"Thank you all for coming such a long way."
A chubby man in aristocratic attire stepped up to Logan with a faint, practiced smile. He rubbed his hands together and continued, "You must be Zaun's ruler, yes?"
Logan nodded. The noble hurriedly shook his hand, then looked past him.
It was clear he'd prepared for this—he called out everyone's name without missing a beat.
"Welcome to Noxus, Mr. Silco."
"You're truly tall and dashing, Mr. Talis."
"And hello to you, my lovely lady."
"Mel… about your mother—"
Srilan was surprisingly warm. He didn't carry that harsh, predatory edge people associated with Noxians. Instead, he came off like a genial, soft-spoken rich man. He even insisted they call him Kree—no need for "Mr. Srilan."
Srilan Kree.
"Come, everyone. Follow me. I've prepared accommodations for you."
With a smile, Srilan dipped into a courteous bow and gestured for them to proceed.
Logan looked up at the enormous fortress in front of them and pressed his lips together.
The Immortal Bastion—the heart of Noxus. Rumor said Mordekaiser lay buried in some hidden corner of it. A castle that had stood for over a thousand years, stuffed with secrets no one could count.
Its overall structure formed a vast circle. The deeper you went, the more elevated a person's status became. Amid buildings of uneven heights, a black tower dominated the very center—like the keep planted in the city's heart. Massive walls surrounded it, separating the inner Bastion from the outer districts.
Between those layers, streets rose and fell in stacked tiers—jagged and interlocked, like the tight teeth of a beast's open maw.
It was hard to describe a fortress like this with mere words. The feeling it gave was oppressive—maybe because of its colors.
Red and black.
The Immortal Bastion was forged from black stone and dark steel, while vivid crimson stained every corner. Family banners. Brickwork the color of dried blood—whether it was paint or something older, it was impossible to tell.
Even Jinx—usually loud, carefree, and fearless—went unusually quiet the moment she stepped inside.
Solemn. Claustrophobic. Sacred in a cold, ancient way. The streets were narrow and boxed-in; rooftops wore battlements; gates loomed like monuments. Everything here seemed designed to hammer a single message into the world:
The empire controls. The empire endures.
"This place isn't fit for people," Jinx muttered under her breath as she edged closer to Logan.
She meant it.
Zaun could be suffocating and crowded too, but its chaos still felt like life—messy, loud, breathing. This was different. Here, Jinx only felt sick.
Logan agreed. He nodded and glanced around.
Srilan noticed his gaze lingering on the roadside figures—Noxians in rags, hollow-eyed, more like beggars than citizens. The fat noble smiled and said, "Don't mind them, Mr. Logan. In Noxus, only those who refuse to work—those who want something for nothing—end up like that."
His voice carried open disgust. "If they'd enlist, or even find a job, they wouldn't be sleeping in the streets and starving every day."
Logan only smiled faintly and said nothing.
Behind them, Silco wore a thin, mocking smile.
Not working hard enough?
The despair in those people's eyes made him think of Zaun—of the years when Shimmer rotted the city from the inside out. Silco's hand tightened into a fist.
Logan had been right. Silco's old dream—his old methods—had been too extreme.
If a nation's people lose hope, if they stop believing in tomorrow, then that nation is already halfway dead.
Logan had changed Zaun.
"Come. This way." After about ten minutes of following Srilan, the group entered the Immortal Bastion's inner district.
The buildings here looked even more worn, yet the residents were dressed with care and polish. Helmeted Noxian soldiers patrolled the streets in steady loops.
"The banquet will be held tomorrow afternoon," Srilan said. "Rest well today. Tomorrow I'll come early with an escort to receive you."
On the black stone paving, he offered a proper noble salute. Then he added, more seriously, "Honored guests, the depths of the Immortal Bastion contain many unsafe places. Please don't wander at night. If you absolutely must go out, bring guards with you."
"Now then—I'll take my leave."
