instead of a memorized text, and it was still a little difficult for him. “But so far, you have only ever watched when other siblings left us and you. Today, however, it is solely and exclusively your day and being chosen is never a matter of course. Noxus always needs loyal and capable soldiers, but not everyone can serve by entering a battlefield or can no longer do so and strengthens the empire in a different way. But you may honor Noxus in the best possible way, bringing the battlefield back into the hearts of your parents, who can no longer be there. For that, we do not just thank you. For that, you will always have our love and gratitude."

Words like love and devotion were something the children had rarely heard, but that made them all the more precious to them, and they all began to beat their right hands on their left chests.

Swain and his bodyguards, as well as the rest of the siblings, joined in the gesture, so that Asa and Shava were able to fully enjoy the culmination of their work.

Slowly, the beats became fewer until they faded away and Shava grasped her chest. “And now go, explore the world and all you see will be Noxus,” she said, saying goodbye, because the sad truth was that many of these children would probably die on the battlefield and never return. ‘From now on, you are soldiers and under the command of General Swain. Farewell, my dears.’

Swain nodded silently, but he did not immediately leave with his recruits. Instead, he now came to the fore and expressed his gratitude to the parents. “Your devotion to the Empire is the lifeline of Noxus,” Swain praised. Not only had the Konte raised promising recruits, no, they had also helped the general with his plans against corruption. “And though this was my first and probably last visit to Trevale for many years, let me assure you that I never forget loyal Noxians."

Shava smiled. ‘We only did our duty, General Swain.’

“No, it was more than duty. You were willing to risk all of your hard work,” Swain replied firmly, glancing in Riven's direction. The Konte parents had known of his plans against the slavers. “That was a sacrifice that no parent makes lightly, and I could see that in your eyes. Furthermore, your work seems truly to be an enrichment for Noxus' future and I will personally suggest to Emperor Darkwill that he should allocate more resources to this region."

The parents were honored and bowed their heads. ‘We'll manage on our own,’ Asa thanked him. ‘But any help is welcome in Trevale, General.’

Swain nodded and his right hand came out from under his cloak, which he offered to the woman first, as was proper. When the gesture was returned, Swain shook the hand firmly, maintaining steady eye contact, before doing the same to Asa. When he was done, he turned away from the parents and strode toward the dusty main road. Along the way, he looked up at the Argent Mountains, where the Gate of Mourning was located. To camp here with his troops would serve as a reminder and a promise for the Demacians. “Recruits!” he said, while two of his guards fell in at his side. “In rank and file, follow me! We march!” He was satisfied for now. At the head of the small formation and hidden by the cloak on his shoulders, he took a silver rose-shaped seal out of his pocket to look at it. He and his men had found it during the search of Judge Wivern's house. Unfortunately, the lady had not been particularly cooperative and had been killed by Swain's guards, so he had lost an important piece of the puzzle in the slave trade case. More unfortunately, there had been no other clues in the house for him, but Swain was not surprised. If the Black Rose could have been so easily taken down, it would have been gone for centuries, and at least with his success in Trevale, he could pull another thorn out of the wounded flesh of Noxus. Therefore, Swain saw his presence in Trevale as a sweeping success in every way.

The children obediently set out on their new path, with Riven at the end of the line, casting a last glance back at the farm and at Miko as they left. She hadn't been able to talk to him much after the terrible events, but did she really need more words? Instead, she reached for her chest, but she didn't slap herself, but patted the place where her heart was. Her little brother smiled and did exactly the same.

 

 

The frosty mountain air made even the tiniest breath visible as it billowed out of his mouth, as twelve-year-old Garen crept carefully through the snow. The heir to House Crownguard was dressed appropriately for the snowy and very cold weather, even if it bothered him a little. After all, he was looking for an escaped, and these clothes restricted his movement a little. Suddenly, a snowball hit him in the face out of nowhere, and he looked around hastily, but there was no one to be seen in these fortress gardens. However, a happy, childish giggle reached his ears, but it echoed from the surrounding walls, so he wasn't sure of the direction. However, he heard the soft crunching of snow near the covered fountain and Garen slowly crept towards it. “Got you!” he said and dove with full commitment behind the water source. However, he jumped into the void and only piled up snow under himself with his landing. “Huh?”

Suddenly the previously childlike voice echoed so loudly that one might think it was that of a grown-up young woman. “DEMACIA!” she shouted, and an insidious snowball flew through the air.

Garen quickly got up, although it wasn't necessary, because the white snowball flew over him. “Ha!” he laughed heartily. “Your battle cry is good, but you still have to work on your accuracy!” At least that's what he thought before Garen was buried under the falling snow of the fountain roof seconds later. Taken by surprise and looking like a wet poodle, he shook his head so that at least some of the snow would get out of his dark brown hair.

“I've got you!” Seven-year-old Luxanna laughed cheerfully as she jumped out from behind a cart. The little girl was dressed in a fine white winter coat, with golden stitching and extra-lined interfaces, while her head was warmed by a fluffy hood, from under which her infectious smile and sky-blue eyes shone. “Let's play again!”

“You know what they say: there's no shame in losing once. It's just that you shouldn't give up without a good fight!”

“Then just close your eyes and count to twenty!” said Luxanna, who was usually just called Lux by her family and her very small circle of friends.

From the walls of the fortress, Tianna Crownguard observed the innocent goings-on with mixed feelings. On the one hand, an aunt watched her brother's children, the heirs and bearers of the family legacy, play. On the other hand, she also saw it from the perspective of the strict commander of the Dauntless Vanguard, the most elite order within Demacia, whose warriors took on only the most daring and dangerous missions, even beyond the borders of the country. Both perspectives shared one point in common - the legacy of the Crownguard family and their reputation.

“You know he's always focused and eager in his training,” said Pieter Crownguard. He was Tianna's older brother, recognizable by his matching golden blonde hair and neatly trimmed full beard. Pieter was the head of the noble Crownguard house, which had always been dedicated solely to protecting the king. That was why he was here with his sister and part of the Dauntless Vanguard, because there had been reports of Noxian troop movements, and he fulfilled his duties with the same zeal as his younger sister did, but as a father, he had room in his heart for the few childish moments of his family, who otherwise had to follow etiquette all the time. “There are only soldiers here. No nobility, no public, no one to judge them. Just a few more years for Garen before the last bit of childhood is gone for him.“

”Of course, Pieter,” Tianna nodded in agreement. She was just as compassionate as she was disciplined, which was evident when little Lux looked up to her briefly and waved warmly. Tianna smiled a little, recognizing herself in Lux, for the two were the spitting image of each other, only separated by innocence and years. “Let's let them be together for a little longer and instead worry about this General Swain.”

“Exactly,” Pieter agreed, as the two turned and looked down from the walls of the Gates of Mourning. Thousands of feet of altitude and linear distance separated Pieter's eyes and the clearly visible Noxian war camp, but to him it wasn't just a provocation. To him, it was as if the enemies of freedom were standing right in front of that fortress. “Noxus has been trying in vain to set foot in Shurima for decades. So if anyone could take the Gates of Mourning, it's this General Swain.”

“He's welcome to try,” Tianna said, steeled, thinking of Demacia's history. There were almost no suitable routes across the Argent Mountains for anything large as an army, and the Gates of Mourning had served as a staging point for Noxus for many centuries of constant raids on the far west of Valoran. “Those beasts will remain caged forever, and we will guard their prison.”

“Anything less would be a dishonor to the memory of King Jarvan the First,” Pieter replied, looking back.

 

When the Demacians began to push back the great Noxian expansion to the east almost 100 years ago, the Gates of Mourning were one of the first battlefields where the two powers clashed. Demacia gained the victory and control over the Gates of Mourning, thus freeing the lands west and northwest of the Argent Mountains from Noxian occupation. However, the noble kingdom was to pay dearly for this, because on the same route, a little further east, the fortified city of Hvadris, on the edge of the Argent Mountain cliffs, was still under Noxian control. One of the greatest and most feared warlords of the time, Sion, heard of loss of the lands that he and his warband had previously fought hard to gain, and he marched on Hvadis. When he arrived, he could see Demacia's army on the horizon, but the troops led by King Jarvan the First had no intention of advancing further into Noxian territory and were in the process of retreating. Sion was furious and prepared with his men and the hard-pressed defenders of Hvardis to attack. When the city commander had advised him against it, the warlord unceremoniously threw the coward over the wall before leading the counterattack in person, as always.

Sion had been a force of nature, a colossus among men, and though he hadn't been known for his tactical prowess, success had always come from his brutal methods. Even when the Hvadris defenders deserted him during the battle, leaving him surrounded by Demacia's army with only his most powerful warriors remaining, it didn't stop him. The warlord had set his sights on King Jarvan and had slaughtered his way through numerous troops, pierced by swords, spears, and crossbow bolts. Even the king himself had dealt him a mortal blow, whereupon Sion had dropped his axe, but he did not stop! With his hands now free, he had wrenched the king's crown from his head with one hand and strangled him with the other, despite constant attacks by Demacian soldiers, until the life had left the king's eyes and finally Sion's as well.

 

“Commander Tianna!” a Demacian scout from the Dauntless Vanguard called out from the battlements.

Tianna nodded. “Speak.”

“The Noxians have begun dismantling their camp,” the soldier reported with a sense of relief and certainty. “As suspected, they have recruited children from the surrounding farms, and their next destination is the return to Noxus Prime.”

“Good work,” Tianna commended. “Get something to eat and take a break. Dismissed.”

“Yes, commander!” the soldier saluted before moving away in a relaxed manner.

Pieter knew his sister well enough, though. “You'll probably stay a few days longer, won't you?”

“Yes,” Tianna confirmed. She didn't mistrust her soldier, but she didn't want to take any chances with Noxians. “I won't leave until I'm certain that warband is gone and a hundred kilometers away.”

“Then I'll give King Jarvan the Third a preliminary report on Urzeris and this little display of Noxian might.”

“Let's pray the report doesn't change,” Tianna said anxiously, turning to her brother and hugging him. “Until then, I hope you and the children have a safe journey home. Give them both my love.”

Pieter gave his sister a warm embrace. “Of course.”

Chapter 11: Demacia

Summary:

The Crownguard family is on its way back to the capital of Demacia, where Pieter will report to the king on the uneventful troop movements of the Noxians so far. The journey will take about three weeks with horses and carriages, but that doesn't bother little Luxanna at all. There are so many different, lush green landscapes, towns, villages and fortresses to see that the girl is not bored for a second while her family follows the great Tibesas river.

After traveling about a third of the way, the Crown Guard entourage reaches a modest village on the edge of the gigantic Lake Trinity, where they plan to rest for two days. The local mayor uses this time to approach Pieter Crownguard with ominous concerns.

893 AN

Demacian estates northwest of the Argent Mountains, Trinity Lake, Bisia Village.

 

“At last solid ground under our feet again,” sighed Pieter, slightly exhausted, as he swung out of the saddle of his magnificent steed. “When we get back to the capital and then to High Silvermere, I'll have had enough of riding and carriages for a while.”

“I know exactly what you mean, my liege,” Captain Ronan agreed. He led the personal guard of House Crowngaurd and patted his own warhorse. “Nothing beats a good steed and a long ride, but enough is enough.”

“That's why we need a rest here,” Pieter added. He stood in front of the village inn and looked around in peace. The village hadn't expected such a following and Pieter hadn't announced himself either, so the small community was naturally curious. “Make sure that my family is accommodated in the inn and that the soldiers set up camp.”

“Of course, my liege,” Ronan bowed his head curtly and promptly took a few soldiers aside. “You there, to me!”

Meanwhile, Pieter took off his gloves and breathed in the fresh, if somewhat manure-scented, country air. “What do you say, my son?”

“Well, it can't be compared to High Silbermere,” Garen replied. He had kept switching between the horse and the carriage during the journey, and rarely got to see such tranquil villages. “But I like the peace and the surrounding nature.”

“Exactly, the peace,” Pieter nodded while taking off his leather gloves. It wasn't cold for him, even though it was the afternoon and still spring. “As men of high standing, it is our duty to ensure that the king is safe and if the king is safe, he can fully concentrate on peace for his people.”

“For a king without a people is a king of nothing.”

“So it is, my son,” Pieter agreed. His son was young, but he had no doubt that Garen would one day be a worthy head of House Crownguard.

A little further back, Luxanna got out of her large, comfortable carriage. “Father!” she called happily and immediately rushed towards her family.

This cheerful disposition made the curious villagers laugh, and everyone was immediately amazed at how human this noble family seemed.

Pieter was just able to catch his girl before she hit the ground. “Hey, hey, slow down, you little Grudgepaw Cougar,” he smiled warmly, trying to rein in his daughter's overzealousness. “Did you have a nice ride?”

“Oh yes!” Luxanna beamed. “Did you see that one fortress? It looked like a big hawk! And then the many fishermen's huts, like a village on the water! And the-!”

“I see,” Pieter skillfully stopped his little one. She had always been a tomboy and had a natural curiosity that she rarely shared with him, because Pieter, as the leader of the house, had a lot of obligations. That's why he gave her as much of his time as he could. “I'm sure you'll have a lot to tell me later.”

“Why later? Do you have to do something now?”

“Well, as a responsible lord, I have to report to the mayor,” Pieter explained, catching sight of a strained, elderly woman.

“My Lord, please forgive me,” Rubia breathed when she reached her master. She was 52 years old and served as a maid and chaperone for little Luxanna. “I just keep underestimating her.”

“It's alright, Rubia,” Pieter reassured his servant. She had looked after Garen since he was younger, and he knew she was reliable. “Take Luxanna and prepare her and Garen's room.”

Rubia curtsied. “Of course, Lord Crownguard.”

“But Father!” said Luxanna, with such a sweet look that it was hard to refuse. “I want to see the village! Please, please, please!”

“Lady Luxanna!” Rubia cleared her throat respectfully. “It's unbecoming of a lady of your stand to embarrass your father like that in public.”

Luxanna nodded briefly to her maid and then to her father. “Please, I want this so much. We rarely go so far away from High Silvermere and the capital.”

“I know, my dear,” Pieter replied sympathetically. He exchanged glances with Rubia and as much as he wanted to grant his daughter's wish, he honestly preferred her to stay at the safe inn. Therefore, he wanted to diplomatically deny her request. “But unfortunately Captain Ronan is already busy and I can't send him with you to take care of you. Besides, you must still have a lot to learn, right? Because of this journey, you don't have regular lessons and someone has to take care of Rubia. So who, if not you will look after her?"

Luxanna was by no means a spoiled brat and despite her extreme youth, she knew that she couldn't just do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. Still, she was a little saddened. ”All right, Father.” “Father,“ Garen gently raised his voice. ‘If you allow me?” Pieter looked behind him. ’Speak, my son.” “I could take over Captain Ronan's task and walk a little with Luxanna through the village.”

“Just walking through the village?” Pieter asked, letting go of Luxanna and standing up. “Why?”

“Well, you took me on this long journey because you want me to see more of the world and the same should apply to Luxanna, right?” Garen reasoned, but he didn't want to make his father look bad. The boy was fulfilling his duty as a brother and Crownguard heir. “While you're meeting with the mayor, I can represent our family among the villagers and Luxanna will learn more than from books and teachers.“

”You really think you can shoulder this responsibility?“ Pieter replied seriously.

”I do, father,” Garen nodded just as gravely.

Pieter looked from son to daughter, from Luxanna to Rubia, who raised an eyebrow, and then back to his eldest. “All right, Garen,” Pieter agreed, selecting two guards. “You two will accompany my children and follow my son's orders.”

“Yes, Lord Crownhaurd!” the personal bodyguards obeyed. In addition to the silver-gray armor, their basic equipment consisted of a long one-handed sword and a large long pointed shield with the Crownguard coat of arms emblazoned on it, the top of which was flattened and tapered to a point at the bottom.

Luxanna couldn't smile any brighter. “Thank you, father!”

“Have fun, my little one,” Pieter whispered warmly and he briefly pressed his daughter to his hip. “But listen to your brother.”

“I will!” promised Luxanna and she hurried to her brother, who caught her. “We have enough time, Lux, take it easy,” Garen said with a smile. He took his sister's hand and walked with her, just as all the normal people did. Only their clothes and the two soldiers on either side, one step behind the siblings, revealed their difference. ‘Where to first?’

“That way!” Luxanna pointed to the left. Her finger pointed to the artistically beautiful fountain that marked the center of the village. “It's smaller than the ones we have at home, but it has so many animals. Ours is almost only decorated with the faces of our ancestors.”

“Well, just as our ancestors are the foundation and the protective hands of the House of Crownguard, so it may be with the animals here,” Garen speculated. He, too, did not yet know enough about the world, but he was clever enough for theories. “I saw many of these animals on the way here. Didn't you?”

“Oh yes!”

“You see? The villagers live in harmony with the animals and also from them. An important foundation for this village.“

”That's so nice!” Luxanna rejoiced. At the corners of the houses and along the street, she saw small lines of villagers gathering again and again, who admired the siblings and their escort as if on a catwalk. They bowed their heads and the women made awkward, rustic curtsies, which Luxanna returned with her practiced curtseys. However, when the girl saw other children playfully running in groups along the road, watching her and waving to her, Luxanna became just like them. “Hello there!”

Some parents pulled their children back to stop them from behaving so rude towards the nobility.

“Garen, can I go play with the other children?” Luxanna asked joyfully. “Please, please!”

“Well, you know we have to be there for all the villagers,” Garen replied, inconsolable. However, a crisp, fresh scent caught his attention, and he used it as a distraction. “Look, a bakery. Shall we go take a look?”

Baked goods and sweets? That was a good distraction for Luxanna. “Do you think they have White Snow cake there?”

“Let's go find out,” Garen suggested, before he and his sister headed towards the bakery, which was built almost entirely of the finest brick, with dark clouds constantly rising from its three chimneys.

There was even a huge shop window in which all kinds of delicacies were presented and you could also see that there were hardly any customers in the shop.

Nevertheless, one of the Crownguard guards entered the bakery first, while the other blocked the entrance after the siblings entered.

 

Inside, the rich and delicious scent of the freshest baked goods was even stronger, although the selection was limited. After all, this was a small village and not a city, and the owners, a married couple in their 40s, were very surprised by the arrival of the nobility. “Oh, my Lord,” the baker bowed his head. Of course, he didn't know Garen or his face, but the signet rings on his hand were enough of an introduction for him. “To what do we owe the honor of your visit?”

“How could we not come here?” Garen replied laudably. At the same time, he took a seat in a corner and kept an eye on the couple and a very old customer. “After weeks on the road and only a few fresh rations, we couldn't resist heaven.”

“My Lord and Lady, you are too kind,” smiled the baker's wife, curtsying before the siblings.

Luxanna just smiled and curtsied as well. ‘Hello, my name is Luxanna Crownguard,’ she introduced herself. ‘Do you have any White Snow Cake here?’

The mere mention of the name Crownguard made those present even more humble. “The King's protectors?”, gasped the baker's wife. “If we had known that, we would have prepared better goods!”

“There's nothing better than White Snow cake!” said Luxanna, and no one could have convinced her otherwise before she approached the glassed-over, beautifully crafted display and spotted the cake in question. “You've got it!”

“Would you like a piece?” the baker's wife asked, offering.

“Please, yes!”

While the baker's wife cut off a piece of the dark cake, the top layer of which was made of white cream and glittering icing, Garen reached for his coin bag. “How much is this?”

“But my lord!” the baker protested, almost indignant. “Please accept our modest goods as a gift. The fact that the Crownguards are standing in my bakery is payment enough.”

Garen remained polite, but he wouldn't let go. “Please, honest and hard work must be rewarded.”

The baker was almost speechless, and indeed it was embarrassing for him to accept coins from a boy of such high nobility. “Thirty copper coins, please.”

There were no copper coins in Garen's bag, only silver and gold, but before he could even pay, his female guard approached him. “My Lord,” she whispered cautiously. “Is it wise to let Lady Luxanna eat something that has not passed through careful hands?”

The baker stared at the ground as the matter was addressed, and Garen looked up at the guard with a raised eyebrow. “I appreciate your concern,” he said, dismissing the statement. He knew that the guard was just doing her duty, but he would not embarrass the bakers and put a whole silver coin on the counter. “But I firmly believe in the craftsmanship of these passioned and hardworking people."

Luxanna didn't notice any of this. Even when the baker's wife looked hesitantly at Garen while holding the cake and wooden plate in her hands, the girl was unaware of the awkward situation. When her brother nodded at the baker's wife, she smiled again and gave Luxanna her desired sweet. “Here you go, my lady.”

“Thank you!” beamed Luxanna and she nibbled on her cake. “Mmmm, delicious!”

“Isn't it, lady?” the baker smiled proudly. “We have been in this business for decades, like my father before me and my grandfather, but I must say that since my son joined us, we have reached a new level of baking skill.”

“Really?” Garen asked with interest. “It sounds like someone has found their true passion.”

“Indeed, my lord,” the baker nodded proudly. “My son is so good that even nobles make the two-day journey from Terbisia or send their servants for orders just to sample our goods.”

“That's extremely impressive,” Garen admitted. “How did your son do that?”

“Among other things, he convinced me to buy some of that modern Piltover equipment two years ago,” the baker said, although with a little unease. “We'll be paying off those debts for a few more years, but it was worth it. He's also developed new recipes and he has his own way of baking.”

“How so?”

The baker looked at his wife, who seemed embarrassed. “He's almost like an artist and sometimes needs his peace and time for himself. Then no one is allowed to disturb him at work and that's when his best works come out.”

“Well, if your bakery is so popular, you should let him do his art,” Garen laughed heartily.

Luxanna, meanwhile, devoted herself entirely to her cake until she noticed a playful peeking from the side.

The baker's daughter, only a year older than Luxanna, watched the lady curiously and silently.

Luxanna looked at her cake and offered it without hesitation. “Would you like some of my White Snow Cake?”

The girl smiled and was about to accept the offer when her mother gently reached for her. “Now, Leila,” she reprimanded gently. “That's no way to behave towards a lady. Please forigve us, my lord.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Garen said, although he could see from the corner of his eye that his guard was less calm. “Lady Luxanna must get to know all facets of Demacia, including normality.”

Once the noble son had said that, the baker's wife relaxed again and her daughter took a step forward. “Are you your princess?”

