Ionia, Navori Province, Swiftwind Swordsmanship Dojo.
In the deep night, scattered streams of light under the moonlight danced with the breeze around the dojo—this was the overflow of spiritual energy from the spirit realm, the manifestation of abundant energy from the mental domain spilling out into the First Land.
Since the Noxian invasion, only in such a tranquil night could the First Land show a hint of its past gentleness.
Under the hazy moonlight, a disheveled figure stumbled closer. She looked around the dojo with a lost expression, hesitated for a moment, and then finally made up her mind, knocking on the dojo's main door.
A moment later, an old man in a long robe opened the dojo's door. Upon seeing the face of the person standing before him, a flicker of surprise passed through his calm eyes.
“I am Souma.” The old man, with his white hair meticulously combed, spoke calmly in broken Nocksey, “Why have you come here?”
“My name is Riven.” The visitor’s silvery-white short hair gleamed under the moonlight. “I once came for the Empire, but now… I no longer wish to fight.”
Souma scrutinized the Noxian woman before him.
Riven was tall, with long, powerful limbs, appearing to be an elite soldier.
However, at this moment, her armor was tattered, and there was no scent of blood on her, but rather a faint, nauseatingly bitter, strange odor.
Under the moonlight, her eyes were blood-red, yet completely different from the fierce-looking Noxians he usually saw. There were traces of tears as if they had streamed down her cheeks; behind her, a greatsword was dragging on the ground, creating a long furrow as if it were a plow.
Souma blinked. A gentle breeze came, stirring the hem of his robe.
As if receiving information from the wind, he nodded slightly, then slowly stepped aside, allowing the Noxian dragging the greatsword to enter the dojo.
“If you wish to escape the quagmire of war,” Souma, leading the way, spoke gently, as if instructing his own disciple, “the best time was three years ago; the second best is now—the First Land will not refuse those who have lost their way but return.”
Riven seemed not to hear.
All her beliefs had just been shattered. At this moment, the Runic Blade wielder, who had lost all her comrades, was completely blank.
In the past, she had fought for Noxus, firmly believing in the necessity of the Empire's cause, but she never imagined that one day she would be abandoned by the Empire, unknowingly becoming a sacrificed decoy.
The overwhelming poison gas killed all her companions. Only Riven, under the protection of her Runic Blade, managed to survive, but her survival did not bring her a shred of relief. At this moment, when she looked at the greatsword again, she felt only disgust.
In a daze, Riven followed Souma’s steps into a Meditate room. Souma led her to sit on a cushion, picked up a kettle, and prepared to pour her a cup of tea.
“I won’t surrender, but I want to destroy this sword,” Riven said abruptly. “The wind listens to your command; you must be the leader here.”
“Ionia has no leaders, only Elders,” Souma smiled gently, the amber stream of water from the teapot’s spout perfectly steady. “So, you want to completely break with the past?”
“That’s right,” Riven nodded. “I… no longer owe the Empire anything.”
“Then let me see this sword,” Elder Souma put down the teapot. “The wind tells me it is very dangerous.”
Of course, it was dangerous.
Riven could no longer remember how long it had accompanied her—ever since she received it from the Pale Woman, it had been with Riven, on the Dalmor Plains, in the Ironspike Mountains, in Urzeris…
This greatsword, wider and heavier than a kite shield, had been through life and death with Riven, earning great renown for Noxus, just like her other brothers and sisters in the Runic Blade wielder contingent.
However, just half a day ago, an attack from an allied force killed everything within Riven’s sight.
All her brothers and sisters died in the poison gas. That nightmarish scene of hell completely shattered all of Riven’s illusions.
The Empire of the past fought for the survival of its people.
But what the Empire was doing now was a meaningless slaughter.
She had betrayed her children.
This was why she had made up her mind to leave the Empire and hoped Elder Souma would destroy this sword—just as she said, she no longer owed the Empire anything.