With that, Srilan departed with a group of Noxian soldiers.
There were soldiers stationed along both sides of the first floor, so Logan's group moved up to the second. The lodging was… not great. But it was spacious, and there were plenty of rooms.
"I thought they'd try to intimidate us," Jayce said, opening a window to check outside. After confirming no one was nearby, he shut it and turned back.
Of those invited to Noxus, Logan and Mel were the main guests. Silco had to come—someone needed to play the bad cop.
That left Jinx, Jayce, and Sevika as the plus-ones and security.
Yes—Jinx was here as Logan's partner, and Jayce as Mel's partner.
"Intimidate us? They won't." Mel sat on a wooden stool, dressed in a red gown with a bright crimson shawl over her shoulders. "Swain is an enemy of the Black Rose. To protect Noxus, he personally executed his own parents after they joined the Black Rose. For the Black Rose to invite us to a banquet now… there's a strong chance it's meant to target Swain."
"So what do we do?" Jayce leaned against the wall and looked to Logan. "We're not actually here just to enjoy a banquet, are we?"
Logan opened his pack and took out a bottle of water, handing it to Jinx.
In Noxus, it was better to handle food and drink themselves. And even if Noxians weren't trying to poison them, Logan had no intention of drinking water poured from some filthy iron kettle.
Silco picked up Jayce's question, watching Logan closely. "So. Do we choose Swain, or do we choose the Black Rose?"
"If I had to choose one," Logan said as he twisted open Jinx's cap, "I'd choose Swain."
He looked at Mel. "You're thinking the same thing, aren't you?"
"…"
Mel went quiet for a moment, then said, "From a Noxian perspective, I'd support Swain. But as someone from Piltover, I don't approve of supporting him. Letting Swain and the Black Rose keep tearing each other apart—draining Noxus's strength—that's what benefits us most."
"Swain won't do that," Logan said with a small shake of his head. "He'll compromise. He'll give up part of his power and let the Black Rose step out of the shadows."
He stared at her, voice firm. "Mel—roses hidden in shadow are far more dangerous than roses standing in sunlight."
That was how the wider story went. Logan wasn't some obsessive lore fanatic, but he knew Noxus well—ever since League of Legends existed, Noxus had never stopped being one of the most talked-about nations in Runeterra. If you hang around fandom discussions online, Noxus is always near the top.
And in that history, Swain divided power three ways—granting it to Darius and LeBlanc, and welcoming anyone who swore loyalty to the empire.
After that, that gorgeous menace was dragged into the light, and from then on she operated in Noxus under the identity of "the Faceless."
"Th—" Mel inhaled sharply and nodded. "If it's him… then yes. That really could happen."
Swain was too rational—rational to the point of coldness. He didn't judge with emotion. He judged with absolute benefit.
"Then why are we attending the Black Rose's banquet?" Jayce narrowed his eyes and spread his hands. "What's the point?"
"To see Swain," Logan said.
"How?"
"Close your mouth, Jayce." Logan let out a tired sigh.
Logan already felt he wasn't good at politics, but next to Jayce—the engineer—he almost looked competent.
Jayce's expression soured, but Logan continued.
"He'll come to us."
Logan said it like a fact.
Back when Bilgewater was at war over Illaoi's shadow, Logan had once caught sight of black ravens wheeling at the edge of the sky.
In the Immortal Bastion, the throne had been destroyed. In its place stood an enormous desk—an office table fit for an empire.
A white-haired middle-aged man sat behind it, head lowered as he wrote.
Nearby, a tall, lean man with a beard spoke, voice sharp and oddly high as if he found everything amusing.
"Abolishing hereditary offices and noble titles, and abolishing slave law… Swain—my Grand General—are you actually trying to get yourself killed?"
He laughed as he looked at Swain. "They won't agree. Even if they respect you, even if they fear you, you're digging up their roots."
