Ryan gazed at LeBlanc, who delicately sipped her tea.
Her composed demeanor matched the refined elegance of her surroundings.
He offered her a faint, noncommittal smile in response to her invitation.
"The Black Rose," he mused.
"What advantages do you truly offer?"
"Longevity, power, weapons, influence, wealth... women, if that's your interest. Whatever you desire, you'll find it here," LeBlanc replied, ticking off each point with a calm yet calculated tone.
Her words carried a gravity clashed with her casual demeanor, as though she sought to entice without truly believing in her pitch.
From the very beginning, she knew Ryan would never submit.
"A pity," Ryan murmured, his voice tinged with a faint sigh.
"If you could grant me dominion over the underworld, I might have considered it."
LeBlanc raised her teacup, her expression unreadable save for the hint of a smirk playing on her lips.
"Meredith," she began—using her alias with deliberate familiarity—"do not entertain illusions. There exists a door between life and death, and my purpose is to ensure it remains closed."
She sipped her tea, her words laced with cryptic finality.
Ryan exhaled slowly, a trace of relief in his expression. His mind wandered to the dark history of Noxus.
Thousands of years ago, the Immortal Bastion was ruled by an undead tyrant whose name inspired dread across Valoran.
Before his death, he had been the King of a forgotten kingdom, a ruthless conqueror who had claimed countless lives.
After his demise, mages within the Immortal Bastion resurrected him, unleashing a reign of darkness and slaughter upon the world.
It was LeBlanc, a subordinate of this dread ruler, who ultimately betrayed him. Together with the Noxian mages, she severed his ties to the mortal world, banishing him back to the afterlife.
From the ashes of that dark era, they built a new empire: Noxus.
However, Ryan harbored doubts. He did not believe that the Immortal Bastion's former master had been "forced" into the underworld.
LeBlanc's obsessive pursuit of knowledge about death and the afterlife over the past millennium suggested otherwise.
Either she had never truly betrayed him, or the true threat lurking in the underworld was far greater than Ryan could fathom.
"As I understand it," Ryan said, leaning forward slightly, "the Black Rose prefers to orchestrate events from the shadows, manipulating the empire without drawing attention to itself."
LeBlanc's ruby-red lips curled into a smile.
"We have no need for land or overt displays of power," she replied smoothly.
"We exist in the margins of history, seeking to unravel its secrets."
Her pale hand moved gracefully across the chessboard between them.
With a flick of her fingers, the static arrangement of pieces came to life.
Black knights and mages materialized beside their king, fending off the siege of white chess pieces.
The scene mirrored a bloody battle from long ago.
Outside the Immortal Bastion, echoes of ancient conflicts seemed to resurface.
Figures thought long dead emerged to confront Trifarix's forces.
Shadowy crows circled above the palace, but their descent was met by intricate webs of spider silk, forcing them into a bitter battle.
The once-pristine square in front of the Bastion became a battlefield, littered with corpses as crows and spiders clashed like two armies locked in endless war. Blood pooled on the white stone steps, staining the ground beneath.
Ryan remained unfazed, his calm demeanor unbroken. He lifted his teacup, swirling the still-steaming liquid as though oblivious to the chaos.
"In the end," he remarked, his voice carrying quiet authority, "it all comes down to a single truth: whether it is the world or Noxus, whether it is words or actions... everything depends on strength."
LeBlanc's smile deepened her expression of enigmatic approval.
She extended a hand in a gesture of invitation as if to say, "Show me, then."
In that instant, the atmosphere shifted. A radiant blue light enveloped Ryan's form, and intricate rune patterns began to materialize around him.
The sheer force of magic in the air was palpable.
LeBlanc's eyes widened in astonishment as the ethereal runes solidified.
Her gaze fixated on one rune in particular—a spiraling, storm-like symbol—that hovered near the core of the matrix.
Her composed expression faltered, her lips parting slightly in shock.
"That... is a rune entity," she murmured under her breath.
Ryan seemed unfazed by her reaction. He extended his hand, controlling the rune with effortless precision.
The storm-shaped symbol pulsed with raw power, ascending to the center of the rune matrix.
"It's called Storm Gathering," Ryan said, his voice steady, a faint smile playing on his lips.
"A rune born to shake the very foundations of this world."
The hum of the rune's power resonated through the room, silencing all but the pulsating energy of the storm.
LeBlanc, for all her cunning, could do nothing but watch. For the first time in centuries, her confidence wavered.
Suddenly, a torrent of mana erupted from Ryan's body, converging into a brilliant blue beam that pierced through the rune and shot straight into the heavens.
The sky darkened completely, shrouded in a void of blackness save for the dazzling blue light that illuminated the world.
No other color remained.
In the distance, the Lesser garrison moved into formation, their guards raised.