“This is a good sword,” Elder Souma carefully examined the runes and markings on the blade. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yes,” Riven nodded without hesitation. “I will not fight for the Empire, nor can I fight for any other country—since I will no longer fight, I do not need this sword.”
“Noxian enchantment techniques are very special; I cannot fully confirm I can help you,” Souma looked up. “However… there is someone here who might understand this type of enchantment.”
Riven’s brows furrowed slightly, surprised by Elder Souma’s words.
Someone in Ionia understands Runic Blade enchantment technology?
“Before you, I just met a Noxian, though he himself doesn’t acknowledge that identity,” Elder Souma explained gently. “He should have a way.”
“Doesn’t acknowledge being a Noxian?”
“He is not a soldier,” Elder Souma nodded. “According to him, he is an experiment.”
… … … … … … … …
Although a Noxian claiming to be an experiment was strange, to completely break with her past, Riven still agreed to meet this person.
About the time it takes to drink a cup of tea later, Riven met this “experiment”—after Souma brought him, he left the Meditate room, even thoughtfully closing the door.
This was a fellow who was “obviously not a Noxian at first glance”—although he had the black hair common in Noxus, his face was closer to that of an Ionian. Upon closer inspection, his slightly rough skin reminded her of the local Shuriman people she had seen during her service in Urzeris.
And by any aesthetic standard, this was a rather imposing and brave-looking big man.
What Riven noticed most was his eyes.
Deep and dangerous like violets, as if merely meeting his gaze would draw one in, unable to break free.
To Riven’s knowledge, in Noxus, deep blue eyes were usually considered a sign of extraordinary magical talent, but she had never seen these violet eyes before. Just one look sent a slight chill down her spine.
“Souma told me about you.” The person’s accent sounded like a noble from the Immortal Bastion, with a subtle, almost operatic rhythm. “You want to destroy this Runic Blade.”
“Indeed,” Riven first nodded, then raised an eyebrow. “And who are you?”
“Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Dean,” the other person smiled. “I’m an unlucky Noxian experiment, just escaped from prison not long ago—from that perspective, we are in the same boat.”
Riven was not swayed by his attempt to be friendly, her wariness completely undisguised.
“It seems you don’t trust me,” Riven’s reaction did not seem to surprise Dean. He naturally sat on the cushion opposite Riven, poured himself a cup of hot tea, “But it doesn’t matter, you only need to know that I can destroy this sword.”
“Can you do it?”
“Of course,” Dean nodded with a smile. “And I’d be happy to.”
“Then, what is the price?” Riven asked warily. “What do I have to pay?”
“The price is… the sword itself,” Dean gave an answer that Riven found somewhat incomprehensible. “I can destroy it, but once destroyed, no fragments will be left for you as a souvenir.”
“I don’t need any souvenirs,” Riven clenched her fists, her rough fingertips rubbing against her palms. “The Empire has already left me with enough memories.”
“That’s even better,” Dean showed a satisfied expression. “So, is it now?”
Riven said nothing, merely stood up, stepped back a pace, and made a ‘please’ gesture.
The next moment, Riven witnessed a scene she would never forget:
This fellow, who called himself Dean, picked up her Runic Blade, then took a bite out of it.
As if greatly provoked, the runes on the greatsword glowed and began to Threads of Vibration violently. Simultaneously, a crack rapidly spread across the blade.
To Riven’s astonishment, the Runic Blade shattered like a biscuit, and then, like a biscuit, was completely eaten by Dean.
By the time she came to her senses, Dean was already sitting back on the cushion, sipping his tea—Riven spoke with a slight bewilderment, but what came out was “I’m a bit full.”
Coincidentally, Dean, who had just put down his teacup, said the exact same sentence.
Realizing something was amiss, Riven immediately reached up and covered her mouth.
And this time, when she looked at Dean again, it was as if she heard his thoughts.
“Oh no!” x2