Swain lifted his eyes to him and replied calmly, "Their agreement isn't required."
"Then let me ask you this," the man went on, tapping a page. "'At the heart of the great empire lies a rotten power. Unbroken for centuries. At a glance it resembles a proud flower, yet its roots twist and spread in the dark…'"
Swain set down his pen. "Who do you think I'm talking about?"
The man was seated farther away, perched atop a messy stack of books.
"How would I know?" he cackled. "Swain, your thoughts are deeper than a widow's grief. Who the hell can read you?"
He tossed the papers aside with casual contempt, then sobered and spoke earnestly.
"Swain, why can't you slow down? It's too fast—way too fast. You only just took power. Outside of Du Couteau and the Assassin's Guild, you don't have many people backing you."
"I can't slow down, Draven." Swain sighed. Only in front of this old friend did his true thoughts slip through.
A faint smile touched his grim face as he continued, "If I slow by even one step, she'll catch up. I have to be faster than her—only then can I truly seize her."
Draven pointed off to the side. "It's her?"
"Yes. A cult called the Black Rose."
"But I remember when you killed old Jericho," Draven said, frowning. "Didn't you already purge that cult completely back then?"
To most Noxians, the name Black Rose was a myth—something they could never touch or understand. But a commander like Draven would know there was a hidden cabal inside the Immortal Bastion.
"I thought I executed her with my own hands," Swain said. "But… it was only her scheme."
Draven clicked his tongue. "Fine. Then what about Marquis Poli's banquet? How are you handling that?"
His mustache bobbed comically as he spoke. "The nobles of Zaun and Piltover are attending. Don't tell me you don't know."
"I don't know how you do it," he went on, squinting at Swain. "You lock yourself in this room every day, but you know everything happening outside. So you definitely know about this too, right?"
"Mm." Swain nodded, then lowered his head and resumed writing.
"Hey. I asked what you're going to do."
"The Twin Cities aren't part of this matter. Treat them like tourists." Swain crossed out a name on the paper, looked up, folded the sheet, and slipped it into an envelope.
Then he raised his only hand and snapped his fingers.
A raven flew down, seized the envelope in its beak, and soared upward into the heights.
"Of course, I'll meet Logan," Swain added. "I'll tell him the warlord who once attacked Piltover has been punished. And that in the future, Noxus hopes to cooperate with the Twin Cities—to be friendly neighbors."
Draven burst into laughter. "That's hilarious. A little city-state we used to crush under our boots, and now it's someone we have to 'cooperate' with."
Swain glanced at him. If anyone else had said that, he wouldn't have bothered responding.
But Draven was different.
"So it is," Swain said softly. "Times change."
"Now go do what you should be doing. I don't need your protection."
"Fine, my Grand General." Draven snorted and headed for the door.
Not long after he left, Swain pulled out another sheet and began writing again.
At the same time, on a high platform somewhere within the Immortal Bastion, a woman hidden in darkness saw the black raven approaching. Her previously lazy posture snapped tight.
She rose.
She wore black leather armor, its straps left undone, exposing a sleek waist and toned abdomen. Above, a black leather wrap hugged the curve of her chest; below, hard muscle lined her midriff, and tattoos spread across her body like inked warning signs.
With the lightest push of her toes, she sprang forward—silent—covering several meters in a blink.
Midair, she plucked the envelope from the raven's beak.
Beneath her red hair, her eyes were calm and focused. A thin scar ran across her left eye, slicing through her eyebrow. It didn't ruin her beauty—if anything, it gave her a sharper, more dangerous charm.
"Heh," she breathed. "So this time… I'm killing a marquis?"
She tore the letter to pieces and looked toward a distant place.
Tomorrow, a banquet would be held there—hosted by an imperial marquis.
It would also be the last banquet of his life.
This time, she wouldn't fail.
//Check out my P@tre0n for 10 extra free chapters //[email protected]/Razeil0810