The shield the Embrace of Netherfire created expanded to its maximum, bracing for the mysterious attack they sensed approaching.
"Your magic shouldn't be this powerful," LeBlanc said, her voice tinged with rare astonishment.
"Is it because of that rune?"
Even with over a thousand years of life behind her, LeBlanc couldn't suppress her amazement.
Such vast reserves of magical energy were things of legend, seen only in ancient beings who had spent centuries, or even millennia, accumulating their power.
BOOM!
Thunder cracked across the sky.
The rain intensified, hammering the battlefield with relentless fury.
Yet, every drop of water seemed unnatural—sharp as blades, cutting through everything they touched.
The first to feel its onslaught was Sion. The relentless rain pelted his massive, undead form and the shield that protected him.
In mere moments, blood trickled from the deep gashes carved into his flesh, despite his unnatural resilience.
His roar echoed across the plain as he raised his enormous battle axe in defiance, hoping to shield himself from the barrage.
But the rain was relentless. The droplets found their way through the cracks and gaps of his axe, striking his enormous frame with unyielding precision.
Even the enchanted axe, blessed by LeBlanc before the battle, began to show signs of wear—its surface marred with deep scratches, its integrity failing.
The Embrace of Netherfire, which formed the shield around the garrison, bore the brunt of the magical rainstorm.
Flames flickered desperately within the barrier, struggling against the downpour, until they faltered and nearly went out.
"You should've given the Black Cleaver to Thane," Ryan remarked, a faint smile curling on his lips.
His eyes pierced through the storm, seeing Sion's colossal figure battered and bloodied on the battlefield.
"Perhaps then, this might've been more entertaining."
His tone was calm, almost playful, but his words carried an undercurrent of finality.
"Weakness is the original sin," he continued.
LeBlanc's expression remained unreadable, her deep eyes betraying no emotion.
She watched the soldiers fall one by one, their blood staining the battlefield, yet her face was devoid of pity or concern.
To her, they were merely pieces on a chessboard.
Ryan arched an eyebrow, a flicker of intrigue passing across his face as he observed her lack of reaction.
Without a word, LeBlanc moved a single piece on the chessboard before her.
A turquoise flame ignited on the white tiles, its glow mirroring the unfolding events on the battlefield.
Simultaneously, the Embrace of Netherfire held by the mages flared brightly, roaring to life once more.
The flames surged upward, gathering in the stormy sky to form the shape of a massive dragon.
Its turquoise body glowed fiercely as it roared, its wings beating against the rain, sending shockwaves through the heavens.
The dragon soared higher, its fiery form illuminating the dark clouds. The razor-sharp rain dissipated with its ascent, leaving only the dragon's fiery radiance in the night sky.
But the shield that had once protected the soldiers disappeared with the rain.
On the ground, the leopard wolves—feral beasts conjured by the storm—charged forward. With no barrier to hold them back, they tore into the ranks of soldiers.
One of the beasts leaped onto a soldier, its water-clawed paw finding the gap in his iron helmet. It pierced through his eye, and blood sprayed from the wound, staining the ground.
The soldier, however, did not scream. Even in his final moments, he gripped the wolf with one hand and swung his axe with the other, cleaving through its body.
The leopard wolf dissolved into water, merging into the soaked earth, but the soldier collapsed beside it, lifeless.
Such tragic scenes repeated endlessly across the battlefield. Yet, none of the soldiers faltered. None fled.
"Lesser's defense! For the Empire! For His Majesty!"
Grance's voice boomed across the chaos. He charged forward with his shield raised, bashing a leopard wolf into the mud before rallying his men.
Behind him, soldiers formed a wall of shields and advanced steadily.
There was no retreat, no hesitation. Every soldier fought as though the fate of the Empire rested solely on their shoulders.
Even General Imistan and Deputy General Grance stood at the front lines, their weapons carving through wolf after wolf. It was as though each kill brought them closer to victory, each strike pushing them beyond their mortal limits.
Above the battlefield, the storm continued to rage. The turquoise Netherfire Dragon clashed with a new formed dark blue Sea Dragon in a battle that shook the heavens.
Claws raked through the air, tails collided with bone-shattering force, and streams of turquoise fire clashed against torrents of blue water.
Each collision painted the sky with bursts of brilliant light, creating a surreal, breathtaking scene amidst the chaos below.
Back on the stone table, Ryan and LeBlanc sat unmoving.
On the chessboard between them, two miniature dragons hovered above the game.
Their every movement mirrored that of the colossal beasts in the sky.
The game continued, but their eyes were locked on the battlefield—their battlefield.
Neither spoke. Their silence was filled with a mutual understanding that transcended words.
Both knew the battle before them was more than a test of strength or magic.
It was a test of will.