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Knowing the target was not in Icathia, Ezreal felt much more confident.
According to legend, he had once emerged unscathed from the tomb of the Shuriman tyrant Ne'Zuk—a failed mage-king of little significance.
"There is a seal placed by the Ascended. Using excessively strong magic will cause it to self-destruct. You have only one chance to explore it, retrieve anything valuable, and document what you cannot bring out," Swain instructed, his voice calm yet commanding.
Swain deliberately withheld information about the World Runes. The young explorer didn't need to know, nor should he meddle with such things.
"No problem! There should be plenty of books about Icathia in the Empire. I'll need to prepare," Ezreal muttered to himself, already lost in thought.
"The mercenaries gather at the tavern. You may recruit whoever you see fit. This comes with the full authorization of the Trifarix."
With a snap of his fingers, Swain sent a parchment from the round table, floating gently into Ezreal's hands.
The document bore the insignia of the Noxian Explorers' Guild, stamped with the updated national emblem of Noxus.
"Cool! This thing looks amazing!" Ezreal exclaimed, his eyes alight with excitement.
Only now did he truly feel the power of being aligned with a great empire. That exhilaration was unlike anything he had felt before.
He studied the parchment with gleaming eyes, a wide grin spreading across his face.
This wasn't just a piece of paper—it was a symbol of power, the first step toward his dream of becoming the greatest explorer and, eventually, the president of the guild.
The Piltover Explorers' Guild? Hah! It is a third-rate organization at best.
Only Noxus could be the ultimate haven for true adventurers!
"Commander! I will bring you good news!"
Ezreal straightened up and gave an awkward Piltover military salute, which looked distinctly out of place.
He didn't know the proper Noxian gesture of respect, but he'd heard that Noxus embraced cultural differences.
In Noxus, anything was possible, and that included an explorer like him.
Ezreal, the great adventurer, was now a proud and official Noxian explorer!
"The materials you asked for will be delivered to the War Academy in the coming days. The Empire is building the largest national library," Swain added, his tone unwavering.
"Understood!"
Ezreal clutched the parchment tightly and left, his step buoyant with newfound purpose.
However, as he made his way out of the hall, he frowned slightly. Something about his earlier goals felt off.
No matter! He had to prepare for his next expedition.
First stop: the tavern!
Just as he was crossing the square, Ezreal spotted a towering figure clad in heavy iron armor, his expression grim.
A massive axe hung from his back, and a bright red cloak flowed behind him. At first glance, he looked like a general you wouldn't want to cross.
But Ezreal, undeterred, approached him.
"Hey there, brave general! Could you point me toward the tavern?"
The armored man barely glanced at him before replying gruffly, "The tavern? Head out from here and look for someone ugly, slouching, and with a suspicious air. He'll point you in the right direction."
Without waiting for a response, the man strode toward the council chamber, his axe clinking lightly against his armor.
"Well, that wasn't particularly helpful…" Ezreal muttered, scratching his head as he wandered off.
Not far from the square, he spotted a burly man with short black hair and a bare upper body leaning against a wall.
"Let's see… He's not too tall, his stance is lazy, and he's definitely got a rough look… Yep, this must be the guy," Ezreal murmured to himself, cautiously approaching.
The man—Draven—glared at him sharply, his eyes narrowing as he crossed his arms.
"Kid, what did you just say?" Draven's voice boomed, loud and aggressive.
Ezreal's heart skipped a beat. Had Draven overheard him?
"Oh! I was just saying how there's no one as brave and battle-hardened as a Noxian. Clearly, you've seen countless battles!"
Ezreal said quickly, his voice filled with forced admiration.
Draven smirked, leaning closer. "That's right. You've got a good eye, kid. Not everyone recognizes greatness when they see it."
Ezreal laughed nervously, nodding fervently.
"Of course, of course! So, uh, about that tavern…?"
"You look pretty scrawny, but your eyesight isn't half bad!"
Draven stroked his mustache, a smug grin spreading across his face.
"I'm new to Noxus. Where's the best tavern around here?" Ezreal asked, leaning in with curiosity.
"Tavern?" Draven's eyes lit up, his grin widening.
"Now that's something I know like the back of my hand. There's the Red House in East City or Slim Street in West City. Both are solid choices."
Ezreal frowned, skeptical.
"Those don't exactly sound... reputable."
He paused, pondering.
"Is there a place where men gather? You know, just men."
Draven raised an eyebrow, his grin turning sly.
"Oh, I see where you're going with this. Yeah, yeah, I know a spot. But tonight's drinks…"
"I'll treat!" Ezreal interjected eagerly.
"Good man! My kind of guy. Let's go!" Draven clapped Ezreal on the back.
"By the way, what's your name? I'm Ezreal!"
"Me?" Draven puffed out his chest.
"I'm Draven! Brother Ezreal, I'm telling you, ask ten people in the Immortal Bastion about my name, and eleven of them will know it."
Ezreal laughed. "That's funny, Brother Draven. Back in Piltover, I could stand on a street corner, and people I didn't even know would call my name!"
Draven threw back his head, roaring with laughter.
"Ha! You've got some nerve, kid."
The two of them walked off together, shoulder to shoulder, their silhouettes fading into the warm glow of the setting sun.
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Meanwhile, back in the council chamber, Rysan at silently in a chair, his gaze fixed on the door as if waiting for something—or someone.
"Do you think Ezreal is up to the task? The World Runes are critical to the Empire," Swain said, his tone heavy with concern.
In Swain's mind, this mission should have been entrusted to Darius and the Trifarian Legion.
If Ryan were to show up, even the Legion might only be able to delay him for a short time. But sometimes, a little time was all they needed.
With Syndra and Ryan both in play, the castle could be teleported directly above the mausoleum.
At that point, Noxus's full military might could be deployed in an instant, and even the Black Rose would lend its support. Failure would not be an option.
"The World Rune must not fall into the wrong hands," Swain emphasized.
Ryan, seated nearby, shook his head.
"The Trifarix has only just consolidated power. Sending our most elite legion to the desert would raise too many questions among the Empire's rivals. The Ionians are always waiting for a chance to reclaim lost territory, and Demacia would seize the opportunity to act as well."
He continued, his voice calm yet resolute.
"There's no strategic value in having the Trifarian Legion stationed at Axamuk's tomb. The Empire needs them elsewhere. Besides, the mausoleum already has defensive measures—both those I set up and those left by the Ascended. They'll buy us enough time. For now, we need the information most, and that's something Ezreal and the Empire's historians can handle."
Ryan sighed, his expression softening.
"And let's not forget the Empire itself. The military commanders and nobles have temporarily agreed with the Trifarix, but not everyone recognizes our rule in the territories liberated during the expansion. There will always be those who resist change, even when it's for the better."
Swain's expression darkened. "Yes, resistance is inevitable. Some places haven't raised the new imperial flag. They've taken down the old flag of Darkwill but refuse to acknowledge the new regime. They think they can stand apart."
His demon-enhanced arm brushed across the round table, and a massive map of Runeterra materialized, burning with scarlet flames.
The map showed Noxus's vast territory, with cities marked by the new imperial flag. However, scattered across the map were pockets where the old ways lingered.
Ryan flicked a drop of water from his hand onto a corner of the map.
The droplet landed on a small town near the Empire's northern border—a place called Basilich.
It was an insignificant desert town, yet no flag, old or new, flew above it. It was a quiet, defiant rejection of imperial rule.
At that moment, the sound of heavy boots echoed through the chamber.
Boom!
Darius strode in, his massive axe slung over his shoulder. His presence was commanding, his expression deadly serious.
The Hand of Noxus was ready for war.