Gazing up at Faen who had appeared above, a man hidden within the crowd lowered his head wordlessly.
He then turned and walked away, though he didn't go far.
He knew clearly that Faen had already sensed his presence.
In that case, there was no need to pay further attention to these mortals...
He would wait to one side and ask his questions properly later.
With that thought, the man shook his head and unhurriedly walked toward the central command camp.
Meanwhile, on the path to the front lines, Kalan was racing forward.
His hulking silhouette kicked up clouds of dust on the ancient roads of Fae'lor.
His momentum was so fierce that no one doubted anything in his path would be instantly sent flying.
But as Kalan galloped, he suddenly sensed something.
He came to a violent halt and looked behind him.
However, only darkness met his eyes, save for a lone man walking in the opposite direction.
When did this person get here?
A flash of confusion crossed Kalan's eyes.
As a master hunter, Kalan's perception of life far exceeded that of ordinary people.
Especially as a pure-blood Kiilash Vastaya, his three rod-thick tails, his feline pupils that turned into bottomless pits in the dark, and his massive, twisted horns all proved his uniqueness.
And just now... had he brushed past this man?
Why had he only sensed the other party under these specific circumstances?
If this were an enemy of equal strength, Kalan would have died ten thousand times over.
But soon, Kalan shook his head.
He felt no ripples of mana from the man; his pulse and heartbeat were at the level of a commoner.
Likely just a deserter? Or was he himself being over-sensitive?
Thinking this, Kalan took a deep breath.
Ignoring the departing man, he turned and charged toward the invading Ionians.
On the other side, as Faen's figure entered their field of vision, the Noxian soldiers launched a swift and violent assault.
It was evident that the soldiers stationed on Fae'lor were elites.
Their basic discipline and combat will far surpassed the coastal units and the legions that had attacked the Xan family.
But on second thought, it made sense for such a force to be here.
Setting aside the fact that "that person" was here, Fae'lor's geographical location made it the single most important bridgehead for any future Noxian invasion of Ionia.
In the original timeline, even years after the First Ionian War ended, Noxus maintained a firm grip on nearly a third of Ionia's western coast with Fae'lor as its core.
Before, it wasn't clear why they were so committed to this island.
Now, it was obvious it had much to do with Jericho Swain's strategic deployment.
Unfortunately, it seemed Swain's plans were about to fall through.
Noticing Faen descending, over a dozen Noxian heavy shield-bearers charged him in a coordinated strike.
Their massive frames, all over two meters tall, were packed with dense muscle.
If this were a mundane world without magic, one look at them would bring to mind the tragic casualties of a "steroid planet."
But here, it could be confirmed they were entirely natural, just saturated with higher levels of mana.
Swinging their battle-shields, the iron-shod boots of the guards let out thunderous booms as they sought to trample Faen into the dirt.
Sadly, they had grossly underestimated Faen's capabilities.
As the first tower shield was raised, before it could even begin its downward swing, Faen extended his palm, his knuckles slightly curved.
In the next instant, the humid air hummed violently.
Massive amounts of moisture surged from all directions, forming a transparent, colossal palm.
It swatted at the five-hundred-pound warrior and his shield as if he were a fly, sending him hurtling away like a blurred afterimage.
CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!
The shield-bearer's hulking body smashed through several unlucky bastards blocking his flight path.
Amidst a chorus of agonizing screams, the guard finally slammed into a mountainside with a heavy boom.
As the dust settled, a massive crater appeared on the once-smooth cliff face.
Pinned within it, the shield had been crumpled into an iron coffin during the impact.
Blood sprayed out from every vent and gap in the armor.
Though a human shape could barely be discerned through the mangled steel, the constant flow of blood made it clear that even if he were still alive, he was on his very last breath.
A blood loss of this magnitude was no simple injury.
Any veteran with the slightest experience could tell the man's internal organs had been completely pulverized.
Yet, despite this, the remaining soldiers showed no intention of giving up.
As Swain's personal guard, they were always at the front of the most horrific battlefields, carrying the heaviest strategic burdens.
To be placed in such a vital location by Swain, their gear, weapons, rations, pay, and death benefits far exceeded any other Noxian legion.
The reason was simple: beyond the Empire's standard rewards, Swain was truly willing to spend his own family fortune to fund the military for the glory of Noxus.
Remembering Swain's promises and his proven track record of caring for the families of the fallen, these veterans knew their duty.
They knew that while these magic-wielding warriors seemed invincible—even against heavy ballistae—everything was built on mana.
Once their mana was exhausted, their strength would be less than that of an old farmer!
In the blink of an eye, two light-armored spearmen lunged simultaneously from his left and right.
Their spear tips never touched the hem of Faen's robe; they were swallowed by the mist surrounding him.
The mist condensed rapidly into swirling currents, locking the weapons in place so they couldn't be moved an inch.
As the two tried to abandon their spears and draw their shortswords, the liquid before them suddenly gained the rigidity of steel.
It wrapped around the spears and drove them backward, piercing through the soldiers' eye sockets before Faen flicked them away.
With two heavy thuds, the elite warriors were tossed aside like dead fish, knocking over half a dozen men behind them.