LeBlanc was finally released—carrying a belly full of grievance and unwillingness. The great leader of the Black Rose, the conspirator who had operated in Noxus's shadow for nearly a thousand years, the legendary mage of Runeterra, Lady LeBlanc… didn't leave Noxus at all. She stayed in the Immortal Bastion.
After hearing Swain and Logan out, she ultimately chose to remain and "help" Swain build Noxus—on the condition that LeBlanc had to listen to Swain in everything.
She wasn't allowed to act on her own, and especially wasn't allowed to come up with "ideas."
Because every time this woman came up with an idea, Noxus suffered for it. Swain didn't dare let LeBlanc brainstorm ever again.
Noxus was already riddled with holes. She didn't need to contribute to rebuilding it—she just needed to behave and sit still. That was Swain's one and only thought.
Even though the queen of bad ideas was furious, because of Logan, she swallowed it all. As long as Mordekaiser could be dealt with, she didn't care what she had to do.
I mean… LeBlanc, you don't want Mordekaiser returning to the material realm either, do you?
Back to the point: Janna had already returned to Zaun and told Silco what had happened in Noxus, so Silco could prepare in advance for opening ties with Noxus.
Meanwhile, Logan and Jinx stayed in Noxus. The reason they didn't head straight for the Freljord was simple—Logan wanted to farm more emotion points in Noxus first.
Before leaving, he planned to enter the Spirit Blossom realm and bring Ahri and Kindred some gifts—trade them for another wave of goodwill, snag some soul strength—then stockpile one more batch of emotion points in Noxus, and only then depart for the Freljord.
Better safe than sorry.
And as for why Noxus specifically, it was because Swain had already announced that Noxus would cooperate with the Twin Cities—and he'd even plastered Logan's name on the public notices.
There were many ways to collect emotion points, but the most effective method, the one that produced the biggest haul, was still Logan absorbing them personally in the surrounding environment.
Logan had also realized something: as his fame rose and more people learned who he was, the emotion points he could harvest increased. From far away, the effect was weaker, but up close, it was extremely strong.
Emotion points came from people's emotional output—fear, respect, gratitude. Sure, their swings weren't as extreme as Jinx's, but when the base population was massive, the quantity added up. At that scale, even Jinxie's supply to Logan couldn't compare.
So Logan decided to properly harvest a big wave of emotion points in Noxus first.
Time reached the end of the year 988. In wintertime Noxus, the weather turned vicious. Icy winds blowing down from the Freljord dragged Noxus into bitter, freezing cold. Even in the areas closest to the Immortal Bastion, there were far fewer Noxians on the streets.
Inside a study in the Immortal Bastion, Swain sat in his chair. A small brazier rested by his feet. Wrapped in a blanket, he cradled a steaming teacup in both hands, lifting it to his lips to sip hot black tea while silently watching the woman in front of him.
She had a beautiful head of purple hair. Yet in this winter weather, she wore something almost indecently light— a short top that exposed her midriff, plus a blue cloak draped over her shoulders. Below, she wore a violet, asymmetrical skirt that sat low at the waist. She was perched on the corner of Swain's desk, legs crossed.
Her face was bare of makeup, clean and pale. Her skin was fine and flawless, the subtle puff beneath her narrow eyes delicate, and the beauty mark beneath her right eye added an extra kind of charm.
"How many days has he been gone?" the woman asked Swain.
Swain looked at LeBlanc like this and narrowed his eyes.
How to put it… this version of LeBlanc looked better than the made-up version—at least, that was what Swain thought.
Without that scribbled-on, mask-like face paint, LeBlanc gained a hint of purity and softness. Just looking at her, it was hard to imagine she was over a thousand years old. Seeing her like this, you'd only assume she was a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old girl.
"Five days," Swain said.
"Tch. He finally left." LeBlanc snorted with disdain. Then, bored, she started to toy with the teapot on the desk. She leaned forward lazily, and a husky, low voice spilled from her throat—rough and sensual. "I truly can't understand why there are men in this world who like a woman like Jinx."
"With his status, what woman couldn't he have? Why would he fixate on someone like that?"
Hearing LeBlanc, Swain thought of how Jinx had been constantly running over to bother LeBlanc lately. He smiled.