“Me? No, no!” Luxanna shook her head and curtsied as if Leila herself were a noblewoman. “I am Lady Luxanna Crownguard. And you?”

Leila tried to match her curtsy, though not quite as well. “I'm Leila Macon. Would you like to see our baking machines? We got them from Piltiver! It's a city where lots of wondrous machines are invented!”

“My teacher told me about that!” Luxanna mentioned in passing. “If you show me the machines, I can tell you what he taught me about Piltover!”

“Oh yes! Come!” Leila nodded as if she didn't need her parents' consent and especially not that of Luxanna's brother.

Garen simply looked at the guard and nodded, then pointed in his sister's direction before the guard disappeared into the bakery with the two toddlers.

 

On the first floor of the mayor's office, however, things were less cheerful while Pieter Crownguard stood with his arms folded behind his back, looking out of the narrow window onto the village square. “Unnatural beasts, you seem very convinced of that?”

“As I said, Lord Crownguard,” Mayor Abellas assured him. He was of normal stature and about Pieter's age, only with far less black hair on his head and bad teeth. “These wolves are bigger than anything we've ever had here. Wolves have always killed livestock, but not so coordinated and, above all, they have not killed humans. Besides, the farmers swear that some of these beasts are as big as a cart. I've lost four soldiers and half a dozen volunteer militia in the search for the wolves, and Terbisia won't send me any additional men. According to the local lords, the mob is merely exaggerating, and they doesn't want to waste men on a wolf hunt.

Pieter closed his eyes. If these statements were true, there was only one logical conclusion for him, and it was disturbing. “Mages.”

“Exactly, my lord,” Abellas nodded thoughtfully. He, too, saw this plague as the work of at least one mage, the scourge of the world and outlawed and hunted in Demacia.

Chapter 12: Info inbetween

Hey folks, sorry for raising your hopes for a new chapter but just a information.

Dont worry, the story still continues but im also a writer of my own books/stories and not just this Fanfic and atm i´m about to finish another of my stories with the epilog so this sucks my time up a bit.

Chapter 13: Demacia

Summary:

After being informed by the mayor about the possible mage threat, Pieter Crownguard takes the necessary steps for help. He and his men go on patrol in the area, while his son Garen is in charge of the village's security and Luxanna is to stay at the well-guarded inn. She knows why everyone is so upset, because in Demacia even the poorest farm children are taught to be wary of mages, and yet Luxanna does not fully understand this fear.

AN 983

Demacian lands northwest of the Silver Mountains, Trinity Lake, Bisia Village.

 

Early midday brought a light, drafty breeze that came from the far-flung mountains to the southwest and blew over the open, partly harvested grain, lettuce, and beet fields. Pieter Crownguard overlooked those fields and he didn't mind the fresh air, because his blue, padded cloak, made of a mixture of steel and leather armor, provided the nobleman with more than enough protection from the wind.

“My Lord,” said one of the guards as he approached. “We found some tracks.”

“Excellent,” Pieter replied and went with the soldier. He had taken 65 guardsmen of his house with him on this journey and formed two groups of 25 to search the area around the village. Captain Ronan led one group and Pieter the other, while Garen remained in Bisia with the rest of the soldiers. “And any signs of mages?”

“None yet, my lord,” the guard shook his head. “We'll have to catch one of those beasts to find out.”

“Not exactly my favorite type of hunt,” Pieter said. He had divided his 25 guards into five groups of five, but he wasn't worried about it. The soldiers of House Crownguard were partly former members of the Dauntless Vanguard or at least as good as this elite, because the house's duty to protect the king demanded the best. “Even if it is a change. There are no wolves around High-Silvermere.”

“And certainly no magical wolves,” the soldier emphasized superstitiously. “And even if there were, the beasts wouldn't stand a chance there.”

“That may be true, but here we are far from such privileges,” Pieter warned gently. The most important cities in Demacia had special walls, fortresses, and other defensive structures made of a special stone that negated magic. Parts of their armor and weapons also had this neutralizing effect, although it was limited, which is why Pieter looked at the anti-magic rune necklace on his wrist. “Just like the villagers, which is why we have to find these beasts all the more and take them and their master out.“

”Better to take the mage alive,” the soldier said, but not out of compassion. ‘Where there's one, there could be more... there, that's the broken fence.’

Pieter nodded in agreement and he looked at the broken, simple fence. It was not high and made only to keep livestock, but the large paw prints in the mud told Pieter that much wilder animals had been at work here. “Oh yes,” he said firmly, for the rune necklace on his wrist began to glow. “The trail is clear. When did the farmer say this happened?“

”Two days ago, Lord Crownguard. No livestock was killed, though. It just broke free and he hasn't found it since or any carcasses."

“Maybe the magician needs the animals for some kind of ritual or something like that,” Pieter speculated, rubbing the weakly magical dirt between his fingers. “We'll only find out if we follow the trail. To the horses!”

 

The village was as quiet as the pastures and fields, but the tension had been palpable even before the arrival of the Crownguard cohort. It was a small town, where almost everyone knew each other, and yet the magical beasts were more than enough to turn friendly faces into fearful, suspicious eyes that had already made some unfounded accusations.

That was why Garen was standing with three of his guards near the local herb shop. “This is not magic,” he said testily. “This is the healing arts.”

“But it was impossible!” said Elisa. She was 51 years old and the biggest gossip in the village. “The young man's mother was terminally ill, everyone knows that! All the herbs in the world couldn't have saved her from death, and yet she recovered!“

”Not quite, dear lady. I spoke to the pharmacist and he said that the woman was seriously ill and her recovery was highly unlikely, but not impossible."

“So you're not going to do anything?”

“He also allowed us to search his shop,” Garen replied, unconvinced. He was the future head of his house and had received a corresponding education in many areas, such as diplomacy and manners, but he was still partly a teenager and just as human. “The pharmacist is no mage.”

“Mages are treacherous and malicious!” Elisa grumbled, although she didn't completely refrain from using foul language when speaking to a noble. “You're still young! Don't be so easily deceived!”

“Like with the baker's son?”

“I've known the baker's family for decades!” Elisa waved her finger suspiciously. “Their goods have always been good, but since the son took over, it's all gone weird.”

One of Garen's guards couldn't hold back. “So... you're seriously complaining that the bread is so damn good?”

Garen smirked, while Elisa stuck to her guns. “Do not mock me!” she replied knowingly. “Even here in Bisia, people have heard about this new invention from Piltover, this Hextech! Magic-using machines!”

The mention of Hextech made even the soldiers feel a little uncomfortable, but Garen remained calm. “Yes, my lady,” he nodded. “Hextech machinery is strictly forbidden in Demacia, but the baker has acquired a very different kind. I've seen it with my own eyes, though I don't quite understand how it works. It has something to do with fire and smoke.”

“Those people in Piltover are almost the same as mages,” grumbled Elisa suspiciously. “I'll tell you exactly, young lord - beware the baker's son, or has he already bewitched you?”

“That's enough!” the guard said. She found that too much and pushed the villager back a bit. “How dare you insult the heir of House Crownguard?”

“I didn't mean to!” Elisa cowered. “Please forgive me!”

“Leave her alone,” Garen instructed tensely but calmly. His guard obeyed and stepped back to stand next to him. “Your worries are understandable, because magic is no laughing matter. But to suspect everything and everyone just because you don't understand it doesn't help anyone.”

“Of course, my lord. Please forgive a humble woman like me.”

“It's alright, but if that was all, please go home,” Garen asked politely, trying to sound confident. “Soon, my father will surely return with the good news that he has killed the beasts and captured the Skinny one.”

“That would ease the hearts of us all,” Elisa said, bowing her head as she walked backward. “Thank you for your time and care, my young lord.”

The guard next to the noble scion waited a moment after the villager had left. “It's truly remarkable that you can remain so calm, young Lord Garen.”

“The villagers are simply afraid,” Garen replied. He was not much different, but as the heir of House Crownguard and a future warrior of the Dauntless Vanguard, he had to set a good example. ”And they live far from strong walls and larger troops to protect them. That is our task now!” With that said, Garen put his hand on the hilt of his sword. The young lord's stamina and drive knew no bounds. However, his exuberant nature of wanting to help and satisfy everyone and everything was not very popular with many House Guard members, as he unintentionally harassed them. “Come on, let's show our presence in the village!”

 

Luxanna, on the other hand, was sitting quietly and still in her inn room. She sat at a desk that was much too big for her, in a chair for adults, alone. In front of her lay open books about the history of Demacia, a half-unrolled map of the world with the corresponding country borders, and a parchment on which she was writing an essay with a feather pen. Bored, she propped her face up with one hand and kept glancing over to where the window of the room was. The playful, warm rays of sunshine only served to make her feel even more lonely in here, and she sighed wearily. Everyone had been gone for hours and only Rubia came in from time to time to see if Luxanna was carefully doing her chores. “Huh?” she listened. Childish laughter and a music box distracted her and drew her attention to the window, where she had to stand on tiptoe to see out fully.

A group of children had gathered in front of the inn, along some residential buildings on the large fountain square. They were all standing in a semicircle around a cart, on the back seat of which stood a woman wearing funny makeup and dressed as a court jester, turning the crank of a mechanical box. To the music coming from the device, several small figures on top of the box moved as if in a dance, and the woman stopped turning. Nevertheless, the crank continued to turn as if by magic, and with pure pantomime, the court jester made a completely astonished face. Almost all the children imitated this astonished gesture before cheering excitedly and watching the figures, completely captivated, while the woman got on the cart and began to hop back and forth in a silly manner.

Luxanna was no less fascinated. She had seen things like this before, since she had everything a child could wish for. However, her excitement was focused on the actual act of coming together and sharing joy. Although she was not present, she was so happy that everyone was having a good time and her infectious smile attracted a lot of attention.

The court jester caught the little lady, despite the medium distance, and waved to her cheerfully and good-naturedly.

Luxanna waved back and while the children were distracted by the music box, the court jester began to perform a seemingly funny dance just for Luxanna. This pleased the seven-year-old all the more and, like the dancer, she playfully raised her hands to her head, while the court jester made faces that a lady would never imitate naturally.

However, a knock at the door interrupted the game. “Excuse me, Lady Luxanna,” whispered one of the guards at the door. “Someone requests an audience with you.”

“An audience?” Luxanna replied. She moved away from the window and stood expectantly at the desk, wondering who could possibly be seeking her out. “Please, let the person enter.”

“Yes, Lady Luxanna,” the guard obeyed, and no sooner had the door been opened a crack than the heavenly scent of freshly baked goods immediately filled the room.

The 18-year-old baker's son entered, who had shown the little lady his bakery and all the new machines from Piltover the day before. “Lady Luxanna,” he greeted her properly. In one hand, he carried a covered basket and the guard who had come with him to the bakery the day before was now standing behind him again. ‘I hope I'm not disturbing you?’

“Loca!” Luxanna said, her eyes widening. She ran to him and threw her arms around him, even though it was a bit one-sided at first.

The guard had been startled, and Loca, who had gone to his knees, looked back apologetically at the soldier before he just nodded and Loca patted the little lady on the back. “I'm really happy to see you, too,“ he said, carefully pushing her away. ‘But I can't stay long because your maid told me that you have some very important things to do.’

”I just have to study, nothing more.“

”Well, that's very important,” Loca agreed. He was a relatively scrawny young man with a snub nose. “Like I told you in the bakery, I also had to study a lot and hard to make my stuff taste so incredibly delicious.”

“Yes, I could smell it immediately,” Luxanna grinned like a Cheshire cat. “Are you delivering all of this right now?”

“That's right and my parents told me to bring the hardworking Lady Luxanna a fresh cornbread,” Loca revealed, along with the red cloth over the basket, under which lay several cornbreads. “Take one.”

Luxanna wanted nothing more than to take one, but she knew decency. “Unfortunately, I don't have any coins.”

“You don't need money for this, it's a gift,” Loca offered, handing her one of the hand-sized corn loaves. “Please, my family would be honored.”

“That's very sweet of you and your family!” Luxanna smiled widely as she accepted the cornbread and squeezed it lightly between her fingers. “It's so soft and yet firm. How do you do that?”

“That's my most important secret.”

“Will you tell me?”

“Well then it wouldn't be a secret.”

“Pleaseeeee,” Luxanna begged, and anyones heart would have melted away with this.

Loca couldn't resist. “All right,” he agreed, giggling. “But you have to promise not to tell anyone.”

“I promise!” Luxanna nodded eagerly, while the guard in the room watched the whole thing carefully and quietly took two steps closer.

“It's all about my hands,” Loca whispered playfully. “They're always warm and I know exactly where and when to touch the dough or the plates so that the heat is distributed just right.”

Luxanna giggled, but when the guard loudly cleared his throat, it was the little lady who slowly moved away from the baker's son. “I promise I won't tell anyone this secret!” she said before biting into the cornbread. “A sweet, delicious secret!”

“It makes learning so much more fun, doesn't it?” Loca grinned. He stood up and covered the bread basket again.

“Maybe, but I'd like to make people as happy as you do!” Luxanna said passionately. “I'll ask my mom if I can learn how to bake when I get home!”

“That's enough now!” a stern voice interjected. Rubia was standing in the doorway and entered the room. “I'm asking you to leave now, Loca. Like I said, the lady has a lot to do.”

A little embarrassed and apologetically, Loca rubbed the back of her head. “Of course, we got a little carried away,” he replied and said goodbye with a slight bow. “Good luck, Lady Luxanna.”

“Thank you and have fun baking!” Luxanna waved in an exuberance of childishness, so unlike the nobility.

The room emptied again until only Rubia was left to close the door behind her. “Eat your bread and then back to your essay. I'll be back soon to check it.”

Luxanna nodded obediently before the door closed and she was once again completely alone. Even the cheerful music from outside had stopped and she went to the window, where she saw nothing, to her disappointment. The cart and everyone around it had vanished.

Chapter 14: Demacia

Summary:

While Pieter Crowngaurd and his soldiers follow the trail of the magical beasts, his son Garen is confronted with an unexpected situation and little Luxanna simply cannot resist the temptations of a childish adventure.

AN 983

Demacian lands northwest of the Argent Mountains, Trinity Lake, Bisia Village

 

Another day, same game. Just like yesterday, Luxanna had to spend the time alone in her room studying: Today in the morning, it was about the subject of magic, because her father had thought that she should study this topic more intensively due to the current events. She had actually asked her father if he could explain everything about magic and the fear of magicians to her in more detail, but Pieter Crownguard had told her that unfortunately he had other duties. He had ridden out again because he and his soldiers suspected that they were very close to the lair of the beasts, but because of the approaching night, they had retreated to the village yesterday as a precaution. Luxanna turned to the next page of her book so that she could continue reading and learning obediently when there was a knock at the door. “Come in.”

“It's me, Lady Luxanna,” said Rubia. She carried a tray with a teapot and a matching cup into the room. “It's time for a well-deserved break.”

“Is that blueberry tea?”

“Of course, I know what you like best,” Rubia smiled as she placed the tray on the desk and a distinct, warm scent of blueberry emerged from the spout. Then she filled the teacup and placed it on the tray next to her lady. “And while you are enjoying your tea, tell me something about the reasons behind the Demacian anti-magic laws.”

At first, Luxanna had smiled because of the tea, but the mention of schoolwork made the corners of her mouth drop again. “I don't want to.”

“What do you mean you don't want to?” Rubia replied calmly, but with a raised eyebrow.

“I would much rather be with father or Garen,” Luxanna grumbled to herself, kicking her dangling feet. “I would like to see much more of the outside world. Father promised me that before the journey, that I would be allowed to see Demacia.”

“And you have been able to do that so far, more than ever,” Rubia replied. She understood her little lady all too well, but it was her duty to make a decent, well-educated lady out of her, who couldn't just do whatever she wanted. “But we are in a dangerous situation at the moment. You are aware of that, aren't you?”

“Yes, because of evil wolves.”

“Evil, magical wolves,” Rubia emphasized. “And even if they weren't, you still have to fulfill your duties, just like Lord Crownguard and your brother.”

“But I don't want to right now,” Luxanna admitted, without appearing like a spoiled brat. Even with such a refusal, she managed to radiate a blissful disposition. “At least not like that.”

“Not like that? What do you mean?”

“Well, I had promised my new friend Leila that I would show her all my books and teach her a few things,” Luxanna explained eagerly. She had learned so much from Loca and Leila in the bakery and wanted to return the favor. “But Father said that Leila didn't have time and I know that's not true. Why is Father lying to me? That's mean!”

“Because he's worried,” Rubia said. Of course she knew that Lord Crownguard had also said that, because a lady simply couldn't spend time with a commoner. “Or, to be more precise, he's afraid. Afraid for you, for us, for the whole village, because of insidious magic.”

“But what does Leila have to do with it? She's not a magician!”

“Maybe not, but a magician could use your friendship with her,” Rubia feared. She had lived long enough to witness the harm caused by magic. Her bluntness served as a lesson and to instill caution. “You know that you are of high birth and that not all people are well-disposed towards the Crownguard family.”

“Like Noxians, for example?”

“Correct, as if from a textbook,” Rubia nodded contentedly. “A Noxian tried to harm your family a few years before you were born, using his powers to take on the appearance of a lord who visited your home. If the house guards hadn't been so vigilant, your parents would have been badly harmed.”

“I don't understand,” Luxanna admitted innocently. High nobility or not, she was a child and far from familiar with the cold world and the horrible truths that awaited her everywhere. “What do you mean? What did the magician want to do?”

“He wanted to kidnap them,” Rubia shared part of the truth, because Lord Crownguard was actually supposed to die, while his wife was supposed to be used as leverage against Garen as the heir. “Do you see now why magic is so evil?”

“I... think so,” Luxanna murmured, her head bowed, but she didn't really believe it. Her friend Leila would never do something so mean and that's exactly how she had understood the story of her maid.

“Very good,” Rubia nodded contently, giving her lady some time to process what had been said. “I'll tell you what. Take a break and enjoy your tea. I'll be back in an hour and then we'll do something. How does that sound?”

“That would be great,” Luxanna smiled politely. She watched Rubia leave the room before Luxanna closed her thick book and drank her blueberry tea. However, that was only a small consolation for being alone again and her friend Leila not having time. Wouldn't magic be a good thing in this case, Luxanna wondered? With her, Leila's work could certainly be made easier, so that she had more time. Oh, if only Luxanna could do magic, she would teleport her friend here right now. This thought made her giggle so much that she pretended to do just that. She closed her eyes and stretched out her hand, concentrating, while wishing very hard that she could conjure up her friend here. After a short time she opened her eyes very slowly and peered around, but Luxanna was still alone. The only thing she had was the window, through which she at least had indirect company, because the fountain square was particularly lively today.

 

It was market day, when the surrounding farmers and craftsmen from other villages offered their goods at stalls.

In the midst of this hustle and bustle, one could see Garen from the inn, walking purposefully across the square with some soldiers. He was heading towards a small cohort with a noble carriage that was approaching from the other side of the main street.

Luxanna wondered who was arriving and she was so curious that she didn't notice the soft creaking behind her.

A part of the lower, wooden wall paneling near the desk was pried open and a deeply crouched figure crawled through the toddler-sized hole. On silent paws, the intruder slowly crept up on the unsuspecting lady before suddenly stopping. The many books and maps of Runeterra on the desk were just too interesting, and the figure accidentally pushed a few blank sheets off the table while browsing.

Luxanna turned around with a start, but her fright did not last long. “What?!” she said, only to cover her mouth with her hand. Her new friend Leila was standing in her room, caught in the act, but the guards must not know that.

There was an immediate knock at the door. “Lady Luxanna?!” said the guard at the door. “Is everything all right?!”

“Oh, yes, yes!” Luxanna hastily assured him. “I was just moving something om my desk and a book felt down. Everything is fine.”

“Understood.”

Leila and Luxanna stood facing each other and both had to control themselves from cackling like overjoyed chicks. At least they jumped up and down excitedly before approaching each other. “What are you doing here?”, Luxanna asked quietly and happily. “And how did you get in here?”

“Shall I show you?” Leila giggled just as covertly and playfully, and she gently took her friend's hand and pulled her to the open shed. “Here. My brother told me about this. He and his friends discovered it once when they were playing hide and seek.”

“A secret passage!” Luxanna marveled, as if she were in one of the wondrous stories from her books. “But I thought you didn't have time today?”

“What? Who said that?”

“My father.”

"Leila was young, but not completely naive. The reality of a normal life also had its advantages and she had been told many times by her parents that she and a lady could never be real friends. Pah, she would show them and she sensed that Luxanna's father had used that as an excuse. “He must have misunderstood me!” she smiled. “I had a lot to do and I just wasn't sure if I could be here in time.”

“And what do we want to do now?”

“Come with me,” Leila nodded towards the shed. “I'll show you our village.”

“Um, but I can't,” Luxanna replied, but she didn't say that because she didn't want to. “Everyone will recognize me immediately and then they'll bring me back here.”

“Don't worry!” Leila grinned slyly. “I brought you one of my old cloaks. No one will recognize you in it.”

“Hm,” Luxanna hesitated after all. She knew in the end that she couldn't just leave. “I'd really like to, but if Rubia finds out, she won't be pleased.”

Leila nodded, but she really wanted to please her friend. “We won't be gone long, I promise! She won't even notice you were gone. Please, please, please, please.”

Luxanna looked at both possibilities. There was the locked, guarded door that she would never be allowed to pass through alone, and then there was the secret, open door that she could pass through together with her new friend Leila. It was a unique opportunity, a chance to experience something new and unknown, and all without anyone constantly looking over her shoulder. “Okay!“ she agreed. ‘Do you have a farm nearby? I've always wanted to see one with lots of animals.’

”I know just the place. Let's go,” said Leila. She let her friend crawl into the partition wall first before she followed and the panel slid back into place behind her.

 

Meanwhile, Garen was paying his respects to an arriving nobleman in the market square. “Lord Fauntwood,” he bowed politely, while his guards bowed a little deeper. “We were not aware of your arrival. What brings you here from Terbisia?” The 61-year-old Lord Eran Fauntwood, whose family resided in the distant metropolis of Terbisia, stepped out of the noble carriage. ‘Duties, of course, young Garen,’ he replied as a matter of course, as if Garen had no idea. The fact that he and his counterpart addressed each other by name was not due to a real acquaintance. It was due to the classical education among noble families, who learned the seals and current members of a house or were at least taught by their servants shortly before a meeting. “Besides, I was expecting to meet your father. Where is Lord Crownguard? I need to speak to him on an urgent matter.”

