Chapter 104
"Take him away." Irelia waved her hand coldly, and the guards on both sides of the conference room door immediately stepped forward and seized Glick.
As Glick's curses and cries of injustice faded into the distance, the meeting temporarily drew to a less-than-pleasant close.
"The meeting is temporarily adjourned. We will reserve our opinions until the truth is ascertained and await an announcement from the Noxian Empire." Irelia rose and bowed, thus ending the meeting.
She wasn't entirely satisfied with the result, but she was secretly relieved—at least Chen Ce had bought her some time and opportunity to operate, which was an unexpected bonus.
She looked at Chen Ce gratefully.
After the crowd had gradually dispersed, she asked in a low voice, filled with gratitude and doubt, "Why didn't you tell me about the assassination attempt sooner? Also, what evidence did you mention?"
"The reason I didn't say so earlier was to wait until this moment. As for the evidence..." Chen Ce scratched his head and leaned close to the other's ear to whisper, "The only evidence is Zed's confession: ' Glick found me and wanted to discuss the formation of the Ionia army after the war. Later, he told me that someone seemed to be tracking our conversation. After counter-tracking, I found out it was a Noxus.'"
"This...?" Irelia was even more confused upon hearing this. "What does this have to do with his assassination attempt on you?"
"I never said he came to assassinate me on purpose."
"Why...?"
"Just incidentally," Chen Ce chuckled. "He initially only intended to kill that Noxus hiding in the Resistance Army — Samira —but I stumbled upon her by chance."
"So that means..." Irelia's eyes widened.
But Chen Ce had already slowly walked towards the door, leaving behind only a slightly sinful silhouette and a sentence that was almost a crime:
"There's no traitor at all; I'm just buying you time..."
Meanwhile, on the other side of Runeterra, within the Noxian Empire.
A limping middle-aged officer walked through the chaotic execution ground, past the cheering crowd, and finally into a dark room.
He lit the candle on the table, and the light illuminated another figure in the room, as well as his weathered face.
His hairline was streaked with gray, which was quite noticeable in the dusty room. Over his battle-hardened armor, he wore a simple coat, his hands tucked tightly inside the hem, giving him a somewhat aristocratic air.
He appears elegant and shrewd, but most Noxus look down on him.
Because he had a name that was almost a symbol of shame— Jericho Swain.
A defeated general—a former commander—who lost an arm and a kneecap to the Ionia at the Battle of Placidium.
He has long lost his former power, and his influence in the Noxus upper echelons is now like that of an insignificant moth drawn to a flame; he has been relegated from the upper echelons.
But he still didn't give up.
For the past few years, he has been planning something that could change everything.
He originally planned to implement it a few years later, but now it seems... some things have to be brought forward.
Now, he turned to one of his few remaining friends in the Noxus capital—a ruthless executioner.
A minor official who, like him, was on the fringes and insignificant.
But he also has another name— Draven, the younger brother of the Hand of Noxus.
Because of this identity, he wielded considerable influence throughout Noxus.
Even though he often does the stupidest things imaginable.
It's like... getting drunk in broad daylight.
Just like now.
"Good morning, Draven." Swain limped over the steps and shook the drunken man with his only remaining hand. "Now is not the time to nap."
"Uh..." Draven shook his head and fell down again, his dazed eyes unable to see anything.
Fortunately, he managed to recognize the person. "Swain... it's you... you've come... to drink with me...?"
Seeing this, Swain shook his head helplessly and tried his best to steady the other person.
But just then, Draven felt a churning in his stomach.
The next moment, he vomited profusely.
Undigested minced meat mixed with alcohol, bitter liquid, and stomach acid produced a foul stench.
But Swain didn't look down on him and still helped him to a chair himself.
To outsiders, this might appear as a "flattering gesture" he made to curry favor with Draven, but that's not the case.
After all... after tonight, he will become one of the most powerful people in all of Noxus.
Why would someone whose power is about to rival that of a president go so far as to touch the vomit of a "minor character" like Draven just to curry favor with him?
"When I was ostracized, you stood by my side, so when you're drunk, I'll stand by your side too, even if you stink..."
Chapter 110 Welcome to the Steel Gate
Noxus suffered an unprecedented defeat.