Somehow, Swain had noticed something odd lately. Not only had he become a little strange—LeBlanc, the woman he'd always treated as his greatest enemy, seemed to have become strange as well.
Once the veil was torn away, Swain realized LeBlanc wasn't quite what he'd imagined. Maybe this was what Logan meant by… "distance makes things look nicer."
"She's not as bad as you think. Besides," Swain said as he took another sip and set the cup down, "they're childhood sweethearts. A perfect match from the start."
He looked at LeBlanc and continued, "So… are you planning to keep going like this?"
LeBlanc lifted her head to look at him calmly. "Like what?"
"Lately you haven't even managed the Black Rose. Every day you just read in your room. Other than meals, I barely see you at all. That's not like you."
Swain's tone carried a deeper meaning.
Of course, he meant LeBlanc's lifelong talent for causing disasters. But during this period, she hadn't caused any trouble at all. In other words… LeBlanc seemed to have gotten lazy.
"What a joke. The one sitting here is the real me." LeBlanc waved a hand dismissively.
She looked at Swain and continued, "You think you understand me, do you? Heh. Without that demon, Swain, in my eyes you're nothing more than a somewhat clever, strong-willed ordinary man."
"For a thousand years, because of Mordekaiser, I've been running nonstop. I slept less than two hours a day. I split myself into countless versions, with avatars scattered across every region of Noxus."
There was an indefinable emotion in LeBlanc's eyes as she went on in a languid tone. "I played countless roles—old people, children, men, women, politicians, soldiers, merchants, dancers…"
"I haven't dreamed as myself in a long time. Sometimes," LeBlanc said with a smile, her voice tinged with both reflection and mockery, "I even forget who I am. Which 'me' is the real me?"
Over those thousand years she had worn too many faces. She had nearly forgotten herself. The one thing she truly remembered was that she was the Pale Witch who betrayed Mordekaiser, and the leader of the Black Rose. Beyond that, there were times she felt like she was merely an empty shell among countless phantoms.
She couldn't tell anymore—couldn't tell what was primary and what was secondary, couldn't tell which was her true body and which were the copies she had created.
But during these recent days, she set down the Black Rose, set down Mordekaiser, and lived nearly two months of carefree life. Sleep, eat, sleep again, read a little—then avoid Jinx, who came to "play" but was really trying to steal spells from her. Little by little, LeBlanc began to dig up old memories from the chaotic palace of her mind.
Her name was LeBlanc. She was born 1,421 years ago, back when Noxus had not yet even been founded. Her family was wealthy, her parents were alive, and she could be called a young noble lady… until everything was shattered by rune wars.
In any case, in this stretch of time, she truly remembered many things—memories that belonged only to the "original," each one pulling her out of the haze and separating her from the phantoms.
She was not some "clone witch" like Logan joked about!
LeBlanc yawned, then smiled and said to Swain, "But now—thanks to that little brat Logan—I know who I am again."
"I've worked myself to the bone for so many years, running around preparing for a tyrant's return. So what if I rest for a while?"
"You want to dump everything on Logan," Swain said, immediately seeing through her.
LeBlanc gave two satisfied hums, lifted her long, snow-white legs—so pale they practically reflected the light—and changed the way she sat. She smoothed her skirt with one hand and grinned. "Problem?"
"I finally understand what people say," she went on breezily. "When the roof caves in, the tall one holds it up."
"Even if I do nothing, you and Logan will still deal with Mordekaiser. So why should I work so hard? And besides, aren't you the one who forbids me from offering ideas?"
"Is that my fault?" LeBlanc stretched and stood in front of Swain. She raised her hand and tapped the air with her fingertips.
A golden staff floated up near her feet. She said, "For dinner, I want a medium-rare steak—and a bottle of good red wine."
After speaking, without waiting for Swain's reply, LeBlanc used magic and vanished from the spot.
In the quiet study, Swain stared at the space in front of him in silence. After a long moment, he shook his head and laughed.
Thinking it through, Swain realized he really couldn't criticize LeBlanc.
Because sometimes he had the same thought—Logan would solve everything.
Like right now: Noxus and the Twin Cities were cooperating. Noxus would provide ore; the Twin Cities would help improve Noxus's soil quality, and sell grain to Noxus at low prices.
