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The vision brought forth by the rune matrix once again stirred riots within the Immortal Bastion.
All eyes turned upward, watching in awe as a regal figure draped in a flowing white robe emerged from the matrix. Suspended in the air, supported by cascading water, the figure exuded an almost divine presence.
Clang!
The synchronized sound of hundreds of iron kneepads striking the ground echoed like a thunderclap.
The Trifarian soldiers below—save for those of Draven's contingent—all knelt on one knee, gazing reverently at the figure in the sky. Their eyes brimmed with fervor and admiration.
The Trifarian Legion was composed of the hardened veterans of both Ryan and Swain.
While Swain was the unyielding strategist who left no option unexplored on the battlefield, Ryan was the embodiment of invincibility—an indomitable war god in their hearts.
In Noxus, strength speaks louder than strategy, and Ryan's strength was undeniable.
The uniformity of thousands of soldiers bowing as one left the citizens of the Immortal Bastion deeply shaken.
"Who stands above?" someone whispered.
"The white robe… it can only be him. The legend of the empire—Ryan Meredith."
"It's him. I hail from Shurima, where people tremble at the mere mention of his name."
"Everyone who's opposed him fears his power."
"…Even speaking his name carries weight."
Newcomers to Noxus, who had recently made the Immortal Bastion their home, learned the identity of the man in the sky from the hushed voices of those around them.
All the Noxians instinctively lowered their heads and pressed their hands to their hearts, a rare display of respect.
While Noxians typically disregard traditional etiquette, they make exceptions for individuals who've earned their reverence.
Today, one such exception stood high above the city: Ryan Meredith.
From below, Draven eyed his kneeling subordinates, clicking his tongue in irritation.
A glimmer of envy flickered in his gaze.
Scanning the crowd, Draven realized he was the only one still standing. Reluctantly, he sighed and crouched down.
"Fine! One day, I'll have my moment in the sky!" he muttered, a sharp grin curling at the corners of his lips.
His voice softened as his thoughts took flight.
"One day, they'll worship me like they do him. I'll be the greatest executioner to ever live. Forget councillors, forget generals—Draven will be the name etched in glory."
Hovering above, Ryan extended his arms, streams of water cascading from his hands like liquid ribbons.
The water flowed swiftly, spreading through every corner of the city, gently lifting the soldiers and civilians to their feet.
His gaze swept over the Immortal Bastion, the capital of Noxus, with a hint of nostalgia.
At the city's heart stood the monumental Black Gate, a towering symbol of Noxian might and ambition.
Surrounding the gate was the heavily fortified core, a labyrinth of military strongholds and defensive structures that seemed impenetrable.
These buildings, steeped in ancient history, stood cloaked in the shadow of Meredith Castle, a fortress in the sky that radiated an enigmatic power.
Beyond the central stronghold, the sprawling city unfolded. Its diverse architecture reflected the myriad cultures of Runeterra, a testament to the empire's vast conquests and unyielding expansion.
Ryan's eyes lingered on the city below, a subtle smile tugging at his lips as the water dissipated into shimmering mist.
Noxus stood strong, as it always would.
This unique tolerance was something that could only be found in Noxus. It didn't matter where one was born—here, your worth determined your standing.
Whether on the battlefield, in politics, or in the arcane arts, anyone who proved their value could earn respect.
Ryan had risen to where he was today through sheer strength and his unparalleled military achievements.
His gaze softened as it shifted toward his castle, Meredith Castle, a towering structure that loomed over the Immortal Bastion.
Through the crystalline windows of the Master's Tower, he could clearly see the interior.
The top floor of the tower was lined with countless bookshelves, some suspended mid-air by magic. The air seemed to shimmer with latent power.
At the central desk, a striking woman sat.
Her black robes flowed elegantly around her as her waist-length silver hair cascaded over her shoulders.
Her pale complexion contrasted sharply with the dark tome in her hands, which she studied with intense focus.
Noticing his gaze, the woman turned her head. Her sharp, indifferent eyes met his, and she nodded ever so slightly before returning to her book.
Syndra… he mused, a faint smile curling his lips.
'It's been a long time since I've seen you.'
Without lingering further, Ryan's figure dissolved into a stream of water, vanishing from view.
When he reappeared, he stood in the grand council hall of Noxus, where the empire's most significant decisions were made.
"A person who sits on a throne doesn't necessarily rule the world," a calm, commanding voice echoed through the chamber.
"It simply means they've found a chair that fits them well."
As Ryan entered the magnificent hall, his eyes fell on Swain, who stood tall in its center.
Swain's icy, calculated gaze was fixed on the throne above him, where an elderly, frail man sat: Emperor Boram Darkwill.
Darkwill's expression flickered between fear and defiance.
Though he tried to maintain his composure, the faint tremor in his hands betrayed his unease.
"Swain," Darkwill began, his voice uneven, "this throne was granted to me by destiny. The empire cannot survive without my leadership."
Swain's lip curled slightly. His deep voice resonated through the chamber:
"Noxus has never been an empire of destiny, Darkwill. We don't believe in fate. We overthrew kingdoms—not to replace one king with another, but to grant all Noxians the strength to become something greater. To live free. To rise as equals."
His gaze flicked briefly to the shadows, where Ryan leaned silently against the cold stone wall, observing but not interfering.
Satisfied that no one else would intervene, Swain stepped forward.
"The empire has no use for a weak leader," Swain continued, his voice sharp and unwavering.
"Noxus thrives on strength, on merit. After your death, the Trifarix will guide the empire to a new future, where everyone can find their place based on what they bring to the table."
The sound of Swain's iron boots striking the cold stone floor echoed like a drumbeat as he ascended the steps toward the throne.
Step by step, his imposing presence grew heavier, more overwhelming.
When he reached the topmost step, Swain looked down at Darkwill. His piercing gaze bore into the emperor's soul.
"No… you can't kill me!" Darkwill stammered, his voice trembling.
Despite the fear etched on his face, he refused to kneel. He clenched his fists, clinging to the shreds of his authority.
Swain's tone was cold, almost disdainful.
"Look at yourself, Darkwill. We are Noxians. Even in death, we don't cower. Yet here you sit, trembling like a cornered animal."
Swain's words struck a nerve. Darkwill's fear gave way to anger, and a flicker of his old resolve returned.
He clenched his teeth, his eyes blazing with defiance as he stood tall, meeting Swain's gaze.
"I demand a Noxian Reckoning!" Darkwill roared, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
The room fell silent.
Swain raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a faint, amused smirk.
"You finally show a sliver of what it means to be a Noxian. A Reckoning… I hadn't expected you to remember that ancient rite."
He continued, his tone calm but commanding:
"The Noxian Reckoning—where disputes are settled by combat. Two sides fight to the death, with no interference, no outside forces, and no accountability for the outcome. The strongest prevails. A true test of Noxian merit."
Darkwill steadied himself, his trembling subsiding as the oppressive air of fear lifted. In this moment, he embraced the spirit of Noxus, the unyielding determination of those who refused to bend.
"I am still the Emperor of Noxus," Darkwill declared, his voice filled with newfound resolve.
"And I challenge you, Swain, to the Reckoning!"
Swain chuckled softly, his eyes gleaming with respect and contempt in equal measure.
"So be it. Let the Reckoning begin."