“Pardon me, Lord Fauntwood, but my father is out of the village on an very urgent mission,” Garen said appropriately. “Magical wolves have been terrorizing this village for some time, and we have a-”

“I am well aware of the village's situation,” Eran interrupted. His gaunt face was completely hairless, but his rough brown hair had grown long instead. He did not hide his disappointment as he stood in the public square, surrounded by the crowd. “Why do you think we came all the way from Terbisia? Because it seems that this plague cannot be stopped here alone.”

This accusation of their own incompetence visibly affected many of the residents, and they looked away in shame, which did not escape Garen. “I find it rather admirable, Lord Fauntwood,” he praised them, so that at least some of the people looked up at him encouraged. “The fact that the residents still faithfully fulfill their duties despite all the terror is a testament to true greatness.”

“Trivialities,” Eran dismissed the subject. He had 40 well-equipped House Guardsmen with him and another carriage, which formed the end of his group and was watched by the villagers from a distance and with a queasy stomach. “Do you have anything new to report about these wolves? Or a lead on the villains behind these supposedly magical beasts?“

”My father has already confirmed that magic is clearly involved here,” Garen replied. He saw another member of the lord's family get out of the carriage behind him. ‘The source is still unknown to us.’

“That's alarmingly little news,” Eran sighed. A thirteen-year-old boy stood up next to him. “Then it was probably the best decision to come here after all. This is my youngest son, Darek Fauntwood.”

“Pleased to meet you, Darek,” Garen greeted him. In contrast to him, the lord's overly groomed son wore only velvet clothing, and the sword at his hip seemed more for decoration than a real weapon. “If you wish, Lord Fauntwood, some of our soldiers can take you to my father, and in the meantime, Darek can accompany me on patrols around the village.”

“It would be foolish for me to intervene now when your father may already be in the middle of a fight,” Eran dismissed the suggestion. At least he was visually prepared for a fight with his leather nobleman's attire. “And let my son march through the village like an ordinary soldier? That is beneath his dignity, which is why I am surprised that your father would let you take on this mundane task.”

Garen very rarely had direct contact with other nobles, especially the heads of a house, and that completely on his own. Therefore, this rather negative encounter was unusual for him. “That's because of our family tradition,” he mentioned a little too proudly, but despite all his manners, he allowed himself to be carried away into a subtle provocation. “All future heads of the House of Crownguard serve their time in the Daunltess Vanguard. That's why every opportunity for experience is used. Isn't that something a lord of your standing should know?"

Garen's last words made the crowd around him murmur, while Lord Fauntwood avoided him verbally and physically by slowly walking past the Crownguard heir. His own son remained in place. “I have more important things to deal with at the moment, in case you've forgotten,” he said, and he stole a furtive glance to the side after Eran had passed the young man. “But if you seem to be responsible for the investigations in the village, allow me to put my companions at your side.”

Garen looked over the lord's shoulder. He hadn't yet noticed the other carriage. “Your companions?”

“Yes, and they will be of great service to your work,” Eran said with a malicious grin. “Or should I say you will be of service to them.”

Now Garen was puzzled. Who was he supposed to be of service to? That drew his gaze back to the cohort, where he took a closer look at the second carriage and the people who were just getting out of it. The young nobleman understood immediately, because the white cloaks of the passengers and the seal on the carriage were enough of a statement for anyone in Demacia.

It was the Order of the Mageseekers. Within Demacia, ithey formed a special, extremely influential entity that answered only to the king. Anything related to magic, be it tracking down and detaining mages, confiscating magical artifacts, or anything else that posed a threat to Demacia in magical form, authorized them to take action against even the high nobility. Since little was known about the inner workings of the mysterious order, many people feared them, regardless of their origin or station.

“I'm just a bit confused, Lord Fauntwood,” Garen said skeptically. Still, he trusted the order and was not afraid of it, although he didn't know that the Fauntwood family had been deeply rooted with the Magieeekers for generations. ‘The mayor asked for help some time ago - why is the order only coming now?’

“The Order is quite busy already,” Eran replied, not bothering to turn around. Instead, he walked slowly towards the inn. “They constantly receives highly questionable reports, and if they responded to every one immediately, the Mageseekers would no longer be able to fight real threats because they would be looking for ghosts.”

“Forgive me, my lord,” said Garen in puzzlement, as Eran seemed to want to have nothing to do with the events in the village or outside of it. “If I may ask, where are you headed now?”

“Important matters with the mayor that are of no concern to an inexperienced son,” Eran explained dryly, although his visit to Bisia was anything but a coincidence. He had known which route the Crowngaurd family would take and had also suspected that they would definitely stop here. “If you want to make yourself useful, please be so kind as to accommodate my son to the inn. He would very much like to meet your little sister, since he has heard so much about the bright sunshine.”

Garen was still too inexperienced in the ways of political intrigue to recognize this as anything more than a simple introduction between nobles. “Of course, Lord Fauntwood,” the heir agreed, and he extended his hand to Derek with a laugh. “I hope you know what a fuss you're getting yourself into.”

Derek was not used to anyone offering him their hand, which is why he hesitated. In fact, he was generally a very quiet and reserved character who mainly did as he was told. “To call a lady a fuss seems inappropriate to me,” he replied. He didn't take the offered hand, but the Crownguard heir did, creating a handshake.

Garen quickly realized that he shouldn't squeeze too hard and released the handshake again. “Then you'll definitely meet a new kind of lady today. Come on.”

 

With a mighty swing, Pieter Crownguard cut the trunk of a large murkwolf. For some time now, he and his guards had been fighting a seemingly endless pack of these beasts. Three guards had already been killed and two seriously wounded, leaving only 20 operational guards after they had already slaughtered three dozen of these beasts.

Since the great cataclysm, murkwolves had been creatures modified by magic anyway, and the more magic they were exposed to, the larger they could become. There were also particularly dangerous mutations that had a double head, but they were not that common.

At this den, there were only two of these double-headed murkwolves, and they were true giants, larger than a carriage. An eerie, violet glow burned on their fur, and they could spit colored fireballs from their mouths, which was unusual for these animals. Not all of the rest were huge hulks, but the normal-sized murkwolves here could teleport from one point to the next in the blink of an eye.

“My lord!” one of the guardsmen next to the nobleman wheezed. “We just can't get to the double-heads!”

“We have to somehow!” Pieter replied. According to his previous assumption, it was the giants who were constantly conjuring new Direwolves out of the burrow with their magic. “I have an idea! Take a few other guardsmen and go back to our horses! You ride down the front line and we'll follow to take out the double-heads!”

“But, my lord! We're supposed to leave you here alone?”

“That's an order and the longer you wait, the longer it takes! Now go!”

“Yes, my lord,” nodded the guard before he carried out the order and took a few wounded soldiers from the second row with him. “You there! Follow me to the horses!”

Pieter had not expected the murkwolves to venture so openly and far from their den into battle, and that there might be magical traps around it. Therefore, the horses would have been useless, which is why they had been tied up a whole pasture away. Now the noble animals were the only chance for him and his soldiers to defeat the wolves. It didn't surprise the Crownguard leader that the city guards and militias of the village had have no chance against the murkwolves, which even Pieters' elite warriors and he himself stumbled over. Nevertheless, he and they were well enough trained to hold the pack at bay for a good while. They were able to smash the purple fireballs of the double heads with their anti-magically forged swords until the heavy clatter of armored horses shook the ground.

The foot guards retreated a few meters, leaving gaps between their ranks for the riders to pass through with their long lances. Some of the teleporting wolves leapt towards the warhorses, but the riders simply rode down their attackers, and only one wolf managed to pull one of the riders down from the side.

“Forward, attack!” Pieter ordered, charging ahead, setting a good example, closely followed by the rest of the foot troops.

At the front, the horses trampled and kicked the larger murkwolves, who in turn got the lances of the riders rammed into their bodies before the momentum of the small cavalry could come to a complete stop.

However, they had served their purpose and the Crownguard soldiers were able to attack the double-heads from several directions. Without the protection of other wolves, their sheer size was more of a disadvantage than an advantage and the dark wolves suffered numerous injuries.

Pieter cut off one of the wolf's heads and, thanks to his anti-magic sword, he weakened the murkwolf considerably with it. Nevertheless, he still had to defend himself against the fire and the tenacity of the second head, thanks to which the beast was still able to operate.

“Ha, ha, ha,” a strange laughter suddenly pierced the air, reaching every ear even in the midst of the bloody battle. It wasn't even very loud and slow, and it sounded somewhat forced. It was difficult to tell whether it was a man or a woman. “Ha, ha, ha.”

At the same time, all the murkWolves except the two double-heads were slain by a seemingly invisible force and they dissolved into a violet mist.

“Did we win?!” one guard asked, breathing deeply, while she looked around hastily and restlessly.

The sudden destruction of most of the murkwolves had caught the Crownguard troops completely off guard, so the double-headed wolves were able to save themselves by jumping backwards to the entrance of the den.

“Not until the two beasts are finished!” Pieter swore as he raised his blade. “Form up!”

The guardsmen and riders immediately formed a line near the den, with the foot troops behind the horses. “Form up!” the voice that had been laughing before sneered. “Attention, soldiers! Stand at attention and march, march, march!”

“Who's there?!” Pieter replied, keeping his nerve. “Show yourself, mage!"

The two-headed direwolves remained in position in front of the den, from which clearly audible steps now came, as if someone were cheerfully hopping from one leg to the next. ‘Ta-da, ta-da, ta-da,’ the voice hummed. A dark purple cloak with a hood could be seen on the figure. It was only clear that the figure was rather slight in nature, but whether man or woman still remained a mystery. “Wasn't any of this funny? Are you enjoying the entertainment?”

“Entertainment?!” Pieter replied firmly. “How dare you desecrate the lands of Demacia?”

“Because I can,” the figure replied, unconcerned. He stood still among the murkwolves, his words tinged with a mixture of indifference and glee. ”Demacia is a land that's neat and clean, really clean, but I know the truth.”

Pieter realized that the mage was making his subordinates extremely nervous. He had to get the situation under control. “No matter what you have to say, it won't do you any good!” he judged. “We will hold you accountable for all your crimes here and now!”

“Oh, have I done something bad?”

“Your magic alone makes you a criminal!“ Pieter affirmed, pointing his blade at the figure. ‘Do you surrender or do we have to use force?’

”Ahhhh, there's the truth,” the figure chuckled, holding his stomach. ”So clean, so disciplined, so bloodthirsty... ...you Demacians are so sadistic and evil, but you hide it under your cities of marble and white stones and behind silver towers. There is something of a Noxian in you, but at least they are honest and only want strength. I'm just helping you to recognize that."

“Enough!” Pieter snapped. His guards were on the verge of attacking without orders after being so insulted. “This is your last chance! Surrender or die!”

“Pah, pah, pah,” the figure waved his finger in denial. “I'd much rather worry about the village.”

“...what have you done?”

“Meeh? Nothing yet,” the figure grinned nastily. “But there were far too many of you tin men there, so I had to lure you away. Magic, magic, magic... I'll enchant the village with a performance. It'll be a beautiful chaos when the masks fall.”

“That's enough!” Pieter decided before raising his sword in a commanding manner. “Everyone, attack!”

The guardsmen shouted in battle readiness and the riders spurred their horses. With raised lances, the warhorses took the lead.

However, the initiated storm attack left the mage completely cold and even more, he grinned maliciously. Suddenly, he used his powers and he cut up his own animals. “Enjoy the fun, because you'll be here for a long time!” Laughed the magician, only to vanish into thin air.

The murkwolves didn't just die, however, but exploded with magic. Their violet flames engulfed the riders that were too close and threw Pieter and many of his guardsmen far back. The nobleman managed to roll halfway to safety, but the attack had taken its toll. “What the?”, Pieter murmured in shock.

When the smoke cleared, there were six double-headed Düsterwolves, although they were somewhat smaller than the previous specimens.

“Aren't they beautiful?” the figure whispered. He was crouching next to the nobleman, using his magic to prevent him from making any sudden movements, while he covered her mouth to suppress hislaughter. “I'll go to bibedi babedi Bisia and take your ponies with me. I don't want anyone to follow me.”

“Y-You monster,” Pieter gritted, holding back. “What are you planning?!”

“What fun would that be if I told you the punch line now?” the figure grinned devilishly before his body began to crumble into dust, only his strange laughter echoing. “Ha, ha, ha.”

“Damn!” gasped Pieter, after the magic released his body and he hastily scrambled to his feet. “We have to end this quickly and get back to Bisia!”

Unfortunately, it would not be that easy. The Lord and his troop had a hard fight ahead of them, because every time a direwolf was slain, three new, slightly smaller versions would also explode out of the smoke.

Chapter 15: Demacia

Summary:

Garen and Lord Fauntwood discover to their horror that Lady Luxanna has disappeared and immediately start a search in the village. Meanwhile, Luxanna is having the time of her life on a farm on the outskirts of the village. No one in Bisia suspects that an unpredictable force is lurking in the shadows.

983 AN

Demacia's lands northwest of the Silver Mountains, Trinity Lake, Bisia Village

 

“They may stink, but they're so cute!” grinned Luxanna, patting the little piglets on the head as they squealed excitedly. “And their mother is so huge. Will they all grow up to be that big?”

“That's what they're here for,” nodded Leila, accustomed to it. “They eat, eat and eat, and when they're really big and nice and fat, they're slaughtered.”

“I still think that's so mean,” sighed Luxanna. She had already seen some of the animals on this farm and for the first time in her life she was confronted with the necessities of food supply from the direct source. “And it's not right.“

”I think so too, but my father explained to me that animals eat animals too. It's a natural cycle and here the pigs can live in peace, eat, sleep, wallow in the mud and they don't have to fear something like direwolves."

“At least that's a good thing, awwww you're so sweet!” Luxanna giggled, as one of the piglets was particularly fond of being petted. “I'd love to take you home,”

“You could ask your father to buy you a piglet,” suggested Leila. In her imagination, it was incredibly good when you were rich. “Or you could buy a whole pen full of them.”

“No, he won't allow me to,” Leila shook her head. “Because I asked about that before and he said farm animals aren't pets. I'm already happy to have my sweet Minzi at home. My journey takes too long, so she wasn't allowed to come with me.”

“Who's Minzi?”

“My poro, of course! She always smells so wonderfully of mint.”

“I'd like a poro too,” sighed Leila, resting her chin on the fence of the pig pen. “But whenever a trader comes by who has some, my parents say they're too expensive.”

Luxanna stopped stroking him. “I don't have any coins of my own, otherwise I would give you some so that you could buy a poro.”

“Really?” Leila was amazed. “You would do that for me?”

“If I could, of course!” Luxanna assured her, and an idea occurred to her. “You know what? I'll ask my big brother Garen later if he'll give me some, and if he does, I'll give it to you before we travel any further.”

Leila wasn't friends with the lady because she was rich, and she wouldn't have dreamt of asking her for coins on her own initiative. “I couldn't accept that,” she smiled. “Even though it would be nice and I would always have something to remember you by when you're back in High Argent.”

“Why shouldn't you accept it?” Luxanna wondered. She lifted the hem of her rural cloak, which her friend had given her for camouflage. “You also gave me something, yes, even two things! Just because of you, I'm currently on a real farm. I'll definitely ask Garen!”

“But first, we'll see the dragon geese and fluffy gas pockets. You'll love them! Come!” Leila said before pulling Luxanna along.

 

In the inn, Garen and Lord Fauntwood's son Darek had taken a seat in the cozy dining room with a fireplace. Rubia had told Garen that his sister needed a moment's rest, but she would be down in a moment.

“It's really good that your father has come with his soldiers,” Garen said. However, he sat uneasily in his chair. “Even though I can't wait to go out again myself.”

Darek had his hands clenched on his knees and he lifted his nose a bit. “I only share your enthusiasm for the outdoors when it comes to hunting game on horseback.”

“You like riding?”

“Better than wallowing in the mud or ruining my clothes.”

“Well, at least I have one thing in common with my little sister,” Garen laughed. “She doesn't care about her clothes or dirt, but she loves to ride.”

Darek's mouth twisted. “Sounds like the lady is still lacking in education, but I suppose her age is a reasonable excuse for that.”

“Oh, I think she's pretty advanced for her age,” Garen said confidently. Apart from his father and mother, he was the only one who knew what the future held for Luxanna. “She'll be one of the brightest guiding stars of Demacia.”

“You wouldn't expect anything less from House Crownguard,” Darek replied as if it were a rehearsed line. Small talk was not exactly his strength. “And if she needs some fine-tuning, I'll be sure to smooth her out.”

“Fine-tuning? What?” Garen pricked up his ears, irritated. His protective instincts kicked in immediately. “What are you talking about?”

“You'll find out when my fa-”

 

Suddenly, a female scream echoed through the entire inn and Garen immediately jumped up. “Rubia!” he recognized the voice. He immediately stormed up the stairs to his sister's room and entered. “Rubia, what's wrong?”

The guard searched the small room, while Rubia stood with clasped hands. “Young Lord Garen!” she said. “Lady Luxanna - she has disappeared!”

“What?!” Garen exclaimed. His eyes searched the empty room as more guards arrived behind him. “How is this possible?!”

“I don't know, young lord!” the gatekeeper swore. “I was at my post the whole time and the window is locked and undamaged. Earlier I was only briefly alarmed, but Lady Luxanna assured me that she had only dropped a book.”

“I shouldn't have left Lady Luxanna alone for too long,” Rubia said, ashamed. “What shall we do now, young Lord Garen?”

“Guard, round up the rest of the guards!” Garen ordered. He tried to remain in control, but his emotions were clear. “We'll split into small groups and search the area - move out!”

Darek was standing at the bottom of the stairs. “What happened?” he asked, more curious than concerned.

“Lady Luxanna has disappeared,” Garen replied as he ran past. “Please be so kind as to tell your father immediately that we need help with the search!”

Before Darek could utter a syllable, the Crownguard heir and his guardsmen were already out of the inn.

 

Leila and Luxanna didn't notice the unrest that had broken out. Both were currently looking at the gas pockets, which resembled flying jellyfish. However, these animals didn't need water and floated as if in slow motion across the meadow, letting their tentacles slide and sucking nutrients out of the ground.

“And you make special cheese with them?” Luxanna wondered. She stroked a resting gas pocket, which floated slightly above the ground even when it was sleeping.

“Very special,” Leila explained knowingly. “Sometimes they exude the gas that is inside them. Farmers catch it and turn it into a solid mass.”

“I would love to try that! I'm learning so much from-”

 

Suddenly a horn sounded from the village and there was audible unrest in the alleys.

“Oh no!” Leila feared. She took her and her friend to safety behind a stable. ‘Are the evil wolves attacking?”

“Impossible,’ Luxanna shook her head in conviction. ”My father takes care of those monsters. It can't be.”

“But what is going on then?”

“I don't know.”

Four Crownguard guardsmen appeared on one of the side streets. “You two go along the street on the edge of the village and we'll search the farm,” a guard instructed the others. “We have to find Lady Luxanna!”

“Oh, oh,” Leila murmured quietly and anxiously. “We've been out here too long.”

Luxanna huddled a little closer behind the stable while she spied. “Maybe I should have shown you my books instead,” she sighed, but the little lady had no regrets. “I'd better report to the guards.”

“But if the guards find you out here, you'll get into big trouble!”

“Maybe, but I don't want them to find you at my side, or you'll surely get into big trouble, too,” Luxanna replied prudently. She looked at her friend more relaxed despite the situation. “I'll just say I snuck out alone.”

“But I don't want you to get into trouble,” Leila shook her head firmly. “And if you sneak back in? Then you could say you were just hiding very well.”

“Unfortunately that won't work,” said Luxanna. She was a child, but not a stupid one. “Then they'll ask why I let it come to this.”

“Exactly,” a voice agreed.

 

The girls looked behind them, where one of the house guards was standing. “Lady Luxanna,” he greeted. His helmet made recognition difficult, but he was not one of the guards who had just parted to search.

“Um, hello,” Luxanna smiled innocently, glancing back at her friend. “I guess this is the end of our adventure, unfortunately.”

“That's a shame,” Leila sighed, looking up at the guard sweetly and pleadingly. “Is Luxanna in a lot of trouble?”

“I don't know,” the guard shrugged, but he seemed understanding. “That's for her father to decide... but I'll keep your part of it to yourself. I can see that you only meant well with our little lady, but please leave now.”

Leila looked sadly from the guard to her friend. “I'm so sorry.”

“You don't have to be,” Luxanna smiled bravely. “It was a nice time and we'll definitely see each other again. It won't be as bad as it seems now.”

“I'll take your word for it,” Leila nodded before turning away.

“Then I probably won't need this anymore,” Luxanna said. She wanted to take off the old coat.

“Maybe you'd better keep it on,” the guard suggested. “At least until we get back to the inn. Otherwise we might cause a stir.”

“That's right,” Luxanna nodded convincingly. “Let's go.”

 

The way to the inn wasn't long. However, the guard didn't just walk slowly, but rather took narrower side streets to avoid attracting attention. At least that's what Luxanna thought. “Are you one of the newer guards of our house?” she asked curiously. “I know a lot of them, at least by sight.”

“Well, my helmet protects and covers my face, doesn't it?”

“Well, even with a helmet, I know many.”

“Then you know one more now,” the guard laughed happily. “I am Ocahs.”

“Ocahs,” Luxanna wondered. “No, the name doesn't ring a bell.”

“Oh, come on,” Ocahs waved it off. “You'd recognize me by my voice if I weren't such a master of imitation.”

“A master of imitation?”

“Oh yes,” Ocahs nodded confidently. He cleared his throat and spoke more deeply. “For example, I'm now a tough mercenary.”

Luxanna was amazed. “Wow, that's good.”

“And now I'm a rough pirate,” Ocahs imitated a fierce buccaneer. “Give me all your gold, arrrr.”

“... really?” Luxanna was a little frightened.

“Not really,” said the guard with a gentle female voice. “How about that?”

