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"Justice—the will of the will."
In just a few words, Ryan laid bare his understanding of justice.
Whether it was Kayle, Morgana, or himself, the justice each pursued stemmed from their own will.
There was no absolute good or evil—only the conviction behind one's choices.
To him, anyone who stood against him or the empire was deserving of punishment.
"Hahaha! What a reply."
Morgana clapped slowly, a mocking smile on her lips.
Turning to Kayle, she spoke with a trace of sarcasm:
"My ignorant, stubborn sister... Do you understand now? 'Justice'—what a grand, hollow word."
She echoed Darius's sentiment, bitterness seeping into her voice as though the word itself wounded her.
"What I do is justice. Justice is absolute—good and evil are clear!" Kayle answered coldly.
She never questioned the justice she upheld; it was the path she had chosen long ago.
Even if her justice harmed one percent, as long as it brought peace to the other ninety-nine, it was a cause worth defending.
Her gaze stayed fixed on Morgana, firm and unwavering:
"My foolish sister, do you know why we were given wings? To carry burdens ordinary people cannot."
She paused briefly, then continued with quiet resolve:
"Humans falter under the weight of emotion. But we exist to enforce justice without compromise. That is our purpose."
"Justice? Purpose?" Morgana scoffed, her smirk deepening.
"Then tell me, did Father deserve judgment too? If he hadn't torn us away from Mother, would we have even survived to become what we are?"
"Good intentions don't excuse evil acts," Kayle said, her tone even.
She felt no remorse over their father's fate.
Though she hadn't passed judgment herself back then, centuries of duty had sharpened her clarity.
Even if their father had survived that day, she would have condemned him for stealing them from their mother, for upsetting the natural order.
To Kayle, justice was a sacred ideal. Anyone who violated it had to be punished.
"Then why not judge yourself? Or are you above judgment?" Morgana snapped.
"I am judgment," Kayle replied without hesitation.
"When the world is finally free of evil, I will be the last to judge—and I will pass sentence on myself."
Her meaning was clear. The day her vision of justice prevailed, she would become the final evil and not hesitate to destroy herself.
The light around her flared, radiant and blinding. Even those who doubted her couldn't help but feel a grudging respect.
Whether her justice was humane or not, her unwavering belief had earned her the title: The Winged Protector.
"And what about your justice, Lady Morgana?"
Ryan's voice broke the tense silence.
He turned to her, genuinely curious to hear from the woman who bore the other half of the legacy—the Fallen.
The power of the Aspect of Justice had been split between the sisters, rooted not in divine command but in star-forged law.
Only through understanding could one ascend, and Morgana's justice, for all its defiance, resonated more deeply with the spirit of the Targonian stars.
"Justice?" Morgana echoed with a faint smile. She shook her head.
"There is no such thing as pure justice. Only justice that is claimed."
Her voice was calm, but it rang with defiance.
From the beginning, she had rejected the idea that justice—or the divine order behind it—was absolute.
"Justice is not something granted," Kayle interrupted, voice like steel.
"It is absolute—"
"Silence!"
Before Kayle could finish her sentence, Morgana's voice cut through the air like a blade.
"Kayle, didn't Father ever teach you not to interrupt when someone is speaking?"
From the wings on Morgana's back, a pitch-black chain wreathed in shadow magic shot forward, striking Kayle with brutal force.
"Hmph!"
Kayle staggered but didn't fall. Blood ran from the corner of her mouth as she raised a trembling hand to wipe it away.
Her golden eyes locked onto the dark chain suspended before her, but she said nothing.
"Justice," Morgana began, her voice as cold and dark as her power, "is just the meaning we choose to give it. Do you believe you've grasped its essence?"
Her gaze narrowed as she took a step closer, the darkness in her eyes intensifying.
"You've killed countless people across centuries. How many of them were truly guilty? If I killed you right here, would that be the 'justice' you claim to uphold?"
"Then you'd better do it," Kayle replied, her voice steady despite the pain.
She straightened, her wings spreading behind her like a banner of divine defiance.
Centuries of judgment had steeled her beyond mortal comprehension.
Morgana's words, no matter how venomous, couldn't pierce her conviction.
"Enough, Lady Morgana," Ryan interjected, his tone calm but firm.
"You've made your point. Now, perhaps we can talk about your intentions."
He stood at a distance, eyes sharp, watching every flicker of expression.
He saw Morgana's rage, but beneath it, something else. Something quieter. Hesitation.
If Morgana had truly wanted Kayle dead, she would have done it already.
In terms of raw danger, Morgana—wielding the deep, oppressive forces of shadow and spirit—was far more unpredictable.
The heavy, stifling blend of darkness and water magic that blanketed the area was a clear extension of her will.
Ryan had no interest in provoking a battle between celestial powers—unless absolutely necessary.
He suspected he understood what Morgana wanted… and was already forming a plan.
He glanced toward the city walls, where several figures stood watch. His gaze met Swain's.
The Grand General of Noxus returned the look with a small, knowing nod. A silent understanding passed between them—brief, but decisive.
With a faint smile, Ryan turned back to Morgana, his expression calm.
"Lady Morgana," he said evenly.
"Is it truly necessary to kill Kayle right now?"
Morgana's lips curled into a cold smile, though her eyes still burned with suppressed emotion.
"Ryan, may I send her to her fate?" she asked, voice like a dagger, eyes locked on her sister.
Ryan didn't flinch.
"There's no need for that," he said.
"I'll release her… in a month."
"Release her?" Morgana repeated, caught off guard. Her voice faltered.
A war of emotion flared behind her eyes—resentment clashing with reluctant relief.
She realized, in that moment, that Ryan had seen through her.
Not just her anger, but her restraint. He understood that she hadn't acted out of justice, but out of pain.
"What do you want from me?" she asked finally, her voice cautious but firm.
Noxus never offered mercy without expecting something in return.
Ryan's smile deepened, though it never reached his eyes.
"The Atonement Corps," he said, his tone deliberate.
"Tell me, Lady Morgana… What do you think of the name?"
"Atonement of sins…" Morgana murmured, the phrase stirring something within her.
Old memories. Older wounds.
"Do you remember that conversation?" Ryan asked, his voice softer now, almost nostalgic.
Morgana's expression hardened.
"I remember everything," she said, guarded.
Ryan's gaze turned distant, touched with memory.
"You once said justice should give people a chance to repent. That death is too easy. That true justice lies in living, enduring the pain of one's actions, and learning from it. You said only through suffering can one truly understand regret."
Morgana said nothing. Her eyes, however, flickered with turmoil.
Ryan waited, patient and confident.
He knew the seed had been planted.
And now, all he had to do was wait for it to take root.