Boom!
A sky arena materialized before everyone's eyes.
Many in Noxus immediately realized what had happened and rushed toward it.
This act was second only to the spectacle Syndra had caused before.
The people of Noxus had long known the might of magic, but now, they were even more captivated by its overwhelming force.
And with today's challenge issued by the supposedly magic-hating kingdom of Demacia, the Noxians couldn't help but feel a swell of pride.
This was Noxian strength—undeniable, unyielding.
"Magic... It's too strong…"
Jarvan stood in silence, staring at the massive arena now towering before him.
His confidence wavered again, and doubt crept into his thoughts about the battle ahead.
The Trifarian Legion—the elite of Noxus—stood opposite him.
And though he and his troops were seasoned warriors, this wasn't a fight they could take lightly.
Worse, this wasn't even Noxus's full strength. The mages alone could tip the scales.
His chair sat empty, confirming his exclusion from today's official ranks.
Even if they somehow won today, how could they stand against Noxian magic?
"Noxus!"
Across the arena, Xin Zhao raised his spear, signaling that he was ready.
Seeing this, Jarvan's expression hardened. Rather than dwell on doubt, he raised his halberd high and shouted:
"Demacia!"
Snap!
He charged forward, the sound of armored feet following close behind him—the Lightshield Bulwark at his back, shields locked.
Across the field, Xin Zhao saw Jarvan rushing in and narrowed his eyes.
In the blink of an eye, he moved.
Whoosh!
His body became a blur—like a spear loosed from a titan's grip—tearing straight toward the heart of Demacia's formation.
"Noxus!"
The Trifarian Legion roared, surging forward with unwavering resolve.
The clash was imminent.
On the high platform above the arena, after completing the construction of the battlefield, Ryan and Morgana turned away from the edge.
Before either could speak, Draven suddenly shot up from his seat, scratching the back of his head and grinning.
"Hahaha, I'm Draven! And you, my lady, have a name worthy of that face?" he asked with a cocky grin.
It wasn't fear—not fear—but maybe just a touch of respect. That was all.
Yeah. That was it.
"Pleased to meet you. I'm Morgana—one of the Trifarian Council."
Councilor!?... this woman!?
Draven's expression changed instantly. He looked genuinely startled.
He quickly composed himself and made an exaggerated, almost theatrical welcome gesture.
"Hahaha, Councilor Morgana! Please, have a seat. And Lord Ryan," he added to Ryan, "you as well—this way."
Draven's voice was overly enthusiastic now, the kind of loud friendliness people use when they're not sure how much trouble they're in.
"Thank you, Councilor Draven, for your hospitality," Morgana said faintly.
"As rumored, you certainly live up to your bold reputation."
The title caught his ear. Morgana knew exactly who he was—and didn't shy away from calling him
"Councilor Draven."
She took her seat next to him, unbothered.
"Haha, well—those are just things people say."
Draven chuckled modestly, though the smug grin on his face betrayed just how much he enjoyed the praise.
This was the first time a powerful mage had ever complimented him.
And mages—well, they weren't known for empty flattery.
Ryan watched the exchange with a quiet smile, then took his own seat.
"Let's see how this plays out," he said calmly.
"Draven," Ryan began, "this time, Morgana—the Fallen Star of Justice—officially joins the Immortal Bastion. She will form the Noxian Atonement Corps to lead those who've strayed back toward atonement."
"I'll cooperate!" Draven replied without hesitation.
The moment he heard "Star of Justice," it all made sense.
No mortal could've pulled off something so grand.
But what truly stunned him was that she was a Aspect of Justice—personally recruited by the Council President.
That was the same as the one who was said to have once overwhelmed even Darius.
Draven, who held sway over imperial executions—including handling prisoners and post-war purges—sensed his influence slipping.
With Morgana's arrival, his authority would inevitably shrink.
He might even be placed beneath her command.
But this was Noxus. Strength ruled.
And as long as he held the title of Executioner, he'd play along for now.
Still, Draven had his own schemes brewing.
With a sly grin, he rubbed his calloused hands and said:
"Councilor Morgana, all my men can join your cause. But—rumor has it—Demacia's Inquisitors are better equipped…"
He gave her a knowing look, half-joking, half-serious.
He'd never cared to learn Morgana's true name before, but he'd heard the tales—that she and her sister, Kayle, didn't exactly see eye to eye.
Morgana smiled, the corners of her lips curling with mischief.
"Draven, the gear I provide will be far superior to Kayle's. I developed a magical seal over a hundred years ago. Interested in trying it?"
"What kind of seal?" Draven asked, intrigued.
"It's called the Mark of Justice. Once engraved on the body, if the bearer's kills align with true justice, it returns a portion of power—feedback, if you will."
"Your will has reached the celestial realm?" Ryan asked suddenly, eyes narrowing.
He and Syndra had long theorized: only when one's will could connect with the celestial realm did they truly become an Aspect.
"It's not that deep," Morgana replied casually.
"Just a little toy I made. I exploit a few loopholes and draw some power down here." She smirked.
She neither embraced Kayle's rigid doctrine nor believed in the celestial bureaucracy above.
Real justice, to her, wasn't divine—it was structure.
A principle everyone could follow and benefit from.
Justice wasn't hoarded power or blind judgment. It was a shared truth.
"Wealth, hoarded by a few… and forced 'virtue'? That's not justice," she muttered.
"I agree! I agree!" Draven blurted out, barely restraining his excitement.
He didn't grasp the full details, but one thing was clear.
That mark? That was power.
Magic. Real magic.
And once he mastered it? Oh, he could already picture it—
Darius was hanging upside down while Draven took the stage.
Vice President? Please. No magic? Garbage.
When Draven had blade and sorcery under his belt, the top seat was his for the taking.
"Thank you for your trust, Councilor Draven," Morgana said with a nod, then gestured to the battlefield below.
"But for now, let's enjoy this clash of titans."
"Right," Draven said, reining in his excitement.
He stood calmly beside Morgana, eyes locked on the arena.
Below, the battlefield had erupted. Noxian red clashed with Demacian silver in a roaring tide of motion and fury.
From above, it looked like two colossal dragons—one black and crimson, the other silver and white—writhing in battle.
Their scales clashed, limbs tangled, and their snarling heads met in violent combat.
Clang!
Spear met halberd in a burst of sparks and screeching metal.
Jarvan gritted his teeth. The impact rattled his arms and sent a jolt through his shoulders.
He had to muster his full strength to stay grounded.
So strong!
He locked eyes with Xin Zhao, expression serious, his respect now genuine.
"Come again!"
He spun his halberd in a powerful arc and brought it crashing down on Xin Zhao.
Unflinching, Xin Zhao charged in—his spear like lightning, striking back with deadly precision.