Read up to chapter 170 free on Patreon: patreon.com/Light_lord
Bonus chapter milestone: [100/150]
5+ for every Arcane Member [Patreon]
---------------------
The crows were slowly fading, but the Noxian stage play had only just begun.
Ryan gazed out the window, an unstoppable determination gleaming in his smile.
After a while, the doors of the parliamentary hall creaked open once more.
"Hey! President!"
This time, it was Ezreal, bursting into the room with boundless energy. His face radiated joy, and he couldn't help blurting out as soon as he saw Ryan:
"Can I really hold a world-class press conference at the Immortal Bastion?"
"The world-class press conference will be broadcast live across the entire empire using magic," Ryan replied bluntly.
"Oh, that's incredible!"
Ezreal was nearly overwhelmed with excitement.
He was on the brink of fame—a speaker at a world-class conference.
Of course, he wasn't naive enough to believe he'd be the star of the event. Not yet, at least.
But this was a crucial first step toward the renown he craved, and he was determined to prepare thoroughly.
"Thank you, Mr. Ryan! Thank you to the Trifarix Council and the Empire for granting me this opportunity!"
Under Ryan's calm gaze, Ezreal gushed his gratitude, his words tumbling out like a stream.
"As for Va'Zuan..." Ryan began with a knowing smile.
"I understand! I discovered Va'Zuan beneath Zaun myself. But because of the tensions between Zaun and Piltover, I had to entrust the news to the Empire," Ezreal replied smoothly, his confidence sharp as ever.
When it came to matters tied to his fame, Ezreal's mind was exceptionally sharp.
"Good—this is for you," Ryan said, gesturing with his hand.
From the round table in the center of the chamber, a fiery red object floated through the air toward Ezreal.
"This is... the stone tablet from the Va'Zuan ruins!"
Ezreal recognized it instantly. It was the artifact he'd painstakingly retrieved from the underground site.
He remembered Ryan's timely warning after their expedition—without it, the stone tablet might have been destroyed upon exposure to sunlight.
Who could have guessed that the tablet, once basked in by Shuriman sun-worshippers, would be so fragile under the very light they revered?
"It's just... the writing looks different now," Ezreal said hesitantly.
He couldn't read the ancient Shuriman script, but he knew the words carved into it before.
Even the name "Oshera Va'Zuan," the only phrase he could recognize before, had vanished.
"There is an omen from the heavens," Ryan began, reciting the new text with perfect fluency, switching between ancient Shuriman and Common as he spoke.
"The gods are not gods at all, but pretenders wielding magic. There is no justice, no sun—only lies. We have all been deceived."
Ezreal's jaw dropped. He had no idea why Ryan would make such an audacious claim.
A prophecy from the gods? Ezreal couldn't help but suspect Ryan had simply rewritten the text on the spot.
"The stone tablet will be stored in the Explorers' Guild, where it can be observed by all," Ryan said, his tone steady and confident.
"Wait... won't someone figure out the truth?" Ezreal asked nervously.
"Everything is true," Ryan replied calmly.
The stone tablet was genuine, and the words etched on it were written in authentic ancient Shuriman. However, Ryan had subtly altered its message, blending historical truths with carefully crafted propaganda.
The first half of the message alluded to the Ascended—former Shuriman champions transformed into demigods—though perhaps they were more accurately described as Darkin.
According to Noxian historians, the Darkin had been corrupted by the Void and subsequently hunted down by the Targon Aspect warriors, who claimed divinity.
Those Ascended who survived the Void Wars were sealed within their weapons, cursed to live on only through the bodies of hosts.
The second half of the message was a mix of Noxian ideology, Ryan's personal embellishments, and the collective suffering experienced by countless lives during the Rune Wars.
It was a calculated narrative that Ryan hoped would sow doubt about the so-called gods and their intentions.
In Demacia, for example, the kingdom was founded by refugees whose homeland had been destroyed by the World Runes.
They despised magic, viewing it as the root of their suffering and an enemy to their survival.
The prophecy's scattered elements were woven together carefully.
Each thread of truth, lie, and implication would create an intricate tapestry with fascinating consequences, all paving the way for the Empire's future plans.
Prophecies were never inevitable. What seemed to be fated outcomes were, in truth, the results of collective belief and action.
Nothing happens by chance.
"What about the sun? Doesn't it still corrode the tablet?" Ezreal asked, shifting the conversation to a more practical concern.
He wasn't sure how much he truly understood about Ryan's grander schemes.
The Empire had given him so much, and he knew he needed to prove his worth.
After all, the discovery of Oshera Va'Zuan was already his undeniable claim to fame.
"The tablet has been reinforced with magic," Ryan replied.
"It is no longer affected by sunlight. And that day—the day it was discovered—coincided with the enrollment period for War Academy. I hope your press conference will mark a promising start to it all."
With that, Ryan's figure began to fade, his presence dissolving into nothingness in the parliamentary hall.
Admissions Day at War Academy
The news of Noxus establishing its War Academy had spread like wildfire across Runeterra, drawing the attention of all major factions.
The academy's name, imbued with the essence of war, carried profound implications—it was more than a mere institution.
"Oh, how dull... I hope there are some interesting people today," Seraphine muttered, resting on the edge of her stage in the admissions office.
Her legs swung idly as she gazed at the long line of hopeful applicants waiting outside.
The academy's first cohort only accepted three types of individuals: those with service to the Empire, those with remarkable skills, and those with extraordinary talent.
Today, Seraphine was the primary admissions officer. Thanks to her unique gift of hearing the songs of souls, she could discern the character and potential of applicants without much effort.
"I can join too?"
The voice of a man with a missing arm caught Seraphine's attention. She floated gently toward him, her tone soft but deliberate as she explained, "The academy welcomes the strength of every Noxian. Whether through your military service or your personal expertise, you are eligible to join, Lieutenant Mir."
"Does the Empire truly need me?" Mir asked, his voice trembling as tears welled in his eyes.
His disbelief was palpable.
"Second Lieutenant Mir," Seraphine began, her expression solemn, "a veteran of dozens of battles, a warrior who felled over a hundred enemies, and a hero who lost his sword arm while fighting valiantly in Demacia. Your retirement was a necessity, not a failure."
She listed his achievements with a clarity that carried weight.
Those waiting in line turned their eyes toward Mir, their gazes filled with respect.
Even the man's young son, plump and wide-eyed, stood taller under the weight of the admiration directed at his father.
Though too young to fully grasp the meaning of these accomplishments, the boy could feel the pride radiating from those around him and the hopeful expectations for his future.
"You have brought great honor to the Empire," Seraphine continued.
"Not only is your child eligible to join the academy, but you may also choose to become either a tutor in the War Department or a student yourself."
"A student?" Mir's brows furrowed in confusion.
He had never imagined learning anything new at this stage of his life.
Seraphine smiled patiently. "Many fields of study at the academy require experienced individuals. For example, the Department of Mechanics only admits students with prior craftsmanship experience."
The Academy was the first systematic institution established in Noxus. Historically, most Noxians had inherited their family trades, learning skills passed down through generations.
Formal education, where it existed, was usually tied to the profession of one's parents. But now, the academy sought to break tradition, offering structured learning to expand the Empire's strength and knowledge base.
Mir considered her words, the spark of possibility lighting his weary eyes.
For the first time in years, he felt as though his journey was far from over.