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Draven's eyes caught sight of the book-shaped emblem, instantly recognizing it as the crest—designed by Ryan when he ascended to nobility.
Draven didn't originally pay much attention to these things.
But after the last incident, when his brother had literally pressed an axe to his forehead and demanded he memorize every noble family's crest that was off-limits, he had no choice.
There weren't many he needed to remember: a book, a crow, a dagger…
Oh, and a rose. Something delicate and frail-looking—just like his eldest brother. Coward.
'If it weren't for me... cough... cough...'
Seeing that the crest belonged to an ally, Draven's shoulders relaxed, even if the shock in his chest hadn't fully subsided.
Clearing his throat, he barked at his comrades:
"Mother of—! Snap out of it! It's just a floating house! Your big brother's seen crazier things, so stop embarrassing me!"
With that, he nonchalantly flung one of his axes into the fray. The spinning blade carved through multiple enemies at once with deadly precision.
"As expected of Big Brother! Let's show him what we've got!" his warriors roared, raising their weapons and charging into the fight.
At that moment, the floating castle above them shifted. The black glow radiating from its spire grew even more intense.
"The weak… retreat."
A commanding yet elegant female voice echoed in the air.
The moment her words fell, countless dark orbs descended from the castle.
The orbs rained down with unnerving accuracy, striking enemy soldiers. Screams filled the battlefield as the dark magic consumed them, leaving not even fragments of their armor behind.
The palace square turned into a killing ground. Orb after orb fell into the swarm of spiders, shredding them into nothingness.
As the dark magic took hold, an enchanting figure emerged briefly from the palace shadows, only to vanish as quickly as she appeared—leaving the remaining spiders to their grim fate.
The manipulator behind the spider swarm, realizing the futility of resistance, chose to retreat.
When the square was littered with lifeless spider corpses and the battlefield lay still, crows began to gather.
Thousands of them swirled together, forming a single figure.
Clad in black steel armor with a flowing black cloak, he stood tall. His neatly combed white hair gave him the air of a noble commanding absolute power.
Swain raised his head, his piercing gaze fixed on the castle floating above.
The castle loomed over the Noxian Black Gate, a grand and imposing symbol of the empire itself.
To dominate and to shelter the empire…
He knew this had to be Trifarix's mission from the start.
Without hesitation, Swain began his march, his iron boots echoing with purpose as he moved toward the building ahead.
Darkwill's former chambers awaited him.
Above, the castle continued its relentless assault, its dark energy pouring forth, swiftly turning the tide of battle.
"B-big brother… have you ever seen something like this before?" Little Delevingne stammered, frozen in fear.
He turned his head stiffly toward Draven, his face pale.
"Uh… yeah! Of course, I have!" Draven replied, puffing out his chest and pointing his thumb at himself.
"Let me tell you, with one swing of my axe, I could level the armadas! This? Child's play!"
Draven gulped, trying to suppress the fear clawing at his chest. He nervously pointed to the massive fort ahead.
Moments ago, they had struggled to deal with their enemies, and now… they were gone.
"Is there really a power this strong in the world? Or…" Draven muttered to himself,
"…is it too late to switch to magic?"
As he stood there, deep in thought, the soldiers around him looked at Draven with awe, murmuring amongst themselves.
"As expected of Big Brother Draven…"
"Look at him, staring up at the sky at a perfect 45-degree angle—so full of the loneliness only a master could know…"
"I'll bet his strength is even greater than the mages in that castle…"
However, amidst their admiration, one soldier hesitated, his mouth falling open slightly.
Pointing to the area where the enemy had disappeared, he nervously added:
"Brother Draven, your axe," a soldier cautiously reminded.
"Axe? What axe?" Draven replied, feigning ignorance with a casual shrug.
He froze, his eyes widening as a thought struck him.
He snapped his head toward the battlefield, now a scorched wasteland after the rain of dark orbs.