“How do you do that?” Luxanna asked, stopping. “You're a boy, aren't you?”

“Am I?” the guard replied. His voice now resembled a flux, combining so many possibilities. “I am whatever is most fun right now.”

“What do you mean?”

“For example, the other day,” the guard whispered as he knelt down. “I had fun as a juggler. You watched me, from your window.”

“You're the juggler?” Luxanna asked slowly. She didn't ask out of concern, but because her mind didn't work as fast.

“I was,” the guard raised his hands innocently. “And it is boring to be locked up in a dusty room with dusty books all the time. Don't you think?”

“Yes, but-”

“Over there, young lord!” echoed past the houses, along with the sound of metal shoes and armor scurrying.

 

Garen was at the head of the approaching troop, which turned into the narrow, shady side street. “Luxanna!” he breathed a sigh of relief. Despite her peasant's coat, he recognized his sister immediately and slowed down considerably. “What are you doing here all alone?”

Luxanna looked at her brother and the guard from before had disappeared without a trace. However, the little lady couldn't utter a word and looked down, ashamed and even a little afraid.

“It's all right,” Garen assured her, kneeling in front of his sister. “You gave us quite a fright.”

Luxanna remained silent while not only the guards observed the scene. Behind her, there was a person whose entire body was covered by the white robe of the magic seekers. One could only recognize the thin, black goatee of the face and how the one prepared a long chain under the hem of the robe.

“You're doing well, aren't you?” Garen asked anxiously. He found his sister's silence to be extremely unusual. “Shall we go to the inn first and then you can tell me how you ended up here?”

“I'm fine,” Luxanna replied monotonously. “But I hate this inn so much.”

“I know, sis,” Garen sighed. A word like hatred with such a pure tone was an unpleasant novelty for him, and he patted the little girl's shoulder. “But you can't just disappear. You know that.”

“But there's so much to learn out here, you know?”

“And what, for example?” Garen smiled encouragingly.

“Shall I show you?”

“Considering Father's reprimand, it must have been really rewarding for you,” Garen said eagerly. “What do you want to show me?”

“Well, how about a magic trick?” Luxanna offered with a grin. Not only did it quickly take on an eerily exaggerated appearance, but the girl's voice took on a strange echo.

“... Luxanna?”

The little lady's eyes took on a violet shimmer and a horizontal line appeared in the center of her body.

Suddenly, the figure in the white cloak broke through the ranks of guards and the man swung a chain. The anti-magical metal wrapped around the surprised Garen and began to glow brightly before he was pulled backwards as forcefully as possible by the stranger.

Seconds later, Luxanna's body exploded in a violet light. The fire spread to the nearby houses and its force knocked everyone over in the neighboring alley.

Despite his unintentional retreat, Garen was still very close and only the antimagics of the chains around his body saved the Crown Guard heir from the deadly consequences of this enormous power. Eventually, he too landed hard and panic gripped the village.

Chapter 16: Demacia

Summary:

Terror in Bisia! After the explosion, a state of high alert has been declared and Lady Luxanna is presumed dead. The Magic Seekers take control and seal off the village. However, Garen steadfastly refuses to believe that his little sister is simply dead.

983 AN

Demacian lands northwest of the Argent Mountains, Trinity Lake, Bisia Village

 

Garen's ears were filled with a shrill whistle. After the explosion, the 14-year-old had no sense of direction, while he could only see a blur of violet fire, white smoke, and villagers rushing around in chaos and panic.

Where Luxanna had been standing before, there was now a notch in the ground and not a shred of her left.

“Luxanna!” Garen exclaimed in shock. His words sounded distant as he picked himself up and tried to run to the explosion site. But then he was suddenly surrounded by arms, and his house guards stopped the young lord and pulled him back.

“No, young lord!” came from every direction, and yet as if from a different reality. ‘You have to get out of here!” “LET GO OF ME! NO! LET GO!’ Garen ordered desperately, but it was in vain. No matter how much he kicked and struggled, he was dragged further and further away from the scene of the action. LUX!"

The unknown 18-year-old magic seeker, who had pulled Garen out of the danger zone at the last moment with his chain, was not given such attention. He was a little thinner and was lying next to a house wall, where he slowly straightened up, less battered, as more Mageseekers rushed up.

“What happened here, Seeker Dregbourne?”, asked Dura Harbo, the commander of this contingent of the Mageseekers.

“Magic,” Sylas replied with suppressed anger. He leaned on the wall of the house and wiped his dirty face. “Lady Luxanna was the source of the destruction and exploded. Apparently she fell victim to the mage.

“Apparently? Did the explosion burn out your eyes?!” Dura retorted. She saw the radius of destruction and an empty point at the center. “There is nothing left of her. That mage will make us regret this bitterly!”

“He will,” Sylas agreed. He knew that there was no use in arguing with Dura, since she was an especially extreme hardliner within the order. Nevertheless, Sylas had sensed something strange about Lady Luxanna before. “We just have to find him at last.”

“We will,” Dura affirmed. In the meantime, villagers appeared with buckets of water and began to extinguish the fires. Dura then turned to her entourage. “Inform the entire village – once the fires are extinguished, all residents are to return to their homes immediately, without exception. There is a curfew and no one is to leave the village!” The magic seekers nodded obediently to Dura and swarmed out. “Are you injured, Seeker Dregbourne?”

“Nothing that would hinder me,” said Sylas. He pushed himself away from the wall. “With your permission, I will investigate this place. Perhaps I can pick up the magician's trail this way.”

“Granted,” Dura agreed. She herself saw one of Fauntwood's guards. “You there! Take me to Lord Fauntwood immediately!”

Silently, Sylas watched his commanding officer disappear into the stream of now-lined buckets of water. He entered the same stream, only he was heading towards the source of the tragedy and not away from it. While the villagers avoided the center of the explosion like the plague, Sylas fearlessly put one foot in front of the other on the blackened ground, guided by his instincts and skills. Yes, he was sure – there was more to this attack than met the eye.

 

The explosion had startled Lord Fauntwood in the modest city hall. Despite his 61 years, he was still fit and he kept his accompanying guards on their toes. “Seal off the inn immediately!” he ordered when he stepped outside. “And I want to know what just happened as soon as possible!”

“Yes, my lord!” one of the guards nodded hastily and hurried off.

Halfway to the inn, Dura met the nobleman. “Lord Fauntwood!”

“Commander Dura,” Eran replied with foreboding. “Can you tell me what happened a few minutes ago?”

“A magical attack,” Dura reported ominously. The fact that her head remained hidden by the hood of her white cloak emphasized her presence . “The situation has spiraled out of control and the Mageseekers are taking over the village. That's why I've imposed an immediate curfew. The only exceptions are those who are currently extinguishing the fire.”

“That's not enough,” Eran said authoritatively. Officially, he was second in command to the magic-seekers in this particular situation, but his house's ties to the order gave him advantages. “We need to calm the populace, or the situation will get even more out of hand.”

“I understand, but I need resources to do that – I expect you to put all your men under my command.”

“Granted. Do you also want Crown Guard sentries?”

“Difficult,” Dura said. Her authority was absolute at the moment, but she knew that the Crown Guards were closer to the king than most other houses. “I'll entrust this to you, my lord. A man of your expertise will surely be able to handle young Garen.”

“That will be easy,” Eran replied with a cautious smirk. “After all, the young man must protect his sister.”

“Unfortunately not anymore, Lord Fauntwood,” Dura mentioned regretfully. “Lady Luxanna was killed in the attack.”

“What?!” Eran exclaimed. “Are you sure? Did you examine her?!”

Dura knew how interested the lord was in the young lady, so she continued with calm certainty. “There was nothing to examine – she was the explosion. There is nothing left of her.”

Eran's smug expression turned to annoyance. “All the more reason for us to catch this mage,” he said, though not so much for the sake of justice as because his plans to arrange a marriage between his youngest son and Pieter's daughter had been thwarted. “Don't lose any time – go and do whatever is necessary.”

“We both should, Lord Fauntwood,” Dura reminded the man seriously so that he would not take too much upon himself.

 

“I order you for the last time - stand aside!” Lord Garen demanded angrily and loudly.

Two guards were standing in the nobleman's room, blocking his door. “We can't do that, young Lord Garen,” one of the guards said sympathetically. However, he was an adult, much more experienced, and he kept his feelings under control. “If anything happens to you, we could never face your father again – your safety is now our top priority.”

“My sister's is much more important!” Garen said. He tried to leave the room again, but he was stopped rigorously and gently pushed back.

“Please Garen, we know it's hard, but-”

“LUX IS NOT DEAD!” Garen refused. His childish and brotherly side could not believe that someone was simply gone. He clung to every shred of hope. ‘This is most certainly just a magical trick, and the longer we wait, the more difficult the search will be!’

“Our answer remains the same,” the guard shook his head. He had seen the explosion and what happened afterwards with his own eyes, as he had seen so many cruel realities in his life. “I'm terribly sorry. Besides, a doctor must look at your wounds. We must be sure that you have not suffered any serious injuries.”

“It's just dirt and a few scratches!” Garen raged. But the fact that he was being held here against his will made him desperate – which he cemented with a kick at his bed. He sat down on it with a crash and raked his hair.

At that moment, there was a knock at the door. Rubia was let in by the guards. The old maid had watery eyes. “Garen,” she said in a shaky voice. “Please tell me this isn't true.”

Garen hadn't shed any tears yet, nor was he close to doing so. “Rubia,” he murmured sadly. He came to her and put his arms around her, whispering, “Don't believe what you're hearing. Lux isn't dead.”

The guards sighed as Rubia cried into the nobleman's shoulder. “But they said that Luxanna—

“We're talking about magic here!” Garen said with conviction. He gently sought the Zoffe's gaze, and his emerging protective instinct allowed him to think more clearly. “I heard her voice just before... I don't think that was Lux.”

“No?”

“No, definitely not!” Garen nodded. He held on to this thought, though he was less critical in the following. “I would have been looking for her already, but my soldiers refuse to obey me.”

“Excuse me?”, Rubia replied incredulously. She looked behind her with a stern, grandmotherly look. “Is that true?”

“In this case, yes,” the guard admitted. “Lady Luxanna is dead. Protecting the young lord is more important than anything, even our obedience.”

“That... is unfortunately true,” Rubia agreed, sniffling. Her tears slowed. “Garen, we can't risk your life. Your father would do the same.”

“Rubia, I won't wait here while Lux is in danger!”

"No young man is as brave and dutiful as you, Garen, but you can't, you can't... ughhh

“Rubia,” Garen said, catching her and laying her gently on the bed. The guards came to his side. “Rubia, what's wrong?”

“She's quite elderly, and this has been quite a shock for her,” the guard said with concern. At the same time, the second guard wet a rag in a filled laundry bowl, with which he gently dabbed the old lady's face.

“She needs a doctor more than I do,” Garen said thoughtfully. Rubia had been a loyal friend and servant of his family since before he was born. “One of you two, go get a doctor!”

“I'm on my way!” nodded one of the guards. On his way out, he almost ran into someone. “Oh, Lord Fauntwood.” He only bowed his head slightly as he passed by.

“Lord Fauntwood,” Garen said in surprise. “What brings you here at a moment like this?”

“Concern and regret, young Garen,” Eran replied in a calm, respectful voice. ”But at first glance, it seems that you have only suffered a few scratches. I am deeply sorry that your sister was not so lucky.”

“Lux isn't dead!” Garen repeated. He raised his clenched fist. “And as soon as my soldiers come to their senses, we'll go looking for her!”

Lord Fauntwood looked past the boy. He exchanged glances with the guard tending to Rubia, who shook his head. “For the love of God,” Eran pleaded diplomatically. ‘The village is in utter chaos and the honorable Crown Guard family has already suffered a tragic blow today. If something happens to you now, it would not only be a disaster for your house. You are the future of one of the most important pillars of our nation.’

“That's right, I will lead and protect the king,” Garen countered with all his heart. “So if I can't even protect my little sister, who means more to me than any king and anything else in this world, no king can rely on me.”

“Spoken like a true Crownguard,” Eran acknowledged the boy's will. But he knew the political landscape of Demacia much better from decades of experience and could not allow a cocky boy to create instability. “Nevertheless, that will not happen, even if your soldiers were not so wise.”

“What are you saying?”

“Commander Dura of the Mageseekers has ordered a full lockdown of the village and imposed a curfew,” Eran says in a grave voice. “The order has assumed full control of Bisia for the time being. That means no one is above them. Neither you nor I.”

“They can't do that!” Garen exclaimed, incensed. “Lord Fauntwood, I beg of you! Talk to the commander! We have to find my sister!”

“... find your sister?” Eran asked doubtfully. The boy's conviction seemed absurd to him. “What are you talking about?”

“I'm sure my sister is still alive!”

“I've heard several statements that claim the opposite – what makes you think otherwise?”

“Because I spoke to her shortly before the explosion,” said Garen. However, the constant repetition wore him down and made him doubt discreetly. “That wasn't Lux, no... she spoke in a strange way. No, I'm sure it was some kind of magical trick.”

“Hm, a trick,” Eran murmured thoughtfully. What sounded to others like the fantasy of a foolish boy was a new possibility for him. “Maybe you're right. That could well be true. After all, your sister did disappear from the inn some time before the explosion. Enough time to somehow exchange her.”

“You believe it too?”, Garen asked eagerly. He willingly took a step forward. “Then let's unite our soldiers – together we'll find Lux in no time.”

“As I said, Garen – the Mageseekers are in charge and I've already put my men under Dura's command to keep the peace in the village,” Eran explained calmly. But if Luxanna really was still alive, he had to be the one to find her. “However, I have a suggestion, if it's to your liking?”

“What's that?”

“Commander Dura needs more soldiers. Put your guards under her command and I'll talk to her. I'm sure she'll give me a few soldiers so I can conduct a search for your sister.

”And I'm supposed to stay here? No, why should I while you risk your life?!"

Eran smiled faintly but calculatingly. “You are still young and important, future Lord Crownguard. Me? I am old and already have two married sons with children. The line of my house is secured. So let me take care of this and if Lady Luxanna is still alive, I promise I will bring her back unharmed.”

Garens young face was clearly marked by the abundance of his thoughts. The Lord's offer was fair and upright, but on the other hand, he did not want to be stuck in this inn. Then an idea came to him that would kill two birds with one stone. “You are right, Lord Fauntwood,” he agreed dutifully, because not only Garens sister was in danger. “I will hand over my men to Commander Dura. The villagers are just as much in danger as you, my sister, or I. They need all the protection they can get.“

”Excellent decision, young Garen. I will speak to the commander immediately."

 

A few hours later. Far from the fear and new strictness in Bisia, a single bird chirped. Leaves rustled gently in the wind and playful rays of sunlight shimmered through the treetops of the forest. It couldn't be more peaceful, like the innocent sleep of the little Luxanna. She lay completely unharmed on a soft bed of dry reeds, in the protective embrace of half a tree hollow.

Steps made twigs and fallen leaves crack. Red beaked shoes, as seen on jugglers, deliberately stepped on everything that could attract attention.

It served its purpose, for Luxanna's eyelids began to twitch and the footsteps stopped. The girl slowly woke up and rubbed her eyes. It took her a moment to see clearly. “Hello?” she murmured wearily. The daze she had been unwittingly placed under still had some effect. “Father? Garen?” Luxanna's words went unanswered. She stood up and looked around. Where was she? Wherever she looked, there were trees, bushes, trees and more trees. No matter how sunny her disposition was, she was alone and the unfamiliar, sunny surroundings frightened her a little. “Rubia? Where are you all?”

A gust of wind blew through the trees, blowing over a freshly placed teacup. She was standing on a tree stump, along with more: biscuits from the Bisia village shop, a pretty, steaming ceramic teapot, the finest porcelain tableware. With two smaller tree stumps for seating, it was a fairytale setting.

Luxanna was drawn by the crisp, fresh smell. “Is anyone here?” she asked as she approached the afternoon snack. Her eyes widened and suddenly the place seemed less creepy. “White-snow cake.”

“Of course,” said a male voice. Whoever it was had a certain lightness on his tongue and a slightly high tone to his voice. “I heard that it's your favorite treat.”

“How do you know that?” Luxanna replied, startled. She looked around searchingly, but saw no one. “Where am I? Where are you? And who are you?”

“Three Ws at once,” the voice chuckled. “But I can counter that with just one W.”

“One W?” Luxanna puzzled. She was still much too young for such games. “One W for what?”

"What is much too dull, like: What is this, what is happening here, what do you want from me? No, no. My counter is much better, because I ask you - why is this important? Just sit down. Have some tea, eat some cake and be happy!“

”Um, okay,” Luxanna nodded, but she still felt uncomfortable. She took a seat and just looked at the tea and cake. ‘But you know, I'm a lady and it's impolite not to introduce ourselves.’

“Heehehe, you're a good girl,” the voice said, exaggeratedly silly. Its origin kept changing its location. “But I like that. I've never met anyone of high birth before – no, that's a lie. I have met many cultured people of exquisite breeding, but so far only upside down. You're the first one I've had a civilized conversation with. Isn't that great?“

”You know other nobles?” Luxanna merely heard. This dark humor passed her by completely. ‘Are you a noble too?’

The voice laughed amusedly at this question, with a scratchy note mixing into it here and there, as one would expect from a smoker. “Being noble is no fun, you know that better than anyone,” the voice said knowingly. “Always locked up: books, books, books. Not being able to talk about what you really want to do, always doing the same things when you meet. Do you think that's great?“

”No,“ Luxanna shook her head. Like every child, she could think of better things. ‘That's why I'm always trying to discover new things. The world is sooooo big.’

”And there's soooooo much to discover."

“Yeah, rightttt.”

“Totallyyyyy,” the voice mimicked. Then the person got a little grumpy. “And you should drink, eat and laugh - ha-ha-ha. But you are a rude guest. Even the peasants don't refuse an invitation for tea.”

“Um, yes, yes, I'll accept it,” said Luxanna, still slightly unsettled. The temptation of the sweetness in front of her and the calmness of the voice made her weak, however, and she drank from her tea. “Blueberry, delicious.”

“Yes, I know what you like as i said. That's why I got the white-snow cake.”

“Yes, but who are you that you know that?” Luxanna asked curiously. “Do you know my father?”

“Oh yes, I've had the pleasure,” the voice confirmed subliminally nasty. “A brave man, this Pieter. He doesn't give up easily and always fights for the good.”

“Yes, that's my father!”

“I actually wanted to invite him, but he has to fight nasty wolves,” the voice mentioned casually. Now it came from a single direction and a body came into view. “But maybe he'll make it to us in time. Wouldn't that be great?”

“I would like that very much, yes,” replied LUxanna, smiling. When the stranger showed himself, she was caught between fascination and trepidation. “I know some of Father's friends. If you tell me your name, I might remember you.”

The lanky man's eerie jester's attire alone would have made anyone doubt that he even knew a Highborn like Pieter Crownguard. It wasn't entirely clear whether his grayish face was a face or a mask, with that much too pointed nose and chin. Furthermore, his eyes changed color between violet and sapphire blue. Dark red and black dominated his clothing. He was a true harlequin, whose jester's caps were arranged in colors that contrasted with his vest. The leather, jagged shoulder pads, on the other hand, were uncharacteristic of a jester, while his bell-bottomed balloon trousers, which had gray and black tiles, were perfectly suited.

The jester sat down relaxed, with his arms leaning on the small tree stump, but it looked bizarre. He was much taller than his chair or Luxanna, who received a creepy, broad smile. “Allow me, my lady - I am Shaco.”

Notes:

Sorry that it took around 2 weeks people. Always try to post at least one chapter a week. Neitherless hope you enjoy the story so far.

Chapter 17: Demacia

Summary:

Bisia's curfew comes into effect and Garen wants to wait until evening to sneak out of the village. But as the son of the Crownguard family, this is not easy, and the magic seekers stand in his way. At the same time, Luxanna meets Shaco, who is just trying to pass the time — because he is hoping that someone will come to rescue the little girl.

983 AN </p

Lands of Demacia northwest of the Argent Mountains, Trinity Lake, Village of Bisia, nearby forest

 

“I'm even happier to meet you,” Shaco replied. His cheeks sank, but his cheerfulness was ever-present. “Do you like your tea?”

“It's as if it was picked straight from the bush,” Luxanna nodded. Her eyes fell on the empty cup in front of Shaco. “You should try it.”

“Ho ho ho, with the greatest pleasure,” Shaco said, trying to sound noble. He filled his cup and slurped it with his little fingers spread out. ‘Excellent!’ After saying this, the court jester threw his empty cup on the floor, where it shattered.

“I thought the tea was good?” Luxanna reacted with a flinch. “Why did you break your cup?!”

“Well, that's how you do it!”

“I've never met anyone who does that.”

“Then you've never been to Freljord,” Shaco surmised with a chuckle. He didn't know the young lady, but in just a few days he had recognized her irrepressible curiosity. ”In Freljord, it's a sign that you found something delicious and want more.”

“You've been to Freljord?” Luxanna asked, her eyes wide as she looked at the cup shards. ”But then they must have tons of cups there.”

“Mugs,” Shaco corrected her politely. ‘Mugs and horns are often used in Freljord, and yes — I've been to many, many places around the world and seen the most amazing things. Pure magic.”

“Please tell me about it!’ Luxanna said sweetly. Her childlike curiosity was genuine, but she also used it as a cover. After all, she still needed to find out where she was, why she was there, and what the stranger wanted from her.

“But that will take a long time,” Shaco said mystically. He circled his right hand, which was shrouded in a thin mist. He already had a new cup ready. ”And I'd like another cup of tea. Would you be so kind?”

Luxanna's amazement at the cup conjured out of thin air overshadowed her curiosity about the Freljord. “How... did you do that?” Luxanna asked with a sense of foreboding before refilling the court jester's cup.

“I don't think you'll like me anymore if I tell you,” Shaco said, feigning unease. Instead of drinking his tea, he poured it into his clenched fist. But as if by magic, nothing dripped through his fingers. He blew gently into his hand and opened it—everything was gone. “After all, you Demacians are very fearful.” Shaco waved his free hand over the empty cup, and suddenly it was full again. The court jester slurped the tea this time before smashing the container. “There's so much fun to be had that way.” Shaco's hand movements became faster and crossed each other. The cup appeared and disappeared until it was completely gone. Instead, the court jester's face changed repeatedly as soon as it appeared behind his hands.