For Swain, after becoming Grand General, his biggest problems weren't policy reform—they were food and economic development.
But those two problems had now been solved by the Twin Cities. Naturally, Swain felt lighter.
As for Mordekaiser…
After Swain obtained Raum, he truly did guard against Mordekaiser. He knew perfectly well that when Sahn-Uzal—Noxus's former king—returned, Noxus wouldn't profit. It would be the first stepping stone Sahn-Uzal used to trample Runeterra into submission.
That was also why Swain hadn't gone too hard at LeBlanc.
The enemy of your enemy is your friend, wasn't it?
And now… Mordekaiser could be pushed onto Logan's shoulders too.
Swain picked up the delicate teapot LeBlanc had been playing with earlier, poured himself another cup of black tea, narrowed his eyes, and enjoyed it.
"Everyone—up ahead is Nairzayag!"
"Stay sharp. No resting. We have to get into the village as fast as possible!"
Across the frostbound tundra, a long caravan crossed over the Freljord's mountain range, trudging down toward the valley below.
There were roughly forty people in the group. The caravan had seven enormous moose. Their antlers alone were nearly half a meter wide, like two massive shields. They stood over two meters tall and were close to three meters long—perfect companions for Freljord merchants.
Beyond that, the caravan had ten Freljord yaks. They were smaller than the moose and couldn't venture as deep into the Freljord as the moose could, but their thick, vigorous coats and excellent endurance made them the main workhorses of traveling commerce.
Inside a large wagon pulled by two yaks, a black-haired young man heard the commotion outside. He pushed open the wooden window and leaned out to look.
Beneath him, a small head popped out too—wearing a thick fur hat. A few mischievous strands of blue hair peeked from the hat's edge. Her little face was as pale as the surrounding snow, but her cute, delicate nose was red from the cold.
"Logan… how much longer until we're really in the Freljord?" she asked.
She breathed out, and when she saw her white puff of breath instantly crystallize into icy grains, her eyes curved into crescents, thrilled.
Before Logan could answer, a member of the caravan laughed warmly. "You're officially in the Freljord already. From here on out, this is the Freljord."
"Remember that place we passed earlier?" Old John said gently as he looked at the young couple. "That was the Noxian outpost, Noxtoraa. Once you pass that, you're no longer on Noxian land."
"You two are really bold," Old John added, then took a drag from his pipe. "Not Noxians, and you still dared to use the Noxian roads. I've gotta ask—why didn't you take a Hextech airship?"
As a merchant, he obviously knew Zaun and Piltover. At this point, no merchant in the world could be ignorant of the Twin Cities. It was the world's trade hub—every merchant's dream.
And the young couple in front of him came from the Twin Cities.
"We wanted to slow down and experience the local cultures," Logan replied with a smile.
He and Jinx had entered Delverhold three days ago. Three hours after leaving Delverhold, they ran into John's caravan.
Seeing Logan and Jinx alone in the mountains, John kindly invited them to join the caravan.
After all, once you entered the snowfields, you could run into wild beasts anywhere—and if your traveling group was large enough, beasts didn't dare attack.
Old John heard Logan's answer and was about to scold him, to warn him not to do something so reckless because it was genuinely dangerous—
But before he could, chaos suddenly erupted outside.
Old John shoved open the window beside him and leaned out to look. He only needed one glance before panic hit his face.
"Oh no—oh no!"
Jinx's eyes went wide with curiosity, about to ask what happened, but Old John snapped his gaze back to Logan and Jinx and shouted, "Get off the wagon—now! And you two, cover yourselves up tight, hide in the crowd, and don't make a sound. Understand?!"
Before Logan and Jinx could even react, he urged them down.
John jumped down as well. Once he was on the ground, he grabbed a flag that had been tucked into the side of the wagon and shouted a couple of lines in a language Logan couldn't understand, then waved the flag hard.
The entire caravan stopped immediately.
Then came a heavy rumbling across the frozen earth.
Logan stood beside Jinx and looked toward the source of the sound, narrowing his eyes.
Far in the distance, across snowfields and between trees, Logan spotted a long line of movement.
Snow wolves, boars, moose—animals that didn't belong together—charged toward the caravan, and on their backs rode people wrapped in fur.
"Winter's Claw?" Logan said.
"…What timing."
Logan smiled.
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