It all came rushing back—the moment he threw his axe into the fight, those countless orbs had descended from above, erasing everything in their path.
The battlefield bore no trace of the destruction, but his axe… was gone.
"That… uh… it seems like the person above might've had something to do with it," the soldier mumbled hesitantly.
"Do we… want to take it up with them?"
"Hmm…" Draven tilted his head back, stroking his chin as though genuinely considering the idea.
BOOM!
A massive dark orb came crashing down from the floating castle, landing on the fort.
The fort he had pointed to moments ago vanished, swallowed entirely by the shadowy explosion.
From his vantage point, Draven could see a hostile soldier at the window—mid-draw with his bow.
The man's body twisted in agony before the orb engulfed him in darkness, consuming him entirely. No scream escaped, no ashes remained, and the house crumbled into oblivion.
His face turned as pale as death itself. He waved his hand dismissively, his voice trembling.
"It's… it's fine! That axe has been out of my hands for ages. When we conquer the Immortal Bastion, I'll get a better one!"
A soldier started to speak, but Draven's sharp glare cut him off.
"Don't just stand there gawking! Get to work cleaning up this mess!"
"Y-yes, sir!"
As the soldiers scrambled to obey, Draven's tough facade faded.
He gazed mournfully at the empty crater where his beloved axe had been lost, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.
After a moment of silent grief, he shook his head, sighed deeply, and returned to his duties.
Meanwhile, atop a distant mountain, two figures stood before a grand chessboard.
On the board, countless black pieces had been wiped out, leaving the black king perilously exposed.
Only three black pieces remained: the queen, the king, and a lone knight.
Ryan leaned back, a satisfied smile playing on his lips, while LeBlanc's expression darkened with frustration.
"So, this is your trump card?" she said coolly, her voice laced with disdain.
"Such powerful black magic… it brings to mind certain unpleasant memories."
"Afraid of the dark, LeBlanc? Odd, coming from a supposed master of black magic," Ryan quipped, his tone light and playful.
LeBlanc shook her head, her voice turning somber.
"I've lived for countless years and seen horrors beyond imagining. Endless darkness hides countless unknowns. The more I've seen, the more I realize how much lies hidden."
Ryan's expression shifted slightly, the smile fading into something more contemplative.
"We fear what is understood far more than what remains mysterious."
He shifted his gaze from the chessboard to the woman before him, his voice taking on a sharp edge.
"You've controlled the empire for a thousand years, and yet it remains stagnant. That's… pathetic."
"Humans are neither Starborn nor Darkin," LeBlanc replied softly.
"We have limits."
Her voice carried no malice, only a quiet acceptance.
In truth, she harbored no inherent conflict with Ryan or the Trifarix.
They shared a common enemy—an unspeakable entity that lingered in the shadows of the underworld, perhaps now its ruler.
Her power and talent paled compared to the countless prodigies she had encountered over millennia.
Yet even they had fallen, leaving few who could rival the one who once commanded the Immortal Bastion.
"This is your flaw, LeBlanc," Ryan said with a small, knowing smile.
"You lack his courage. He will return. He overcame demons, Starborn and Darkin alike. You? You've only ever managed to survive."
LeBlanc's gaze hardened as she studied him.
Compared to the mad tyrant who ruled a thousand years ago, Ryan seemed refined, rational—even calculating.
Yet, beneath that surface lay the same belief—the unwavering conviction that the world could belong to him alone.
The man from a thousand years ago had suppressed an entire era, his reign leaving more souls in its wake than the current population of Runeterra.
And Ryan… how far would he go?
Her eyes glimmered with a flicker of intrigue. Perhaps it was time to revise her plans.
Perhaps this man before her was worth a closer look.
Ryan seemed to sense her thoughts but no longer cared for her opinions.
His expression turned serious as he pointed toward the black knight piece still on the board.
"Lesser garrison was a worthy force, but their time is over. It's time to end this."
He picked up a white mage piece from the board, its polished surface gleaming faintly in the dim light.