Luxanna watched the masquerade game spellbound for a while. “You're using magic,” she said cautiously. “You're a magician.”

“Better than that—I'm a magical puppet.”

“A... magical puppet?”

“Exactly, isn't that exciting?!” asked Shaco with the widest grin he could muster, supported by both hands and elbows.

For as long as she could remember, Luxanna had been taught to fear the abomination of magic. Now, not only was she sitting across from a magician, but an enchanted puppet to boot. It was like one of her fairy tales about mystical creatures and ancient Vastaya. “I've always dreamed of going on an adventure like this, but...” Luxanna said thoughtfully. “But...” “I would have preferred to come here of my own free will,” Luxanna admonished with openhearted discipline. She was still a lady, just like a little girl. “Why did you kidnap me?”

Shaco's cheerful expression remained, but subtle changes were noticeable, and he seemed more somber. “Kidnapped, no—I freed you! You were trapped, day in and day out, even though you wanted to be free.”

“That's really sweet of you to care so much about me,” Luxanna smiled warmly, disarming him. ”But my brother Garen once told me that we may not always be able to do what we want, but we can always make the best of what we can. My world is small, and yet it is huge, and I would love to share it with those who live in a big world with little.”

The corners of Shaco's mouth turned down as if he were a sack of potatoes. “Me worry about you? Pah,” he grumbled. “I just love life and do what I want. It was great fun bringing you here. I like making people disappear. It's one of my best tricks.”

“And who taught you those tricks and magic?”

“... What?” Shaco replied in a fleeting moment of melancholy. Luxanna's young mind didn't miss this reaction.

“Well, who enchanted you? And taught you all your tricks?” she asked thoughtfully. “Someone must have done it, right?”

All emotion drained from Shaco's face. He was neither happy nor angry, but his head moved abruptly in a twisted manner. His face turned upside down. “Where is the prince?” he asked in an unusually distorted voice that was accompanied by a hissing sound. “Have you seen him?”

“Prince?” Luxanna replied, extremely concerned. Her pure warmth overcame any fear of this abstract reaction, and she went over to the court jester. “What's wrong with you?”

The chin of Shaco's upside-down face twitched repeatedly to the right before freezing and his head snapped back into place with an audible click. “Too much tea and sweets,” he said, as if nothing had happened. “I hope someone comes by soon, I need some exercise!”

“Are you expecting someone else?” Luxanna asked. Of course, she knew that hundreds of people were surely searching for her by now. “If that's true, you're in danger! They'll lock you up!”

“Don't worry, my lady,” Shaco whispered with dark calm. His index finger tapped Luxanna's forehead and the little girl promptly fell into a deep sleep on the soft grass bed of the forest. “They'll never lock me up because their bellies will burst from laughing... or because I've slashed them open, hung them up? I don't know yet. I'm very spontaneous – hoo hoo hoo.”

 

The afternoon gave way to evening, and the cover of night was Garen's only chance to escape from his room unnoticed. Any attempt on his part to convince Commander Dura that he wanted to help had been mercilessly rebuffed by the magic seeker. Moreover, Garen's own guards still denied him his freedom.

Only two of them remained at the door, as the rest were helping the magic seekers secure the village. Even so, it would have been enough if these two guards had raised the alarm, and their lord had no intention of hurting them for their loyalty, or worse. Instead, it was fatigue that crept into the guards' senses. An hour earlier, their lord had divided up the goods that Loca, the baker's son, had brought him. What the guards didn't know, however, was that Garen had asked for an extra ingredient in his written order: sleeping herbs.

Garen waited patiently, fully prepared. He was ready to leave the room at any moment, because Loca had secretly brought him something of the utmost importance – a complicated music box that someone had given him. Garen held it in his hand like a priceless treasure as he wound it up again and again.

The oak-brown wooden box was nothing special, just like the spinning and dancing court jester inside. In Demacia, music boxes could play melodies, but this one sang in a creepy, cheerful voice. “Fun, fun, fun, oh yes, we have it. A little girl and her clown on a journey, deep in the forest. Who would have thought it? They jump, run, and laugh all day long, just the way everyone wants. But when night falls, the girl falls asleep. The music box is the key, your guide is clear, and if her brother isn't there by sunrise soon, I'll pop her head like a baloon ~ ba boom!"

With inner rage, Garen slammed the box shut and controlled himself not to break it. If the text was correct, the object was his only chance to save Lux. He couldn't fail.

In front of the door, the sleeping herb took effect and the guards audibly sank to the floor.

Garen cautiously opened his door and peeked out. He had to be careful, because Rubia's room was on the same floor. However, all he could hear from her room was sobbing and crying, so he paused for a moment. Garen was tempted to comfort the old lady. He almost opened her door, but he held back. If he brought Lux back unharmed, the quarrel would be forgotten.

The rest of the inn was quiet, mainly due to the curfew. The rules were extremely strict, and everyone obediently kept their heads down. This made it all the easier for the young lord to leave the building.

 

The village was dark, except for the lanterns on the main streets. Added to this were the torches of patrols, which Garen was able to easily avoid. He had memorized the village well during his guard duty and knew the routes and side streets. His knowledge was a great help, because the small number of soldiers alone made a complete lockdown impossible and opened up unguarded or only moderately patrolled paths for him.

Nevertheless, there were a pair of watchful eyes following the young lord's silent footsteps. Lurking in the shadows of the market square was a cloaked figure who was already waiting for him.

Unaware of this presence, Garen moved through the alleys like a cat, despite his armor. It was all a matter of practice, and he had plenty of that, far more than a normal adult soldier. This experience helped Garen reach the edge of the village, and once he was in the half-high grass fields, he was unstoppable. “Hang in there, Lux,” he muttered encouragingly to himself. “I'll be there soon!”

As he ran, Garen took out the music box again. His suspicion was confirmed when the wooden box began to glow faintly. This object was Garen's guide when he entered the forest, and the faint glow served as his source of light.

Branches cracked under Garen's feet and bushes rustled as he brushed against them. The chirping of crickets and the hooting of owls in the night accompanied his relentless run. Almost ten minutes passed as he ran without stopping, but Garen showed no sign of exhaustion. This was the result of hard training, which had shaped his endurance and movements.

Each step increased the glow of the box, but it was still faint when Garen reached a clearing. Transparent flowers known as shadow-singers bloomed between his feet, revealing their true selves only in the moonlight. He had crossed half the clearing when there was a loud crack behind him. He instantly turned around with his sword drawn. “Who's there?!”

Footsteps broke new branches as if someone wanted to draw attention to their presence. Slowly, the contours of a gray hood and the accompanying cloak emerged. The figure that Garen had observed when leaving the inn took the same route as him. “Young Lord Garen,“ said a calm male voice. ‘I see you followed the clue.’

”Clue?!” Garen narrowed his eyes. He fixed them on the music box and, with boiling blood, the fourteen-year-old went into attack position. ‘You gave the box to the baker's son?! Where is Lux?!’

“You misunderstand,” said the man. Despite the darkness and his hood, his thin, dark blue goatee was clearly visible. ”I did not kidnap your sister, but I found this music box at the site of the explosion.”

“I don't believe a word you say!” Garen replied harshly. If that was the case, why hadn't the stranger given him the box in person, or at least to Commander Dura or Lord Fauntwood? ”Tell me where Lux is right now, or you'll regret it!”

“Let's start from the beginning,” the man said, trying to defuse the situation. Sylas pulled back his hood. “Do you remember? It all happened so fast, but I pulled you away from the explosion.”

“Anyone can say that!”

“Look,” said Sylas. Slowly, he took out the chain he had hidden under his cloak. “Does this look familiar?”

Garen looked closely at the face and the chain. “I remember,” he said stubbornly. “You're one of the Mageseekers—I'm not going back!”

“Maybe you should,” Sylas sighed in exasperation. “Maybe it was a mistake to send you the music box after all.”

“No one will stand in my way!” Garen said steadfastly. “I would go to the ends of the earth and beyond to protect my little sister!”

“Then prove it,” Sylas replied dryly. The chain in his hand was bathed in the moonlight, and the shadow-singers began to dance in the wind, shining in bright, changing colors.

 

Sylas was taller than fourteen-year-old Garen, but somewhat gaunter in build. Garen had much more practice, but Sylas had experienced much more. Only one thing united them in their drive for the battle ahead — saving a little girl.

Garen rushed forward first, before Sylas did the same. They charged toward each other unstoppably as the magic seeker swung his chain. The gray steel plowed through the sea of flowers and spread the colorful rays like a shield in front of him.

Garen was blinded for a second, and as soon as he broke through the flying debris, his opponent had disappeared. The clanking of chains alerted the young lord's senses, and he swung his sword to his left flank.

Sylas' steel whip wrapped around the weapon, which Garen grabbed by the tip and pulled against the chain. Despite his slimmer build, Sylas was able to hold his own against the nobleman's strength as they moved in circles.

Suddenly, Garen let go and his opponent stumbled back in surprise. The wrapped sword was catapulted into the air and Garen sprinted forward to catch his weapon with a remarkable leap. The noble went on the offensive and showed off his skill with the steel. Garen's swings came like a whirlwind, but each one was a masterpiece of precision.

Sylas struggled to avoid being hit, losing strands of his long hair in the process. But he knew he couldn't dodge forever. He searched meticulously for an opening and grabbed his chain with both hands—this was his chance! Sylas wrapped the chain around Garen's wrist and found himself pressed close against him. The sword was trapped, and the Mageseeker struck with his bare, chain-wrapped fist.

Garen's armor protected him from the blows everywhere — except on his head. Here, he took a hefty right hook from the nobleman, and blood spurted, but he was unbroken. With a laceration on his temple, he delivered a powerful headbutt to his opponent and countered with his armored right hand.

The impact almost broke Sylas' jaw, but the magic seeker had been in worse fights in his life. He and the boy exchanged more blows and scuffles before Sylas broke free and they faced each other again. “Is this how it's going to continue?” Sylas spat bloodily. “Or are you going to listen now, you hot-headed brat?“

I don't have time for talk!” Garen snapped back, focused. Although there was not a hint of magic near him, his blade began to shimmer. “Every second I'm here puts my sister in danger – get out of here!”

Sylas was on guard, sensing the raw power in the air. “Then let's not waste any more time—you lead and I'll explain everything on the way.”

Garen didn't understand the offer and trusted the magic seeker even less, but he had to make one of the most important decisions of his life quickly.

Chapter 18: Another Information

Hey fellow readers – sorry to raise your hopes for a new chapter again.

But i wanted to inform you that at the start of next tuesday(6.5) i will be in medical treatmeant for at least 5 weeks. Could also be a bit longer. I dont know if i will have the options(internet) to upload new chapters nor writing at all(electronic diveces like laptops arent always allowed in some german medical centres). I mean there are not that much readers of this fic but still wanted to let you know why there might be nothing coming for a longer period of time.

Chapter 19: Demacia

983 AN

Lands of Demacia northwest of the Argent Mountains, Trinity Lake, Village of Bisia, nearby forest

 

Garen ran behind Sylas. Even though he had decided to give the mageseeker a chance, he did not trust him blindly. “So, why did you send the box to me and not hand it over to your commander?”

“Because I know the mageseekers,” Sylas replied curtly. “Their priority would be the mage, not your sister, even if she is a Crownguard.”

“Would the Order dare?” Garen asked naively, but also as a brother. “No one will harm my little sister!”

“That's why I´ve chosen you,” Sylas said cynically. But there was another reason, which he kept to himself for now. It would only distract the nobleman. “I rarely get the chance to save someone, and I've seen enough misery — that's not going to happen today.”

“You sound like tomorrow is going to be even worse,” Garen said skeptically.

“Everything has its price, young lord,” Sylas replied dryly. “But today is not tomorrow. Let's focus on that.”

“For Lux!” Garen agreed. “And for Demacia!”

 

Shaco was just as eager as the other two. He saw his audience approaching thanks to magically placed puppets.

Luxanna lay peacefully asleep in the hollow of a large tree root, as if on an altar.

Candles flickered nearby, and magical purple flames floated in the air between them.

Shaco stayed in the background, hidden behind trees and one with the night.

“Do you see those lights over there?!” asked Garen. He quickened his pace and became overconfident. “It must be there!”

“WAIT!” Sylas stopped abruptly. He blocked Garen with his arm. “This is far too easy.”

“Of course it's too easy,” Garen grumbled, trying in vain to move forward. “It's a MAGE. He didn't leave the box behind for no reason and set a trap for us.”

“Not only that,” Sylas said cautiously. He had a secret that gave him an immense advantage. “I think it's more than just one mage.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Instinct and experience,” Sylas replied intently. He knew there were several mages around, but something about it was strange. He just couldn't put his finger on it. “I'll go ahead and look for traps. You watch my back.”

“No, I'm going first!” Garen said firmly. “This is about my sister!”

“What did I say earlier?” Sylas asked seriously. “I said I'll tell you what to do.”

“There weren't several mages earlier. I'll—!”

Suddenly, steel whirled through the air. A twisted knife rushed through a floating flame. Sylas had already sensed the danger and blocked it with his chain. The weapon was deflected and exploded in the air, and the magic seeker looked around tensely with Garen. “Ho-ho-ho-ho,” Shaco laughed from the shadows. “I don't like it when someone spoils the joke. Have you played this game before? No, I would remember that face because I would have cut it up.”

“Cut the games, mage,” Sylas said, unimpressed. He had heard it all before. “Surrender and let the girl go.”

“Why let her go? She's not a prisoner, the little sweet tooth,” Shaco giggled, his voice coming from different directions. "She's just tired from eating so much cake and is waiting for you. Come on, go get her...“

”You still have to surrender!“ Garen clarified angrily. ”You're a mage, which means you're pure evil. You've proven that many times in Bisia.“

”Why? That was really funny,“ Shaco said indignantly. ”You guys definitely need to laugh more."

“You're laughing at other people's suffering?!” Garen asked angrily. “What kind of monster does that?!”

“I don't know,” Shaco replied innocently. He began to lure his guests by darting back and forth between the trees like a shadow. “I don't know any monsters — do you?”

I'm talking to one right now. “

”Oh, come on, you're wet behind the ears. I'm not a monster — I'm just Shaco, the jester."

The unimpressive, even mocking introduction left Sylas and Garen with questioning looks on their faces. The young nobleman looked to his companion for advice. “A jester, then?” Sylas said calmly, his chain at the ready. “That fits — only a jester would talk like you.”

“How rude,” Shaco said, feigning indignation. “When someone introduces themselves, it's only proper for others to do the same.”

“Unnecessary,” Sylas said. His attack was imminent. “I don't need to waste time — there you are!”

“Huh?” Shaco paused. Just as he disappeared behind a thin tree, Sylas' chain shot forward. The steel shattered the wood and pierced Shaco's stomach. “Ahhh!”

The slender Sylas pulled himself toward Shaco with the chain, ready to strike him down with his hard fist.

Suddenly, the jester grinned diabolically, and his puppet body burst open like colorful fireworks. Three maliciously laughing jack-in-the-boxes jumped out from inside. They clapped their hands repeatedly, shooting magical crystals.

Sylas could hardly react. Several crystals grazed him: his face, arms, and torso were bloody before an arm wrapped around him.

Garen jumped in from the side. He pulled Sylas out of the line of fire and both landed in the dirt.

 

The floating flames discharge in all directions. They form eerie, brightly glowing garlands and reveal grim faces in the trees.

Acrobatic as a squirrel, Shaco jumped out of a tree canopy. The jester caught himself headfirst on his right hand. “Now, before we get carried away with all this fun,” said Shaco. His limbs in the air began to twist unnaturally with a clicking sound. His face turned upside down to match. “What names shall I carve on your gravestones?”

“You seem to be a particularly vile one,” Garen shuddered at the bizarre sight. Nevertheless, he stood up and raised his sword, ready for battle. “But I, Garen, son of the proud Crownguard family, will put an end to your antics, together with the magic seeker Dreghbourne!”

Sylas merely smiled after the nobleman had introduced him. “How boring,” replied Shaco. He pushed himself off the ground and returned his body to a normal position. The jester grinned provocatively. “You're a lousy big brother — I'm going to take Lux with me and show her some real fun. She'll laugh herself to death when she sees someone fall into a pit full of spikes for the first time.”

“I WON'T LET YOU!” Garen shouted. He saw red and stormed off.

“Wait!” Sylas warned. He tried to grab the nobleman, but he was too fast for him.

Shaco approached the attacker completely unconcerned. He hopped from one foot to the other before disappearing into thin air.

At the same time, Garen ran into a trap. A jack-in-the-box popped out of a tuft of grass and sprayed a dark gas. It stung his eyes and senses, forcing Garen to turn away briefly.

The jumping jack fired magical crystals from its hands. But they were no match for the combination of steel and anti-magic, and Garen cut the doll to pieces.

Sylas was on high alert. He sensed the jester dangerously close, for that was his secret talent—detecting magic. However, Sylas did not know his enemy's exact position, as he perceived him in several places. To protect himself, he whirled his chain around his head.

The steel became a gray whirlwind that Shaco failed to penetrate. He reappeared behind Sylas, but his daggers were knocked out of his hands. “A dance. I love to dance!”

Not one, not two—three Shacos surrounded the chain dancer. “That trick won't work twice!” Sylas said, but despite his talent, he couldn't tell which one was the real one.

All the Shacos jumped far back and each threw two well-aimed daggers. Sylas' chain stopped spinning and he pulled it tight. He saw that all six weapons were flying at the same speed and at different heights — there was no way he could fend them all off. “I will not falter!” Garen cried fervently. With precise turns and strikes, he deflected the four daggers in the mageseeker's blind spot. Sylas took advantage of this. He rushed forward and dodged the remaining daggers. Instead of piercing his opponent, he wrapped his chain around the writhing court jester. Sylas ran in circles, dragging the mage behind him.

In no time at all, all three Shacos were tangled up in one spot. “Want to see some escape art?” the three of them giggled simultaneously.

“Sure, I'll even help you!” said Garen. He dove over the three and chopped off their heads.

The nobleman landed at a safe distance as all the jesters exploded in a colorful cloud.

“One, two, three — I wasn't there,” Shaco laughed teasingly. He was somewhere else, and his voice briefly became very ominous. “You get one more try, then for my next trick I'll make you disappear. Then everything here will go kaboom.”

“Miserable Shimrack — how are we supposed to catch the real one?!” asked Garen. He stood back to back with his comrade.

“I have a plan — but you have to trust me completely,” Sylas said quietly. He could already sense new magic, which pointed to more clones. “Can you do that?!”

“If it saves Lux, I'm in.”

“Then stay close behind me and follow exactly the same path as me,” Sylas instructed calmly. He began to swing his chain around to the right. “Destroy all the traps and clones that attack me — I'll take care of the rest.”

“I'm right behind you!” Garen nodded determinedly. He had noticed that the mageseeker was doing very well against the jester, and he didn't care why.

“Forward!” Sylas shouted. His eyes began to glow white as he ran, and he could see every hidden jack-in-the-box clearly. He headed straight for Luxanna. “We're going to grab the lady and get out of here!”

Garen followed close behind, but he couldn't see the magic-filled eyes. “You spoilsports!” Shaco growled angrily. “You're out!”

Shaco jumped forward from the side with his dagger drawn, but Sylas' chain knocked him off his feet and Garen cut off his head. It was another exploding clone, which the two quickly left behind. Their path to Luxanna was like running the gauntlet. Sylas whipped his chain far ahead to trigger the jumping devils, and Garen destroyed them. New Shacos kept coming at them, but one by one they fell. “Get Luxanna!” Sylas said. He still pretended to want to save the lady.

Then Shaco emerged from invisibility. He was in midair, hovering over the sleeping Luxanna and heading toward the magic seeker. Sylas was certain—this was the real Shaco. He put all his eggs in one basket and hurled his chain forward with a backhand swing. The full force of the blow struck the jester in the head, and Sylas grabbed him by the throat in midair. But before Shaco could be pulled down, he dropped two jack-boxes from his sleeve.

The dangerous boxes landed in Luxanna's bed and prepared to clap.

Garens arm quickly rushed over. Just as the boxes were about to launch their magical attacks, the big brother pulled his little sister out of the deadly crossfire. “I've got you!” he said with relief.

At the same time, Sylas hammered Shaco against the nearest tree with all his might. He threw his anti-magic steel around the doll's neck.

“Time out! Time out!” said Shaco. His gasping was fake, but he couldn't use magic because of the chain.

Instead of a time-out, Sylas ended it all. He pulled on the chain until the jester fell silent and motionless. Even the wood behind the mage began to crack before Shaco's head flew off and then the tree broke.

 

The purple flames began to catch, followed by the glow in Shaco's eyes. Night fell and only a faint moonlight broke through the treetops.

Sylas approached the decapitated body of the court jester cautiously. He could no longer sense any magic, but he gently tapped the puppet with his foot anyway. When there was no response, Sylas examined the creature more closely. “Whatever it was, it's dead,” he said. His gaze lifted to Gen's siblings.

Garen hadn't heard anything. He carefully checked Luxanna for injuries. “I'm here, Lux,” he whispered lovingly. “Nothing can happen to you now.”

Luxanna continued to sleep peacefully, but she instinctively snuggled into the safe arms of her big brother.

In the semi-darkness of the night, surrounded by the lively sounds of the animal world, Sylas smiled faintly. He had kept his promise, but he knew that this joy would not last long. “Everything has its price,” he said to himself with quiet regret.

Chapter 20: Demacia

Summary:

Shaco is defeated and Luxanna is safe. Garen and Sylas reach Bisia at dawn, where Lord Fauntwood and Commander Dura await them.

983 AN

Lands of Demacia northwest of the Argent Mountains, Trinity Lake, Village of Bisia

 

Sylas and Garen had suffered a few minor injuries and even more scrapes, but they approached the edge of the forest with their heads held high. Dusk had long since fallen, and the steaming morning dew had gathered into a faint mist.

The fight had been very demanding, and Sylas knew that he could never have defeated Shaco alone. At first, he had feared that the jester had set a final trap for Luxanna, as she had been emitting a strong magical presence. That was why Sylas had kept an eye on the girl, but the longer they ran, the weaker this aura became. He glanced at her one last time and concluded that it must be the remnants of Shaco's magic or that his senses were no longer reliable due to exhaustion.

