"Let's stay for a few days, let the soldiers gather more information."
Jarvan considered the suggestion, then responded.
"Do we need to extract them?"
Old General Laurent, weary from the journey, furrowed his brow slightly.
This was enemy territory. Yet His Highness showed no hesitation...
"We're leaving. Time is short," Jarvan said firmly.
"General Laurent, I'll need you to deliver the letter once I return home. I'll depart after I recover."
He spoke solemnly, then helped support the old general as they made their way toward the light-shield station just outside the city.
"Don't worry, Your Highness," Laurent replied, his voice steady.
"The message will be delivered."
He pushed his doubts and concerns deep within.
At this moment, he was the only one who could carry this burden.
"This time we didn't discuss the Winged Protector," Jarvan muttered, his expression clouded.
"Those two weren't present."
Laurent sighed, clearly frustrated.
"To receive a Demacian prince with only a vice-president… They didn't take this seriously."
But… strength decides everything.
-----------
Inside the Assembly Hall, after Jarvan had left—
Draven lounged back in his chair, speaking lazily.
"I don't get it. Just swing an axe and be done with it. Why all the drama?"
Swain didn't look up. He continued scanning and signing reports, his voice level and calm.
"Demacia's worth observing—especially their use of Petricite and Rune Steel. But when it comes to the bigger prizes, they won't give them up willingly."
"Then take it. Why pay if you can take?" Draven replied with a smirk.
"Demacia isn't Piltover," Swain said plainly, then glanced toward Camille.
"No offense, Councilor Camille."
Camille's lips curved slightly into a knowing smile, her expression playful.
"The commander isn't wrong. A strong culture shapes strong people. A weak one breeds weakness. That's just the way of the world."
Her bright blue eyes flicked upward, her tone more thoughtful.
"Piltover chose its path. When you choose, you must also accept the consequences."
Elise's voice slid in, smooth and laced with charm.
"But a prince like him, willing to shoulder his nation's fate—that's rare. Admirable, even."
Camille said nothing, only smiling politely.
Draven rolled his eyes and crossed his arms behind his head.
"Whatever. Just don't call me to these meetings next time. You want me, it better be for a fight."
Still buried in paperwork, Swain's voice was calm but commanding.
"Then let the Lightshield troops visit the arena. Entertain them."
"Entertain? I get it." Draven grinned wickedly.
Fighting was his specialty, after all.
"General Draven," Elise said with a cold chuckle, resting sharp, delicate fingers against her chin, "killing is an art."
"Murder's easy. Just throw the axe, problem solved."
Draven frowned slightly. He didn't like the smug spider woman.
Ezreal said she wasn't bad—but that had to be about her looks, not her morals.
Draven prided himself on reading people.
And Elise? She was dangerous.
If she weren't powerful, she would've been taken down long ago.
Elise's red lips curled in amusement as she clarified:
"The commander's meaning isn't as simple as it seems."
Draven tilted his head.
"What do you mean?"
Draven looked confused and glanced toward Swain.
He always considered himself sharp—but even he couldn't make sense of the web these schemers were weaving.
To him, problems were simple: if someone was in the way, kill them.
Why complicate it?
Swain finally raised his eyes from the document and met Draven's gaze, a warning flickering in his expression.
"I'll provide a list. I'll tell you who to kill—and who to leave alive."
"Commander, is that really necessary?" Draven replied, clearly annoyed.
"I could tear down the Lightshield Bulwark on my own."
"You certainly could," Swain said evenly.
"But the barrier isn't just about the hundred men who arrived today. Among them, allegiances differ."
"So...?"
"Some serve the Lightshield family. Others, the crown of Demacia."
Draven frowned, still not quite following.
"Isn't the Lightshield family Demacia?"
"The royal family, yes—but not the only one," Swain replied.
Elise chuckled softly and leaned in.
"Crownguard," she said, letting the name hang in the air.
At that, Draven's eyes lit up.
"Well, why didn't you just say that earlier? If we're just talking about killing the Lightshield line and letting someone else rise up, that's easy."
He grinned. So it wasn't that he was missing something—these people just had a bad way of explaining things.
"King Jarvan III. Crown Prince Jarvan IV. The Crownguard family. And the rest of the nobles," Swain listed, his voice steady.
"Each one represents an ideal. Our job is to stir the waters."
Outwardly, the Empire maintained the illusion of peace.
But in truth, what Noxus wanted went far deeper.
As Swain had discussed with Ryan in secret, Demacia's real value wasn't in its petricite or forbidden relics—they had means of acquiring those already.
No, what mattered was buried under the Forbidden Forest: a World Rune.
According to intel from Morgana, the Lightshield family had entered into a hidden pact—with a blue-skinned mage.
The agreement? Aid when needed, in return for guarding an unnamed, unknown thing.
Even the Lightshields didn't know where it was or what it really was.
But the Black Rose had a strong theory: the mage was Ryze, and the object, almost certainly, a World Rune.
And for a World Rune, any cost was justified.
They would move carefully, step by step—before Ryze caught wind of their actions.
But first, the Lightshield family had to be neutralized.
At the top of Noxus's Black Gate, a six-eyed raven sat watchful, every crimson eye wide open.
It tracked Jarvan and his escort as they departed the city.
Whoosh!
With a beat of its dark wings, the raven soared toward the Demacian outpost.
Far away, in a floating castle, Ryan—watched the raven's flight from atop the Mage Tower.
A faint smile curled on his lips.
"The plan is in motion. It's time to accelerate."
"She's more stubborn than we expected," Syndra murmured, floating beside him.
"And she still puts her faith in the Aspect."
Behind them, Kayle—her six wings blackened, her body veiled in shadow—hovered in the air.
Only her face still glowed with any semblance of purity.
"She was given a choice," Ryan said.
"We won't force her."
The Scroll drifted into his hand.
He prepared to cast—but a hand reached out, stopping him.
"You already did it once," Syndra said calmly.
"This time, it's my turn."
The Scroll of Soul Severance rose between them, its pages unfurling in midair.
As it opened, a thread of something unseen unraveled from Syndra's form and flowed into Kayle's body, drawn by the scroll's magic.
In that moment, Kayle's body was consumed by blackness. Her eyes snapped open.
They were no longer golden.
They were pure, bottomless black.