The magic seeker's glances did not escape Garen, but he simply interpreted them as concern. “Listen,” he said wearily. This drew Sylas's eyes to him. “You're sure to hear many times that House Crownguard is forever in your debt, and that is the absolute truth. But before the commotion begins and our paths soon part, I wanted to express my infinite gratitude to you as your big brother—I will never forget what you have done.” “None of us could have done it alone,” Sylas replied cautiously, but he appreciated the thanks. “And we both wanted to save her at any cost. You did me just as big a favor—more than you can imagine.” “You sound kind of sad when you say that. Is everything okay?”

“I'm just tired,” Sylas waved him off. “Don't worry about it and take care of your sister.”

“I will,” said Garen. He wasn't completely naive, but he didn't want to press the magic seeker any further.

Sylas left it at that. Instead, he kept an eye on his surroundings, because another danger could still appear, and it wasn't the dead Shaco. At the thought of it, Sylas clenched his fists under his dirty, tattered cloak. Was the threat coming from within his own ranks, the one he had discovered in Bisia the afternoon before?

 

Sylas had entered the town hall of Bisia late in the evening. It was currently serving as a base for the magic seekers. On the first floor, Commander Dura had taken over the mayor's office, which was guarded by two magic seekers who stopped Sylas.

“What do you want, Brother Dreghbourne?” asked a woman.

“I have something important to discuss with the commander,” Sylas replied sternly. Under his white cloak, he held the wooden box with the note about Luxanna.

“That will have to wait,” the woman shook her head. “The commander and Lord Fauntwood have very urgent matters to discuss and they do not want to be disturbed under any circumstances.”

Sylas knew of the close connection between House Fauntwood and the Order. But what could be so important so soon after the incident that the two of them were holed up in the office? It went against Sylas's principles to get involved in politics, but his years in the Order had made him somewhat wistful and fundamentally distrustful.

“Or do you insist on seeing the commander now?” the woman pressed. “Is it that important?”

Sylas almost showed her the box, but his hand remained hidden. “Not important enough to justify an interruption,” Sylas replied. "I'll come back later and continue going through the list of suspects in the meantime." The guards nodded to him and Sylas withdrew.

The double doors to the town hall were unguarded, allowing Sylas to walk around the building unnoticed. It was bordered by a stone wall topped with a pointed metal fence and two more elegant residential buildings. Thanks to the wall, Sylas was able to climb one of the houses with his chain. He used the closely adjacent roofs to get to the town hall and close to the mayor's office.

The office window was closed, but he could hear enough, and the shape of the roof provided enough protection from prying eyes on the street or in other houses.

“The village is sealed off,” said Dura calmly. “Everything else is just a matter of time.”

“Time is a luxury we don't have,” said Lord Fauntwood worriedly. The reason for this, however, was his selfishness. “We need a lead on Luxanna as soon as possible, while she's still alive.”

“I still think it's a risky plan,” Dura cautioned. She ran to the window and looked out onto the street. “And we still haven't heard from Lord Crownguard – what if he's been killed?”

“Then I'll just have to negotiate with his wife,” Eran shrugged. “That would make everything easier.”

“But that would be anything but good for Demacia.”

“There's no doubt about that,” Eran agreed. He was calculating, but not a blind fool. “I would therefore prefer it if he returned and I could give him back his daughter—unharmed.”

“I can follow you so far,” Dura nodded thoughtfully. However, she knew the lord better than most and suspected that this was not the reason he had sworn her to absolute secrecy. “I assume you want to secure the favor of the Crown Guards and betroth your youngest son to Luxanna. That would bring your family closer to the king than even my order is. But you said that this is precisely the opportunity for the magic seekers — what did you mean by that?”

Eran did not answer right away. First, he went to the door and made sure it was locked. He also drew the curtains. “If my son marries Luxanna, it's a small step...” Eran said conspiratorially in a low voice. “But if Pieter's son unfortunately dies during this crisis, my son's children will be the heirs to the Crownguards and the Order, and my house, will have the greatest influence in Demacia.”

Pure horror coursed through Sylas' bones. He had to be careful not to slip and sought support from the masonry.

In contrast, the office was frozen in silence. Dura followed the lord's example. She waited patiently and took a few steps across the room. “I heard he was almost uncontrollable,” she remarked. The commander was not pleased. "This young man is not the pride of the Crownguards for no reason, and he will never be controllable. It will only cause more unnecessary disputes in politics—can the crown really afford that?“

”Absolutely not,“ Eran replied dismissively. He was pleased that the commander shared his thoughts. ”Another generation of sword-wielding decisions would be poison for the kingdom."

“With all the more important problems we have, that's probably true,” Dura agreed seriously. “But now young Garen is safe in the inn. The village is sealed off and patrolled. If anything happens to him now, Lord Crownguard will want answers, and we will have only very unsatisfactory words for him.”

“Only if Garen stays here,” Eran said casually. “I'm sure he'll find a way to escape his house arrest, and when he does... Mages, wild animals, or bandits—there are many dangers outside the village.”

 

That was the last Sylas heard of the conversation. After that, he had developed his current plan and had not only secretly followed Garen into the forest. The mageseeker had neutralized four hooded figures before facing the young lord in the clearing.

“Look,” said Garen, relieved. “Bisia is in sight.”

Sylas' eyes wandered beyond the trees at the edge of the forest. “Lucky break,” he said, breathing out deeply. “I hope you're ready.”

“Like I said,” Garen nodded confidently. He knew that his escape would mean trouble. “Even my life for Lux.”

“Trust me, young lord,” Sylas said meaningfully. “There are other things that are more important than your life, and you may have to sacrifice them someday.”

“What are you talking about?” Garen asked. What more could he give than his life?

“You'll have to find that out for yourself,” replied Sylas as he spotted several Fauntwood guards. “Now we have other problems to deal with.”

“Stop right there!” demanded the five guards.

They pointed their spears at the returnees, who paused. “Can't you see who you're pointing your weapons at?” Sylas warned. “That's Lord Crownguard's son and his sister.”

“We know that!” replied one guard. He and the rest repeatedly advanced their spears. “You and Lord Crownguard's son have violated the curfew and left the village. Commander Dura has ordered to bring you to her immediately and hand Lady Luxanna over to us.”

“We will follow you,” Garen agreed calmly, but he was brimming with confidence and authority. “However, my sister is staying with me.”

“Are you defying the Order of the Mageeekers?!”

“No,” said Garen diplomatically. “I will take my sister to the commander with you, but she will remain in my custody — do you understand?”

The guards kept their weapons pointed at the nobleman for a moment. “As you command, young lord,” they saluted. They lowered their spears and formed a circle around the returnees. “Let us go.”

 

Several mageseekers and many of Lord Fauntwood's guards had gathered in front of Bisia's town hall. At the front of the small crowd, Commander Duras' cloak fluttered in the cool morning breeze. Eran stood at her side, wearing a thick, closed coat.

Garen held Luxanna in his arms when Rubia rushed out from between the guards. “Lady Luxanna!” she cried in alarm. As soon as she reached Garen, he knelt down and handed his sister over to her, trusting her completely. “Is she unharmed?”

“She's fine,” Garen said quietly. “She's just sleeping.”

“Praise Demacia,” sighed Rubia, overwhelmed with emotion, and slowly stood up with Luxanna.

“Rubia, please take her to the inn and look after her.”

“Of course, young Lord Garen,” Rubia bowed her head. The guards who had been guarding Garen's room accompanied her.

Dura waited until Rubia had disappeared with the Crownguard guards. “Justify yourself, Garen,” she demanded. “Just like you, magic-seeking Dreghbourne.”

Sylas' eyes radiated strength. He was ready to take responsibility for his actions.

“He's not to blame!” Garen defended him. He didn't look at Sylas, who was staring at the nobleman.

“It looks different to me,” Dura said doubtfully. Her right eyebrow rose. “But speak, young lord.”

“I snuck out of the village,” Garen said without batting an eyelid. “At some point in the forest, I noticed I was being followed. Dreghbourne, the magic seeker, caught up with me and wanted to take me back, but then we were attacked.”

Lord Fauntwood gave nothing away.

“By whom?” he asked. Inside, he suspected it had been his assassins.

“Not who, but what.”

A small commotion broke out among the guards and magic seekers, who had long since been joined by the few Crownguard soldiers.

“What do you mean?” Eran asked suspiciously.

“It seemed to be some kind of magical creature,” Sylas explained as he stepped forward. “It looked like a court jester and called itself Shaco, but it wasn't a living being, it was a puppet.”

The mention of a magical puppet further fueled the unrest. “Silence!” Dura commanded. Her words silenced the crowd, which included villagers who had been listening at their windows. “And then what happened?”

“We found out that Shaco was responsible for all the suffering in Bisia,” Sylas said modestly. He had to say it. “And we saw Lady Luxanna in his grasr. That's how the fight started.”

“Which I wouldn't have survived alone!” Garen added solemnly. “Sylas saved my life and my sister's.”

“And... this puppet?” asked Dura, her arms crossed. She found the whole thing distasteful, but she couldn't simply question the words of a high-born nobleman.

“We destroyed Shaco,” Sylas reported dutifully. “But there is something else I must tell you in private, Commander.”

“Later,” Dura replied sternly. She still had a chance to at least arrest Garen. "And regardless of your heroic deeds, the young lord has endangered not only himself but the entire village with his reckless actions, and he has even disregarded the highest laws of Demacia. For this reason, he will be taken into custody for questioning — seize him!"

No sooner had she spoken than several Crownguard soldiers rushed toward their young lord. They drew their swords, while other fighters from the house were held back by the superior forces of the Fauntwood Guard.

“By your actions, you too are defying the Order of the Mageseekers!” Dura warned the Crownguard guards. “Step aside.”

Not a single Crownguard guard moved an inch to the side; on the contrary. They were eager to defend their young lord with their lives.

Garen had known many of these men and women for years, and yet their loyalty astonished him so much that he was almost shocked. “Lay down your weapons,” he ordered. He tried to control his trembling voice, for he did not want to see anyone die. “The commander is right—I have disregarded the ancient laws and will face the consequences.”

A guard looked back. “But, young lord...”

“That's an order!” Garen clarified, and slowly his guards obeyed. He patted a woman reassuringly on the shoulder and ran to the commander.

 

Lord Fauntwood's expression was unreadable, but inside he was grinning. This was a good foundation for his plans.

But no sooner had Dura and the Fauntwood guards touched Garen's arms than a loud, angry male voice rang out. “What is the meaning of this?!”

Everyone froze in their tracks, because they knew the voice and couldn't believe it was him — Pieter Crownguard.

“Father!” Garen murmured happily to himself.

Dura and Fauntwood's hearts sank when Lord Crownguard and his battered soldiers marched up. They were all visibly shaken, their armor partly destroyed and bloody. There were some with minor injuries and others with serious ones. Some had to be supported by others, and a good third of the original guards had not returned at all.

Suddenly, the child in Garen took over and he ran towards his father. He fell into his arms warmly. “You're back!”

“Yes! It's me, my son,” sighed Pieter. A weight lifted from his heart, although he couldn't savour this brief moment. He had to be Lord Crownguard now, and with his son in his arms, he did not look happy while looking up. “Explain yourselves.”

“There was an attack in Bisia,” replied Dura. She did not shy away from defending her position. “I exercised the right of the Mageseekers and sealed off the village. But your son disregarded this and thus broke the law. That is why I wanted to arrest him.”

Pieter looked down at his son, who nodded and broke free from his embrace. “It's true, Father,” he admitted. “A lot has happened in your absence, and Lux's life was at stake.”

“Luxanna?!” Pieter asked anxiously. “What about her?!”

“Don't worry, Father,” Garen reassured him, pointing to Sylas. “The mageseeker Dreghbourne and I brought her back safely.”

“Praise all that is good,” Pieter breathed after the shock. “I see you have a lot to tell me, Garen.”

“I will, but what about the commander?”

“Correct, Lord Crownguard,” Dura nodded confidently. “No one is above the laws against magic and the authority of the Order.”

“Except for the king,” Pieter corrected, unimpressed. Now he was a lord and a father. “I will speak with my son and take my children home soon. If you wish to continue with your plan, we will both go to King Jarvan. I prefer to trust his judgment. Do you?”

The situation had not yet been defused. Dura looked at Eran, but he shook his head. The commander had the law on her side and fresh soldiers to enforce it. However, despite their exhaustion and injuries, the Crownguard soldiers were clearly ready to fight. Dura also feared that Pieter's guards, even in their current state, were too much for her and Fauntwood's guards. “Listen to what your son has to say,” she relented. “After that, please come to me. Perhaps we can settle this matter amicably.”

“Agreed,” Pieter agreed before leaving with Garen and beckoning Ronan. “Captain!”

“My lord?” Ronan replied promptly.

Pieter spoke quietly. “Select two fit guards and get them good horses. Then send them to me in an hour. Otherwise, make sure the rest of the soldiers is taken care of as best you can.”

“You can count on me, my lord!”

Chapter 21

Summary:

Calm returns to Bisia and the Crownguards prepare to leave, which leaves a bitter taste in Garen's mouth, and especially in Luxanna's.

983 AN

Lands of Demacia northwest of the Argent Mountains, Trinity Lake, Village of Bisia

-

Several days had passed since the victory over Shaco. The curfew in Bisia had been lifted that morning, and relief was palpable in the air.

Pieter was hampered by his injuries. His right arm was completely bandaged, and he limped on his left leg, but he was able to carry out his duties. “Captain,” he greeted the leader of the arriving troop. “I am grateful and glad of your swift arrival.”

“Lord Crownguard, it is an honor,” Viviana bowed her head from her horse. She was a Vastaya half-breed, in the form of a bird with hands instead of wings. Behind her rode a retinue of 60 men on horses and carts bearing the banner of House Eversong. The main color was yellow, and in the center was the profile of the delicate, strawberry-red Eversong bird. "Forgive my lord Eversong for not coming in person, but he has other matters to attend to. He sends his best regards to an old friend.“

”He's as modest as ever," Pieter smiled. All the covered carts passed him by, but he knew their contents: Supplies for the village and medical aid for his wounded, as well as empty carts for transport. “Please convey my heartfelt thanks to him. I don't know what I would have done without this help.”

“I will, my lord,” smiled Viviana, her eyes lingering behind Pieter. “Lord Fauntwood.”

Eran merely nodded silently to the captain. “Lord Crownguard,” he said, slightly surprised. “What is all this?”

“Supplies for the village and my house,” replied Pieter. He and Viviana followed the end of the procession. "I have send word to House Eversong. They will accompany my house to High Silvermere.“

Eran was left standing, so he had to catch up. ”That makes sense,“ he said breathlessly. ”Your guard is badly battered and the country roads can be dangerous, but why didn't you ask me directly? I would have given you my full support."

“That is very generous, Lord Fauntwood,” said Pieter with grateful sincerity. “But you will surely have much to do in the coming weeks now that Shaco is dead. Bisia and the surrounding area will need a lot of help.”

“Of course, but I can certainly spare a few men for your protection.”

“Then I gratefully accept your help,” nodded Pieter. Eran had wanted to speak to him for days, but he had put it off because of the recent events. “However, I assume you didn't want to talk to me about my departure plans.”

“No, Lord Crownguard,” Eran shook his head. He glanced sideways at the Eversong captain. “My request is also of a confidential nature, if you don't mind.”

Pieter stopped while Viviana rode on. “Tell me what it is,” he offered. He and Eran stood alone on the open road while more and more villagers gathered around the arriving carts. “Then we'll see how confidential.”

Lord Fauntwood didn't like the public place, but he accepted it. “Your daughter and my youngest son,” he began quietly and politely. “Two children from two important houses. Yours at the side of the king, mine at the side of the Mageseekers — I wanted to discuss a possible engagement.”

Pieter's face showed surprise. “I truly did not expect this,” he said, running his hand over his beard. “And it would indeed be an interesting idea, one worth discussing.”

"Would have, Lord Crownguard?" asked Eran, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” replied Pieter respectfully. “Because this matter has been settled for years. My daughter is already promised to someone.”

This information took Eran completely by surprise. “She's already been engaged?” he blinked, annoyed. He tried to control his tone. “To whom? When? Something like that would have been known throughout the kingdom long ago.”

“You're right, but the groom's family and I have decided not to announce it for a few more years.”

“Is that so,” Eran muttered, offended. “Forgive me, but that sounds a little like an excuse.”

“I assure you that it is the truth,” Pieter affirmed calmly. “And you are right — your house is an important pillar of Demacia. If you wish, I will let you in on it.”

“What is that supposed to be? A consolation prize?”

“That you're the first to know?” Pieter asked, controlling his temper. He understood the lord's frustration and also wanted to reward him for his help in Bisia to avoid bad relations. “Luxanna is betrothed to Prince Jarvan the forth.”

Eran couldn't believe what he had just heard. “... Prince Jarvan?” he asked incredulously. “Your daughter is going to marry the future king?”

“That's right,” Pieter nodded seriously. “And it must remain a secret for several years. I trust your discretion and honor.”

“I swear,” Eran promised, defeated. With that, Luxanna was forever out of his reach, but he understood the need for secrecy. “A promising future for Demacia.”

“That was the king's thinking, but now forgive me,” Pieter apologized. “I would really like to discuss this matter further, but I must prepare for our departure.”

“Certainly, Lord Crownguard,” said Eran with a slight bow. “I wish you a safe journey.”

“Thank you, Lord Fauntwood.”

 

By the morning of the next day, everything had been arranged. The last Crownguard guards who were too badly injured were carried to carts covered with tarpaulins.

Pieter stood with the mayor at the head of the procession, ready to mount his horse.

“Are you sure you have everything you need?” he asked cautiously. Too much had happened in the last few days and Pieter was struggling to keep track of everything.

“More than enough, Lord Crownguard,” nodded mayor Abellas gratefully. “The citizens of Bisia, and I, will never forget your family's help and generosity.”

“Thank House Eversong – it is their resources,” replied Pieter modestly. “The only thing I can really do is leave you six of my guards for a while.”

“But my lord! Those men are your protectors, and many of them are wounded!”

“These six are still fit,” Pieter assured him as he mounted his horse. “They will remain in Bisia for two months to help you keep the peace. They are good men. Use them wisely.”

“I will, Lord Crownguard!” the Abellas promised exuberantly. He knew that a Crownguard guard was worth at least a dozen soldiers. “Bless you and your family. Farewell.”

Pieter nodded briefly and gave his horse a light spur. He rode to the middle of the still standing procession when he saw his children approaching with Rubia.

 

“Are you looking forward to going home, little lady?” asked Rubia. She walked hand in hand with her protégé

“You bet!” Luxanna nodded, as energetic as ever. “I can't wait to tell Mama all about our trip, and we still have a long way to go! I'll get to see even more things!”

“I don't know,” Garen remarked with a smile. “What could possibly top your dream?”

“Another dream?”

“Possibly,” Garen agreed, exchanging silent glances with Rubia. They had all managed to convince the little lady that her encounter with Shaco had been nothing but a dream after the explosion. Everyone thought it was for the best.

“It's just a shame that I couldn't see Leila again over the last few days and that the bakery was closed,” Luxanna sighed sadly. “Or now, so that I can say goodbye to her.”

“Let's wait and see,” Garen encouraged his sister. "Look how many villagers are already here. When we leave, she'll wave goodbye to you.“

”That would be great!“ beamed Luxanna before she saw Pieter on the horse. ”Father!“

”Well, my little one,“ Pieter smiled at both of them. ”Are you ready to leave?"

“We are, Father,” Garen nodded. “Come on, Lux, get in the carriage.”

“Before you get in, you have to witness something,” Pieter said curtly. He would have liked to spare his children, especially Luxanna, the following lesson, but it was their duty to deal with such things. He had been able to piece together the events surrounding Shaco. Either the murkWolves had split up, or new ones had emerged from the cave until Garen and Sylas killed Shaco and all the beasts dispersed. That had allowed him to dissuade the Mageseekers from pressing charges. At the same time, the commander had asked him for a special prisoner transport, which Pieter had agreed to. “Look what's coming — we're taking a mage to Tebisia.”

This immediately caught the attention of the noble children. It was a serious matter, one they had never encountered before.

 

“Make way, brave and loyal citizens of Bisia!” Commander Dura's voice rang out. The villagers followed her voice and opened a path for the magic seekers who emerged from the town hall. “I hope you enjoy the peace, for Lord Crownguard, Lord Fauntwood, and the Mageseekers have brought you back.

A storm of applause erupted from the crowd. Mothers hugged their children and fathers shook each other's hands.

“But I know that's not enough for you,” Dura said with conviction, raising her arms in the air. “For I am nothing more than a citizen of Demacia who shares the same concerns as you.”

Inside, Garen allowed himself a hint of doubt about this claim. Behind the commander, however, his eyes spotted Sylas, whom he greeted with a respectful nod despite the distance between them.

The young magic seeker's expression was stony, and the nobleman's gestures left him unmoved. Instead, he moved closer to his leader.

Garen wondered briefly, but he assumed that Sylas was simply stressed.

“Yes, a sinister plague befell your village,” Dura remarked sharply. “A magical being bent on destruction. A being that was not even alive.” An uncertain murmur rippled through the crowd, and Dura took advantage of it. "But how can such a being exist, you ask yourselves! Where did it come from! Why did it come here! Well, the answer is as simple as it is terrible, and it reinforces our laws and way of life — magic brought this calamity upon you, for an unrecognized magician lived among you!“

The villagers' uncertainty suddenly turned to shock and anger. ”What?!“ cried an old man. ”How can that be? Who is this filthy demon?!"

Now Sylas sought eye contact with Garen on his own. His expression remained emotionless, yet his eyes spoke volumes. He knew what was coming and that it had to be this way. From the beginning, he had known that the village and his order needed more than just the elimination of the threat — they needed a scapegoat.

“Look!” Dura announced dramatically. “None of you would have ever thought this possible, but it is true — the baker's son, Loca Macon, is a magician!”

It wasn't just the villagers who couldn't believe their ears. Garen was stunned, and Luxanna looked up at Rubia, her brother, and her father. “But Loca isn't evil,” she said, but her words were drowned out by the crowd.

The baker's son was driven out of the town hall by several mageseekers. His hands were bound with anti-magic handcuffs, and he was met with nothing but hatred and contempt, while his visibly ashamed family ran behind him.

The cries of outrage and exclusion quickly exceeded all reason. Especially considering the size of the village, the scene now sounded more like a city.

Sylas was used to all this and completely ignored it. As he walked behind Dura, he thought about his part in this procedure. Originally, he had only wanted to use Loca as a messenger to deliver the box to Garen. But when Sylas had sensed the magic in Loca, he knew that it would only be a matter of time before the Order found him. He had only sped things up and saved more than just Luxanna. His order would have intensified the search in Bisia and resorted to count's measures until the mage had been found. Sylas had no regrets, but he did feel sorry about it.

“Garen!” Luxanna tugged at her brother's arm. “You know Loca isn't evil! He bakes the most delicious things in the world! That's a good thing!”

“Enchanted goods, probably,” Garen said uncertainly. He was a little conflicted himself, because after all, Loca had brought him the box and helped him put the guards outside his door to sleep. But what if it was really true? Had he lured or even summoned this Shaco? Then Loca would have been responsible for Luxanna's kidnapping in the first place, and that made Garen very uncomfortable. “I'm sorry, Lux. Magic is evil — you saw what it did to this village.”

“Magic maybe, but not Loca!” Luxanna shook her head decisively. The little girl tore herself away from Rubia and slipped into the crowd.

“Luxanna!” Pieter shouted, but his cry was drowned out by the loud jeering and Luxanna's actions. “Quick, get her back!”

 

Both Garen and some of the guards tried to follow the lady, but they could hardly make any headway because of the villagers.

Luxanna hurried on with childlike, pure righteousness. She had no idea what she would unleash if she spoke up for Loca as the daughter of the Crownguards. “I'll be right there, Loca!”

She had almost made her way through the crowd when suddenly someone in a white cloak stood in her way. An arm caught the girl. The person effortlessly pushed Luxanna back before Sylas knelt down to her eye level. “I'm afraid that's not possible, little lady.”

“I know you,” Luxanna blinked in confusion as she tried in vain to break free. “Please help me — Loca isn't evil!”

“I know he's not bad,” Sylas nodded conscientiously. Not just because of the baker's son, oh no. Now he was completely sure. “But if you go to him now, you'll ruin his sacrifice.”

“What do you mean?” Luxanna asked in her inexperience.

“He wanted it that way,” Sylas lied. He had to say that to convince the girl. “You won't understand now, but he's doing all of this for you.”

“For... me? But why?”

“To protect you,” Sylas smiled. The eighteen-year-old saw Garen and the guards approaching. “If he really is your friend, you have to trust him now, or he'll be very sad. Is that what you want?”

Luxanna was saddened when she saw Loca walk away. He looked very unhappy to her. “I, I mean, I don't want to,” she shook her head, “But I... don't understand.”

“I promise you — you will one day,” Sylas affirmed. When Luxanna's brother arrived, he stood up. “The lady just wanted to say goodbye.”

Garen got his sister gently pushed over. “That's just like her,” he replied sympathetically. Whatever the mageseeker had said or done had calmed Garen's sister, and he wanted to leave it at that. “Thank you again, mageseeker Sylas.”

Sylas said nothing and marched back toward Dura.

Garen took Luxanna's hand. His sister was clearly deep in thought, so neither of them said a word as they walked back.

The small village community, on the other hand, had endless stamina, while Loca gradually reached one of the overloaded carts. The desperate son looked at the crowd and his family. “Please don't let them take me away,” he pleaded fearfully. “I, I only used my fire for baking. I'm still the same person.”

The parents didn't look at their son for a second. Leila, on the other hand, was aggressive. “Get out of here, you monster!” she shouted angrily. “You're not my brother! You're a disaster! So many have died because of you!”

These words alone caused Loca more pain than any weapon could have done. His head sank to the ground in despair, for he had lived long enough to know the bitter truth. The fear and hatred of magic in Demacia was worse than death.

 

In contrast, peace reigned in the forest near Bisia. Birds chirped lively, a deer leaped between the trees, and the sun played through the leaves of the treetops, tickling parts of the forest floor. Even cheerful music filled the air, and in the midst of this peace, just before disappearing into the green on the horizon, the back of a figure could be seen. It hopped forward slowly and happily. Each knee movement went very high and bells rang - it was Shaco, and the cheerful music was not playing in the forest, but only in his head. The jester was full of life and delighted with the chaos he had caused in Bisia. He was very pleased that the Demacians had finally shown a little humor, and for Shaco, the only question remained: where to go now? Should he perhaps go to Noxus? After all, they understood a good joke, even though killing was more of a profession than a pleasure for them. The Freljord? Shaco hadn't been there in a long time, but it could be difficult to find people there, and the very cold weather could be really annoying, but on the other hand, there were mountains of snow and all the things he could do with it. Ionia? Shurima? Bilgewater or the farthest corners of Runeterra? No matter where Shaco ended up - it would be a great fun.

Chapter 22: Noxus

Summary:

Two young women arrive in Noxus Prime: for one, it is a disgrace; for the other, an honor.

Notes:

Sorry for the long wait again readers. But the sunshine was to tempting and i focused way more on my own original works to write on.

983 AN

Central lands of Noxus, Noxus Prime

 

The march had been long, and a new, unpleasantly sunny morning had dawned. Despite all their hard work on the farms, almost all of the children selected for Swain's warband, were well beyond their limits. As a result, they were among those bringing up the rear of the kilometer-long procession marching along the main road ahead of them.

Even Riven could barely put one foot in front of the other, each step making the journey even more difficult. A constant cloud of dust was whipped up from the ground by the masses of soldiers and was pure poison for the children's lungs.

But no one any any care for it, not even Oxo. He rode alongside the new recruits and, although he had received orders from Swain not to leave their side, he tested the newcomers at the same time. “Such young blood, which should be full of energy,” he sneered casually. "But look at yourselves. You're marching at the end of the troops and your tired eyes are almost always on the ground, so you can hardly see the splendor of Noxus."

Riven knew exactly what the adjutant was talking about. It was the reason she could always walk a little further, because she had waited her whole life for this. Even with her gaze half lowered, and since the first rays of dawn, she could see it on the horizon. Previously, she had only known it from the stories of her parents and the inhabitants of Trevale, but now Riven could see it on the horizon with her own eyes—the Immortal Bastion, or rather, the center of it.

Three massive towers rose so high into the sky that they could rival a small mountain. Just as they were perfectly positioned in a triangle and their shape was also that of a triangle. Riven knew nothing of the many myths and legends that surrounded the bastion. However, this was true for most of Noxus, because the frightening, sharp-edged citadel came from a completely different time and was said to be an maze but rich repository of knowledge and power, like no other in the world. Beneath the bases of the interconnected, monumental towers, the gigantic, terrifying citadel stretched out in all directions, and around the bastion, looking almost modestly small, the capital city of Noxus Prime spread out in all directions, home to millions of people.

Nevertheless, the capital was still several hours' march away, and Riven continued to groan under the scorching sun and dust. The central lands of Noxus were for the most part even more barren than those around Trevale and had little fertile soil.

Nevertheless, a fleeting but welcome coolness now fell upon the weakened young recruits. With all their focus, in their weakened state, directed at the immortal bastion, if at all, they had completely missed another, actually unmissable landmark of Noxian architecture — a Noxtoraa.

These oversized stone gates, which stood either in front of or inside cities, or, as was now the case, completely alone in the countryside, were made of black stone. They were placed everywhere in Noxus and the most important parts of Noxian history were engraved on the surface of all Noxtoraa, but the gates served one primary purpose — they were landmarks. For one thing, they always pointed towards Noxus Prime, making it clear to any stranger who ruled this place.

The recruits remained in the shadow of Noxtoraa, losing touch with the warband even more. It wasn't so much the impression that held them back, as everyone knew Noxtoraa and had seen enough of them on their march. The cool shade and the standstill were simply too tempting; “What is the meaning of this?!” asked Oxo. Many other Noxians would have swung their whips at this point, but he knew better and believed in a different form of strict discipline. “Did I say we are stopping here?!”

Many of the recruits had never or only rarely seen each other before the tournament in Trevale, but they now were united by one thing as well as the fact that they were all orphans – they were completely exhausted, willpower or no willpower.

Riven looked around. No one wanted to say anything, or perhaps they were too tired to do so. She had already dealt with Oxo and proven herself to some extent. “Co-”

“Commander Oxo!” a young man's voice cut her off. “We can't go on!”

Everyone looked at the middle row of recruits, where a young man of about sixteen stood. “You mean this little march is too much for you?” Oxo replied, unimpressed. “Is that what you're trying to tell me, recruit Typhon?”

“No, Commander Oxo,” Typhon shook his head. Even among the orphans, he stood out with his Far Eastern appearance. He was clearly from Ionia, and his black hair was tied back in a braid at the back of his head. “What I'm trying to say is that we simply can't keep up with battle-hardened soldiers yet. None of us can keep marching any longer.”

“Then you are not worthy of being Noxians,” Oxo said soberly. “Tell me, what happened to the other two recruits who didn't make it?”

“You had us dig a grave and bury them.”

“Then you know what to expect if you break down.”

“And that's why the warband bothered came to Trevale?” Typhon asked skeptically as the recruits gathered around him, demonstrating unity. “To return to Noxus Prime empty-handed? What will the general say when all the selected recruits die at once?”

“Are you not children of Noxus?” Oxo mimicked his lord appropriately. "That is what he would ask you. My lord Swain wants only the best, and if you are not the best, then this is where you will find your final resting place. At least you'll be at the feet of a Noxtoraa... more honor than others ever will receive.“

Anger was now brewing among the tired eyes of the recruits. Typhon noticed this because he felt the same way. ”There is no honor in this—and if our commander abandons us like this, we should make sure he shares our fate."

Oxo remained calm. He was not intimidated by the three dozen recruits. He knew he could defeat them even if they were at full strength and armed with the best equipment. “A fight, then...” he muttered, slightly impressed. He could see that these children still had will and life in them. “Since you seem to speak for everyone, I'll give you a chance to rest.”

“What's the chance?”

“You will seek out general Swain,” Oxo gestured unseen over his shoulder. "Tell him we are setting up camp. If you return without reporting to him, I will execute you myself.“

”B-But the general will probably be at the head of the troops,“ said Typhon worried. ”By the time I reach him, I'll probably have reached the capital, and then I'm supposed to run back? That's crazy!"

“Yes, the general is probably riding at the head,” said Oxo simply, although he wasn't sure. His lord cared little for the glory or cheers that awaited the victorious army as it would enter the capital. “And what would you prefer - are you risking your life while the others can rest, or do you really think you all together can kill me?”

Although the other children would clearly have benefited from option A, many were visibly willing to fight alongside Typhon. The Ionian lowered his head thoughtfully, his fists clenched. “Agreed!” he decided. “I will report to the general.”

“But Typhon!” said a female recruit. Others also babbled in confusion. “You'll die!”

“You can't do that!”

“We can keep running!”

“I'll take care of it!” Typhon assured everyone. He tried to appear as confident as possible. “You'll see!”

“I'm curious,” nodded Oxo. He turned his horse around. “Everyone else, set up camp and use the time until this afternoon. Then we'll march on, whether you're ready or not.”

 

Relief and regret spread among the recruits as Typhon walked away alone without another word.

Riven watched the boy for quite a while. On the one hand, she was impressed that he still had the strength to run. On the other hand, she felt that he had pushed his way in between them, because she could have done the same and would have wanted to. However, her thoughts were interrupted when someone colossal pushed her aside.“Out of the way, midget,” Nios Akom panted. The giant winner of the fights was also one of the recruits. “This is where I sleep.”

“I doubt that,” Riven hissed.

Nois turned to her grumpily. “Oh yeah? Why?”

“Because the whole Noxtoraa isn't even big enough for you, you fat poro.”

Some recruits watched the situation and an uneasy murmur ran through their ranks as Nois now approached Riven menacingly slowly. “Big words for such a tiny girl,” he said. His voice was deep and he stopped in front of her. “A girl who still thinks she could have defeated me.”

Riven looked up at the giant. He was twice her size and his body, mostly muscle with a little fat, was three times as wide as hers. “I didn't have time for games and put myself in real danger,” she countered proudly. “In case you forgot.”

“A lot of talk,” Nois snorted, unimpressed. He didn't believe a word of it, that the girl had done any service to Noxus. “But please, you're welcome to show me how you overcame this danger. I'm sure everyone is eagerly waiting to see.”

Riven could barely stand, but she would never allow her honor, and with it her parents, to be called into question. “You call me a liar?!” she growled angrily. “Then at least have the courage of a warrior to say so!”

“I don't need the courage of a warrior for you — you liar.”

Riven's eyes widened and she was about to attack blindly when her sister Marit stepped between them. “No!”

“Get out of my way, Marit!” hissed Riven. She could have easily overpowered her sister even now, but she didn't want to hurt her. “That fatso is going to get a beating!”

“There's plenty of time for that,” Marit replied confidently. She glanced slyly over her shoulder at Nois. “If you're so eager to know the truth, you can go to the source,” she countered with a grin. “Go to the commander and ask him – if you dare disturb him now.”

Nois's stern face contorted with anger and frustration. His eyes briefly glanced at the commander, who was inspecting the tents and campfire structures a little further away. “No need,” he replied threateningly. “That little insect won't last long anyway. I'll make sure of that.”

“But remember,” Riven said defiantly, lifting her chin. “You only have one try. After that, it's my turn.”

Nois raised his clenched fist as if to strike. However, when the guard became aware of the situation, he struck his chest instead. Whether this was a cover or genuine respect remained questionable. “Count your last days, little girl.”

Riven remained alert until the last moment as she voluntarily vacated the spot and looked for another place to pitch her tent.

Marit and Ranos followed her. “Well, I would have liked you to smash that Krag,” her brother said. “It's long overdue.”

“Don't talk nonsense!” Marit shook her head. She still had a few visible bruises from her fight with Nois. “But if you want to do something about him, let us know. We'll stick together.”

While Riven was glad that she could give her bones the rest they needed while setting up the tent, she listened to her siblings with a smile. Far away from home, this family habit gave her comfort. “It's not nonsense,” Ranos insisted. “He defeated all of us, but Riven can beat him.”

“Oh, really?” Marit raised an eyebrow. “You just want to see them fight. I know about your bet with one of the Akoms.”

“One doesn't exclude the other,” said Ranos, caught out but casual. “Especially if Riven gets her hands on another big piece of wood like that.”

“Then maybe.”

“How much did you bet?” asked Riven curiously.

“Half my first pay,” Ranos said excitedly. “Why do you ask? Do you want in?”

“How?” Riven laughed at her brother's typically impetuous manner. “We haven't even gotten our first pay yet, and it won't be much anyway.”

“All the more reason for you to win!”

“Sure... for a small share of the winnings,” Riven winked. She didn't mean it seriously. Fame and glory were reward enough for her, but she couldn't resist teasing her brother.

“Forget it,” Ranos snorted. He believed Riven's story completely. “Korquich is barely gone, and you want to take his place as the betting king? Sounds like one of your diabolical plans.”

“No, don't worry,” Riven breathed discreetly. She stared intently through the arch of the Noxtoraa toward the Immortal Bastion. “I'll be the exact opposite of Korquich and more. One day, my name will be so great that it will reach even Trevale.”

 

The midday sun shone from a cloudless sky, but much of the light disappeared into the alleys of Noxus' capital. Many houses had at least two or three stories on average and were mostly built very close together. Added to this was their centuries-old architecture, which gave the city a forbidding and eerie feel. However, the old buildings were far from dilapidated. At least not too many, and at the same time they had a certain nobility about them. A hooded figure marched through the shallow bustle of the street, concealed by a dark cloak with a hood over their head. Their eyes took everything in without their pursuer noticing.

Between the guards, residents, and scum, an inconspicuous old woman ran, spying on the figure.

For the hooded figure, it was more annoying and tiring than threatening. She was convinced that her adversary had been trying to plunder her hideout for two years. He had found it long ago, because with his resources, it had been child's play. Getting inside, however, was a completely different story, and the figure was well aware of that. So once again she stood in front of her “hiding place,” which had seen better days.

At least that was the case if you went by the facade of the house and the dried, partly peeling paint of the lettering above the shop window. “A Red Leaf” was the name of this tea shop, and in keeping with its offerings, you could see all kinds of utensils for making tea in the shop window: cups and pots made of various artistically crafted materials, dried tea leaves in jars in a wide variety of colors, and simple accessories such as candles, paintings, and flowers of questionable freshness.

As soon as the figure stepped through the door of the shop, the old woman stopped and clenched her fists. This was not the first time she had had to abandon her surveillance at this point. She knew the fate of previous scouts in this case. So she turned away and went on her way.

 

Inside the shop, it was very dark, with only slivers of daylight shining through small cracks, while most of the light came from lanterns and candles.

Behind a wooden counter that looked ancient and splintered, a Yordle sat on a stool. This was the only way she could see over the counter, which was much too high for her, and the approaching figure. The Yordle's name was Drann, and with all her gray fur and the many red and white hairs on her head and face, she could easily be mistaken for a man. On top of that, she looked like an eerie fortune teller who didn't say a word to the hooded figure.

Only emerald green eyes sparkled from under the hood as the figure marched past the counter and toward the back rooms as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She casually placed a handful of coins on the counter, among which was a finely crafted bronze nugget engraved with a secret code. Beyond the salesroom, the corridors became a little more winding. However, the hooded figure knew her way around until she entered a room on the first floor.

After closing the secure lock behind her and turning on an illuminating lantern, she stepped in front of a rustic bed that was built into the corner of the room under the closed window. Finally, the young woman could let her cloak slip from her shoulders, revealing her long, fiery red hair. Clumsily, like a normal fifteen-year-old girl, Katarina let herself fall unrestrainedly into the soft sheets before sighing into her pillow in long-held frustration. “You're so stupid. So stupid, so stupid, so stupid!” she lamented, kicking her feet. “You waited so long for your chance and you blew it!”

No one would have believed that this was the room of a dangerous assassin. Although it had all the necessary equipment, such as shelves full of poisons, a workbench with useful small utensils, and everything else a good assassin could need, this kitschy room truly screamed that it belonged to a teenage girl.

It was the only world where Katarina felt truly safe and could find peace. So she just lay on the bed for a while, listening to the hustle and bustle of the streets outside. Only when there was a soft knock at the door did she speak into her pillow. “Go away.”

Instead, however, the lock clicked and the door slowly opened with a creak. “You sound like a pirate from Bilgewater who just had his treasure map stolen,” said Drann. The little Yordle looked like a grandmother and came in with a tablet on which stood a steaming teapot and two cups. “Is that how they greet each other where you've been for the last few weeks?”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“Come on,” said Drann encouragingly. The table in front of her was a little higher than she was, so she had to lift the tablet up high. She put it down and climbed onto one of two chairs. “It can't have been that bad.”

Katarina made no move to budge an inch. “It wasn't that bad?” she muttered dramatically. “No. I just completely ruined the most important moment of my life, dishonored my family and myself, and lost my father's trust forever, no matter how little he had in me to begin with — now it's below zero.”

“The same father who has already tried to have you killed three times?” asked Drann, skeptical and matter-of-fact at the same time. She had seen a lot in her hundreds of years on this world.

“It was always a test,” said Katarina. She knew it wasn't an excuse, but the truth. “Tests that led to my very first, totally failed mission and assassination attempt number four.”

“There's always a first time.”

“There can be no first time for assassins!!” Katarina grumbled into the pillow as she turned her head toward the Yordle. “And on top of that, on her very first time!”

“I actually think it's quite good,” said Drann, calm as ever, as she poured herself some tea and sipped it with dignity. That was always her way, no matter what the situation. “Without mistakes, there is no experience, and without experience, you don't get better.”

“Were you listening to me—THE FIRST TIME?”

“I may look like a yeti, but I hear as well as a bat,” Drann joked dryly. “And yes, I think it's good that your first assignment went wrong.”

Katarina couldn't believe her ears. She sat up in disbelief, her red hair falling over her face. “What's good about that?”

“I've known you for several years now, Katarina,” said Drann. She smiled as she remembered her first encounter with the noblewoman. “You demand perfection from yourself. But that can be quite self-destructive and quickly make you overconfident if you're underchallenged or think you can do more.”

“Yes... more,” Katarina sighed with her head bowed. “That's exactly what cost me everything.”

“Everything? Now you're exaggerating,” Drann waved her off casually. “The sun rose today just as it did yesterday, and you still have the same abilities, even if the feeling of failure is frustrating and painful right now. Some people never know the feeling of defeat.”

“Because they're better,” Katarina nodded humbly. She pulled her legs up onto the bed and rested her chin and arms on her knees. “Like my father... the best assassin in all of Noxus.”

“He's been around a few years longer. That's his advantage,” Drann said, downplaying General Marcus' abilities. “And I'm sure he's had his share of defeats too.”

“Hardly, otherwise he wouldn't be where he is now.”

“All the worse for him,” said Drann insistently. In fact, she knew much more about Katarina's father. It was an advantage of her centuries of experience, but she kept quiet about it so as not to stress Katarina unnecessarily in her current situation. She poured the second cup and took it to the bed. “Defeats make you more humble. Just think what could happen if Marcus suffered a real defeat. He wouldn't know how to deal with it.”

“Please stop,” sighed Katarina. She took the cup with a grateful, weak smile. “I know you're trying to cheer me up, but I'm not the little girl who broke into your room that night anymore.”

“A girl I luckily didn't betray to the guards,” Drann grinned, rubbing her thumb and index finger together. “And above all, I didn't dry you out and grate you to make an effective healing powder.”

“You're still saying that after two years?” Katarina asked doubtfully. Her Aordle friend had told her this and similar stories over and over again.

“Of course!” Drann laughed hoarsely. “What do you think happened to all your father's spies who tried to break in here?”

“I would believe the story,” Katarina smiled weakly. She went to the curtained window, through which she had been peeking while drinking her tea. “But then you should never have let me in on your deal with Uboru.”

“Speaking of him,” Drann remembered. “He mentioned that he needed help with a tricky problem and that I should recruit someone with the necessary skills.”

Katarina closed the curtain again. “What kind of help could a guy like him need?” she asked in surprise, thinking of the imposing dragon Vastaya. “That's exactly why you made a deal with him.”

“Ha. I knew that would get your attention,” Drann said with satisfaction. The Yordle sat back down at the table and warmly invited the assassin to join him. "But first, tell me calmly what happened and what went wrong. Then we can talk about Uboru.“

Katarina was actually in no mood to talk about her failure, but the prospect of a job for Uboru was too tempting. ”All right, you win," she conceded, sitting down next to Drann.

Chapter 23: Noxus

Summary:

Katarina visits Uboru, one of Frann's “business partners.” The dragon Vastaya isn't exactly known for his discretion and finesse, but this time he's after something that brute force can't get him. Just the right thing for Katarina.

In stark contrast, yet similar, Swain finds himself directly exposed to the political arena of Noxus. His parents are hosting a grand banquet at their estate in honor of his great triumph, which Emperor Boram Darkwill himself is supposed to attend.

983 AN Central lands of Noxus, Noxus Prime

Central lands of Noxus, Noxus Prime

 

The rhythm was lively but not too excessive. A piano accompanied by a violin enlivened the shady tavern in the Broken Quarter. It was rough and loud, with some singing, and here and there a glass was broken, but there was no excessive violence among the guests. Somehow, the atmosphere was even cozy. Candles and lanterns on the tables provided most of the light, and a clear blanket of smoke hung in the air, which the guests enlarged with cigars and the like from their lungs as they emptied their glasses and rolled the dice.

Above all, it was pleasantly warmer for Katarina, as the night was cool. Veiled but not completely hooded by her cloak, she entered the Sheeps Flock.

It was one of the more popular taverns in this part of town, not least because it was run by Uboru. He was a former warrior who had built up a small but respectable reputation during his active service and had seen enough. The dragon Vastaya understood Noxus like no other and gave the people here exactly what they wanted: a relaxed retreat with tradition, security, respect for those who deserved it, and various opportunities for those who needed a fresh start.

Katarina, however, was not interested in any of that. She was only here because Drann had made her curious about the job. The assassin still didn't know any more details. Only that it involved a delicate theft, which had puzzled Katarina even more. She knew how Uboru made his money, and theft wasn't one of them.

“Slow down,” asked a gruff tavern henchman. He stopped the woman with his hand and stood in front of some steps leading to a separate area of the large barroom. Woven partitions screened off this part of the tavern. “Where do you think you're going?”

“I'm here to talk to Uboru,” Katarina replied calmly. She didn't mind that the henchman had stopped her with his hand. She knew how things worked here and handed over a tiny, tied-up piece of parchment. “Drann sent me.”

“Old Drann, huh?” replied the henchman amusedly after taking the piece of paper and unrolling it. “Mmm, I see. Go talk to Uboru, but don't waste his time. He's been extremely irritable for days because he's not allowed to eat meat and is using every excuse he can find.”

There's nothing on my bones anyway,” said Katarina. She wasn't even searched for weapons when she was allowed to pass.

 

Uboru sat here all alone, and apart from the lack of smoke, the atmosphere here was the same as in the rest of the tavern. The dragon Vastaya towered over the round table in front of him, propping himself up with both elbows. He was so broad that he filled an entire bench that could have seated three people, and he was twice as tall as Katarina. Anyone who didn't know him could almost mistake him for a cheap businessman because of his simple cloth clothing, but his warlike body alone told the truth. On his left clawed hand, he had only his index finger and thumb left. The scaly skin, although naturally strong body armor, was covered with scars everywhere. Small horns on his head and snout were broken off in pieces, but the most striking feature of Uboru was his lower jaw—the right half of his lower mouth, including his teeth, had been replaced by an iron prosthesis. “Well, well, look who's here, the little fire fox,” he greeted her in a deep, vibrating voice. “A rare guest in my cave.”

“This place is no place for young ladies,” Katarina joked before pulling down her hood.

“Ha, young lady!” Uboru laughed dirty, tapping on the table and making the dishes jump. “Who are you? Your little sister?”

“Who knows,” Katarina shrugged. She remained standing in front of the table. “Maybe she'd be better suited tothis theft, with all her charm and games.”

“Oh, you have your own charm, which would be perfect for my job. Sit down,” Uboru offered. His guest took a seat and he pulled his elbows off the table, as he would otherwise have been very close to the young woman. “Would you like something to eat? Something to drink?”

“I'm fifteen.”

“And I was thirteen when I had my first beer.”

“No thanks, and I'm not hungry. I'd rather not,” Katarina said dryly. “I certainly don't want to eat roasted rabbit in front of you when you're on a diet.”

“It has nothing to do with dieting. New dentures,” Uboru claimed, tapping the steel. “After sixty-four years, it was time for a change, and the protective coating for the new ones has to set for a long time. That's why I can only eat certain things in small portions, otherwise I'll be rusty in a few years.”

“Of course,” Katarina nodded knowingly. She leaned back with her arms crossed and a wink. “And your wife is surely happy that you're taking a little better care of yourself.”

“Oh yes, absolutely,” Uboru replied, moderately pleased. “She very much appreciates my sacrifice.”

“I see,” Katarina smiled knowingly. When she found her a few years ago, she didn't trust the Yordle and spied on her and her contacts. That's how she found out a lot about Uboru, who was married to a human woman and, although he was a feared warrior, could be extremely tame towards her. “But let's not talk about food any longer, or you'll get any silly ideas.”

“Haha, yes, better we do,” agreed Uboru. His expression became more serious, more befitting a man of his station. “I've been doing business with a new client for some time now—it's none of your concern who he is. All that matters is that this client is a collector of rare items and wants something that belongs to someone else.”

“If it weren't just theft, you wouldn't be looking for someone with special talents,” Katarina noted. She didn't care who wanted to steal from whom or whether it was a rich merchant or a high-ranking noble. She did her job well, and that meant she would never get involved in disputes. “So spill the details—how, where, what?”

“Kill whoever you have to, but avoid a bloodbath if possible,” Uboru clarified. “The theft is your primary objective, not death. The location is a well-secured building on the Redback.”

“The Redback...” Katarina murmured thoughtfully. Redback was one of the more exclusive districts of Noxus Prime: home to many important figures, very secure, orderly, simply a source of wealth. “That doesn't bother me, but I have to wonder why you're taking on this job. You know there are a lot of magician affilated families living there, right?”

“That's why I need a woman of your caliber,” Uboru said confidently. He got along with the assassin and liked her, but that didn't make him soft on her. “Mistakes are not tolerable. If you screw this up somehow, I'll personally break your spine and forget my vow of abstinence from meat.”

“So it's that serious?”

“With enormous risk comes enormous profit,” said Uboru, but he was hiding something about this assignment. “Otherwise I would never have said yes.”

“Then the profit must be immeasurable,” Katarina said cautiously. So far, she had not come to know the dragon Vastaya as a high-risk player, nor was he known for it. Nevertheless, she did not suspect anything. “But if Drann sends me to you, I trust her judgment. So, what am I supposed to steal?”

UBoru leaned forward with a satisfied look on his face. The Vastaya's elbows rested on the table again, making the wood creak loudly. “It's a...”

 

The immortal bastion was only three kilometers away, but at this distance, it was as if you could literally reach out and touch it. From the side, the fiery red rays of the setting sun shone between the towers, casting their mighty shadows over the city. It had been several months since Swain had seen this sight. Today, however, he was not standing on the balcony of his estate, but on that of his parents, as the view held him thoughtfully captive. Behind him, the glamorous light of the large banquet hall shone through the glass, and Noxus's upper-class and influential society enjoyed the party that the general's parents had thrown in his honor. However, he found it distasteful. Many of those present were merely playing their games, intent on promoting their own selfish interests, while brave warriors bled or died for Noxus. What's more, Swain knew that at least half of the guests had never really lifted a finger for Noxus and were resting on the laurels of their long-dead ancestors. Or no, that wasn't quite right. That was exactly why they were playing their games, he admitted. They had to maintain their rotten foundations, because in the end, only true deeds for the common good counted in Noxus.

“Ah, how I've missed this view,” said a voice from the side. “And apparently, I'm not the only one who appreciates it.”

“General,” Swain greeted Marcus Du Couteau when he recognized him. “I agree with you, but for me, it's about remembering.”

“Remembering what?”

“That we are all just a small part of Noxus' greatness. The front-line soldier is equal to the emperor, just as the capable kitchen maid is equal to the sharp-tongued diplomat.”

“A wisdom that is usually only learned at the very bottom or the very top,” Marcus nodded. He was the best assassin in Noxus and had a sophisticated network of spies at his disposal. Nevertheless, he had not been able to find out how his counterpart had been able to capture Uzeris.

“Or internalized it from the shadows,” added Swain. He had great respect for Marcus, whose status was well deserved through his deeds and abilities. He was wary of him, but not for the obvious reasons. What Swain did not see or knew worried him more. “But no matter how you learn this fact, the important thing is that you learn it.”

“If only it were as easy as you say, the burden on shoulders like ours would be far less heavy,” Marcus praised the lord and himself. His gaze briefly passed through the glass, speaking more of disappointment than contempt. “Don't you think so too?”

“I don't think there's any point in worrying about hopeless cases,” said Swain. He preferred to focus on more important issues. “Let's talk about Uzeris instead. That's why you're here, isn't it?”

“Of course,” replied Marcus. It didn't happen often, but Swain's manner and facial expression made him feel that even a possible joke on Swain's part should be taken very seriously. He was wise to follow his instincts, because he had been granted a great honor. “As the chosen High Lord for the empire's latest part, I wanted to get advice from the best source. Who better than the man who achieved what others have failed to do for centuries?”

“A good intention,” Swain said sternly. He saw no reason to share his limited knowledge of the conquered city and how it came to be. “Although you may be disappointed. My facts are simple, and you would surely learn them quickly on your own.”

“That may be, but I'll take every advantage I can get as fast as I can get it,” Marcus admitted. This opportunity was the greatest in his family's history and basically made him the second most powerful man in the empire at that moment, as well as the target of new enemies, of whom he already had an endless number. “Who will be useful to me in keeping the city and region under control?”

“Noxian culture, in form of the Reckoners,” Swain advised. It was the same method he had used to conquer the city. “You are surely familiar with the city's blood pits?”

”I am.“

”Support the pits and get on good terms with the owners,“ Swain explained, urging caution. ”But be careful. The pits are a little different from the arenas of Noxus. Bring in our Reckoners one by one. It will take time.“ Marcus knew many things, but even he didn't know everything.

”I've heard that the Shurimians don't always want to see fighting or spectacle. Sometimes they just want to see defenseless slaves or criminals brutally slaughtered like cattle.“

”Among other things," Swain confirmed. He had followed an old piece of wisdom during the conquest of Uzeris: If you can't beat them, join them. However, in Swain's view, Noxus was the enemy the Shurimians couldn't beat. "For over two months, I sold the best soldiers to slave traders as deserters or placed them along the southern coast disguised as villagers and traders after my spies reported to pirates in Bilgewater targeting caravans and weak settlements. This way, around two hundred capable soldiers were distributed among Uzeris' blood pits. In addition, agents infiltrated the city and some reckoners traveled there officially as fighters.“

”I see,“ Marcus said appreciatively. ”Not only did you place troops behind enemy lines, you also identified the elements that could be influenced."

"Exactly, and when the time came, all those who had survived in the pits attacked two inconspicuous gates to the eastern ports from within during the darkest new moon. The well-manned walls, as well as the sea and the relentless desert surrounding Uzeris, had always been the city's strength. But as soon as the first thousand landing troops marched through the occupied gates, it was only a matter of time.“

”How long did the Shurimians hold out?“

”Three and a half days, until they realized they couldn't beat us,“

Swain concluded his strategy. ”With a little help from well-placed allied Shurimers in the inner circle."

“Brilliant, General Swain,” Marcus praised him sincerely. Many nights over the past twenty years, he had also pondered how to take Uzeris. He wanted to further anchor his family's legacy in the history of Noxus. The master assassin had tried targeted assassinations of key figures, but that had only strengthened the Shurimians' resolve and made them immune to his demagoguery. He wanted to further anchor his family's legacy in the history of Noxus. “Your patience is worthy of an assassin.”

“And your victory is that of a warrior, I hear.”

“Compared to Uzeris, it was nothing. Besides, the glory belongs to one of my men.”

“Ah yes, Darius,” Swain nodded knowingly. “I've heard of him. You gave him command of your troops.”

“Yes, he is a true son of Noxus,” Marcus explained. Actually, the emperor had ordered him to bring Darius home. However, Marcus knew that his subordinate would only have become the target of families eager to win him over. The assassin did not distrust Darius, but he distrusted the rest, who might have resorted to other means if they had not gotten the latest shining star of Noxus. “Actually, I was supposed to bring him with me, but I convinced the emperor that his younger brother could thrill the crowd just as much... as a substitute.”

“Younger brother?” asked Swain. He had never heard of him. “What's his name?”

“Oh, he's here today,” Marcus remarked. His and Swain's eyes moved over their shoulders, where the perfect picture was presented to them. “Draven.”

 

As if on cue, Draven showed his most charming side. “I do this all the time on the battlefield!” he said fervently, spinning the finest porcelain between the thumb, middle, and index fingers of each hand. He was even wearing a suit that was elegant, at least by his standards, but not particularly well received by Noxus's high society. The same could be said for his antics and a healthy burp from him.“You dusty snobs don't see something like this every day, do you?!”

“What bad manners,” was one of the comments as the guests turned away from the sixteen-year-old. “Who let him in?”

“It's the same on the front lines—they all run away from Draven!”

 

“A very engaging personality, it seems,” said Swain, although he hadn't heard any of the comments. “But I suppose someone like that makes up for it in other ways?”

“Excessively so,” Marcus confirmed with a smile. “But Darius also asked me to take his brother with me. There were many differences of opinion regarding... discipline and order.”

“Life has to stay interesting somehow,” Swain commented as he saw his gray-haired parents on a collision course with Draven. The two had asked to speak with him anyway, and this seemed like the right moment. “And I should probably take care of my parents before they succumb to his charm.”

“Absolutely, General—we'll talk more another time. Good evening.”

Chapter 24: Noxus

Summary:

As the celebration in Swain's honor draws to a close, his parents want to talk to him alone. Meanwhile, the tipsy Draven is assigned a chaperone, even though he is currently sleeping off his intoxication.

AN 983

Central lands of Noxus, Noxus Prime

 

The grand ballroom was still reasonably well attended, but Swain's guests were slowly leaving the room. The general himself took one last look at the spectacle he considered unworthy of him before pushing open the sliding door in front of him from both sides. He was alone with his parents in their library, which was currently lit only by the fire in the fireplace, where his father Jaspa and his mother Margaux were sitting.

Both were in their mid-60s, and while Jaspa's features and hair clearly showed that Jericho was his son, his age was evident. Margaux, on the other hand, elegant and beautiful, with her raven-black, shoulder-length hair, could still pass for being in her late 40s. “I endured all of this tonight for nothing,” Swain complained quietly. He approached the fireplace at a leisurely pace, but did not sit down. Instead, he remained standing and demanded answers. “Where is the emperor?” “Careful, Jericho,” Jaspa warned hoarsely. He took a sip of wine to moisten his throat. “You are no longer standing before your soldiers.”

“But I am above you, don't forget that,” Swain countered directly. There was neither hatred nor contempt between him and his parents. It was simply his always serious demeanor, which he couldn't shake even now. "For I am Lord Swain.“

Both Jericho's father and mother had an extremely calm, albeit sharp manner. ”Because I made you that way too early,“ Jaspa said coolly. ”You haven't taken care of our guests today, nor have you dealt with the urgent matters of our house that have been pending for years."

“Is that again why you want to take up my precious time?” Swain asked, unimpressed. He knew exactly what urgent matters his father was talking about, and he didn't like it, even though he hid it. “Or do you want to explain to me why the emperor didn't deem it necessary to appear here today?”

“Darkwill is your lord and ours,” Margaux stated, drinking her tea. “He owes nothing to anyone, so don't imagine concessions you don't have.”

“I don't call it a concession, but decency and respect,” Swain clarified. Ultimately, although he submitted to the Emperor's authority, he saw him as he saw every Noxian, and that meant that actions counted. “Did he at least send a message for me?”

“Of course,” nodded Jaspa, pulling a letter from the inside pocket of his jacket.

The father handed the envelope to his son, the imperial seal already broken. “Urgent matters,” Swain whispered wearily. The short letter contained almost exactly what hundreds of others had been sent to the Noxian nobility from a printing press. He made no comment on the fact that his father had read his letter first, because a part of the letter was more important to Swain. “The emperor has issued a personal invitation to his palace, but does not state the reason. If he merely wishes to present me to his inner circle, a portrait of me would suffice.”

“Has a life of soldiering in the dirt made you cynical?” Jaspa asked wistfully. “Others would kill for an audience with His Highness, even if it was just to taste his food...”

“Truly, Jericho,” Margaux sighed dramatically. “You need to spend more time in Noxus Prime. A new woman in your life...”

“Not another word!” Swain cut his mother off with suppressed anger. No, he knew it: it wasn't the tiresome topic or the letter that had brought him here. “Talk about what you really wanted to talk to me about instead. These trivialities aren't even worth your time.”

“At least your mind is still the same,” Margaux praised him as she put down her cup. She became more serious. “Whatever the emperor wants from you, you must use this audience to gain access to the immortal bastion.”

“The bastion?” Swain replied. He hadn't expected that and became curious. “Go on.”

“We've finally found a new clue to the dark secret. The clue fits into the big puzzle and will certainly bring us closer to the knowledge we've been searching for for so long, and the Emperor might even support the search. That would be a welcome help.”

The dark secret, however, was anything but new to Swain. His parents had been hunting this mystical power for decades. It was said to grant its owner a power that nothing and no one could defeat. However, no one knew exactly what it was, whether it was an artifact or who knows what, or whether it even really existed. “And I'm supposed to ask for permission?” Swain raised an eyebrow. “You've been searching for the dark secret for ages and have always been in the bastion without permission – so why ask the emperor? Are you that desperate now, or is the clue that solid?”

“Your words surprise me, Jericho,” Jaspa admitted disappointedly. He knew that his son was completely loyal to Noxus, and Jaspa wanted to exploit that. The fact was that he and his wife knew what the emperor wanted. For several years, the leader had developed an eager interest in ancient artifacts, knowledge, and power. “If we can secure this power for Noxus, our empire will be unstoppable.” “It already is,” Swain dismissed the prospect. He himself was extremely skeptical of ancient myths, legends, and mystical things, which he dismissed as nonsense. For him, only what he saw mattered, and the general in him broke through. “Everything plays a role. Relying on just one pillar is foolish.”

“But having that pillar as additional support is not.”

“I agree,” nodded Swain. He wasn't eager to talk to the emperor about it, but if his parents were busy hunting down the dark secret, they wouldn't waste his time unnecessarily. “Very well. I won't promise anything, but I will mention it to the emperor when the opportunity arises.” Exhausted by everything that had happened that evening, Swain turned away from his parents. “If that's all, I'll take my leave.” “Do that, Lord Swain,” Jaspa said dismissively, but he wasn't talking to his son. “And take that stinking drunkard that General Du Couteau dragged in here with you.” Swain left the room without comment.

 

In one of the many side rooms, seventeen-year-old Tamara waited. She was actually part of the warmasons, who covered several areas of responsibility in Noxus: scout, architect, and engineer — warmasons combined all these roles. But now she was extremely frustrated and sat there with her eyes closed and her arms crossed. And why? Because she had to play babysitter.

Draven lay on a sofa, drunk and snoring. After his cup drama and a subtle reprimand from Swain, the young lad had thrown himself into the lavish buffet in frustration. Of course, this was less about eating and more about drinking.Tamara tapped her finger impatiently on her arm and toyed with the idea of suffocating this cocky bully with a pillow. Yes, the thought made her smile, because for some inexplicable reason, Draven always managed to drag her into his trouble. It had been the same in General Marcus's warband.

“I see our problem child is still sleeping the sleep of the innocent,” said Swain as he entered the room.

“More like the sleep of fools,” added Tamara. “I wish I hadn't promised his brother I'd keep an eye on him.”

Swain cast an inspecting glance at the problem child. “I hear he makes up for it with his talents on the battlefield, though?”

“So does his brother Darius, but they're like night and day,” Tamara sighed as she stood up and bowed slightly. “I beg your pardon for Dravens' behavior.”

“That's unnecessary,” Swain shook his head curtly. “After a few years on the battlefield, he made that evening bearable with his normality. At list for a splitt moment.”

“That's not meant to be disrespectful, Lord Swain,” Tamara snorted in annoyance. "But there's nothing normal about that guy. He's a bully, he's self-obsessed, he's a pig, he has no discipline, and he has many, many more bad qualities. And I'm supposed to take him with me to Piltover. Can you imagine that?!“

”Piltover?“ Swain asked with interest. ”Who is sending you to Piltover?"

“Darius,” Tamara replied. Since she was speaking to a high-ranking general, and because she was young and not really familiar with the world of Noxian intrigue, she spoke openly. “Now that he's in command of General Du Couteau's warband, he wants me to go to Piltover and check out this Hextech.”

“A good plan,” Swain praised. He himself had only heard rumors about this technology. "As I understand it, Noxus is negotiating with the city of progress about future trade routes. They are supposed to build a kind of portal in the centre of their city that will make journeys lasting weeks or even months obsolete. With this technology, our armies would be as feared as lightning in a storm. No one knows when it will come, but it will be swift and merciless.“

The sleeping Draven crowned this philosophical statement with a loud snore, followed by a fart.

This caught Swain off guard, and Tamara hid her face behind her hand. ”My lord," she sighed. “You wouldn't happen to have a ride for us? Otherwise I'll have to drag this creep halfway across town to our inn.”

Swain tried to remain steadfast, but for a brief moment, the smell made him wince. “You could just leave him behind.”

“I could, but I promised Dairus, and Darius is not only my brother in battle, but a friend outside of it.”

“I understand. The burdens of friendship. Very well. Take him outside, I'll wait for you there.”

“Thank you, Lord Swain.”