In his quest for the elixir of immortality, Grand Commander Braum Darkwill launched a massive invasion of Ionia, the largest military campaign in centuries. However, it turned out that he had underestimated the magical Eastern Continent.
The Noxus army suffered repeated setbacks in the First Lands, and in the battles of the previous two days, it lost almost all of its attacking forces.
The few remaining small-scale battle groups were powerless to turn the tide, but the Grand Commander issued a death order forbidding them from retreating back to Noxus, causing widespread resentment.
Not only on the front lines, but also within Noxus itself, more and more people are learning the inside story—high-ranking officials are transferring assets, and ordinary people are questioning the decisions made by those in power.
From remote border towns far from the Immortal Bastion to the imperial capital, the center of power, everyone whispered and cursed in private.
[President Braum Darkwill is an arrogant and foolish man, and the most useless president in Noxus's history. He will lead Noxus to decline!]
The ever-increasing taxes and increasingly harsh tyranny since the war have made life miserable and resentful throughout Noxus, and the defeat on the Ionia battlefield became the last straw.
Protests against President Braum Darkwill have erupted in some areas.
The Raven's Eyes silently observed all of this.
Swain knew the time had come.
Although this is a huge departure from his original plan, it is now the best observable opportunity—plans can never keep up with changes, and sometimes it's not the case that the longer you prepare, the better.
The people's resentment towards the Grand Commander had reached its peak, and the nobles and upper class no longer trusted this "emperor" who spent his days in a drunken stupor. There was no better time to take action than now.
While the war in the north was still ongoing.
While Hand of Noxus is temporarily unable to return from Freljord.
That respected general is discerning and equally devoted to his country... He will understand everything.
He might prevent a coup, but he would never avenge the incompetent Braum Darkwill after it happened—as long as it was for Noxus's benefit.
The Hand of Noxus is forever loyal to Noxus, but not to any single individual.
"The world will understand our 'betrayal,' and time will prove our wisdom."
The Noxus capital was shrouded in darkness, save for Jericho Swain's whispers, which echoed in the night like a demon peering into secrets.
The ravens outside the wall let out mournful cries, their scarlet single eyes darting across the sky before disappearing into the thunderstorm.
"We will act... tonight. When it's all over, Noxus will never again be controlled by an invisible hand—I swear to anyone."
"I don't understand any of this, you know that." Another unrestrained laugh rang out in the darkness, the sound of sharp metal scraping against the floor was incredibly jarring. He stepped out of the corridor, the axe blade in his hand reflecting the Shimmer, and also reflecting his arrogant face.
Two long, thin tufts of beard, a horrifying facial tattoo, and a deadly throwing axe stained with countless drops of blood.
Draven, the younger brother of the Hand of Noxus and the most brutal executioner in the Empire.
Oh, it's Draven recovering from being drunk.
"I just want to know who I'm supposed to kill, who I can kill, and where the neck I'm supposed to cut is?"
"You're as reckless as ever." Swain smiled, but there was no sarcasm in his laughter. "But perhaps your recklessness will be more effective than careful consideration at times."
"The thinking is your responsibility." Draven hooked two fingers into the grooves of the axe handle, then spun them rapidly with a twist of his wrist. He seemed quite excited. "I'll only be responsible for killing—just like Darius once led me to slaughter a city."
"Perhaps I can't let you kill as many people as General Darius did."
"Whatever, it's still more fun than drinking alone... So, how many people do you want me to kill tonight?"
"Not many, less than ten."
"This sounds a bit too boring... So, who to kill?"
"Kill..." Swain slowly turned around, his only remaining finger pointing to the palace not far away—the only brightly lit place in the entire capital.
"Everyone there."
Following the direction the other person was pointing, even though Draven was mentally prepared, he couldn't help but widen his eyes.
That was the palace of President Braum Darkwill.
Swain to kill the Grand Commander... although he had said so before, but... but...
"Are you nervous?" Swain heard increasingly rapid breathing.
"Nervous... no... no... I am..." Draven couldn't help but tremble slightly, his rapid breathing almost turning into panting.
He unconsciously swallowed, and his voice trembled as he slowly squeezed out a few words from between his teeth:
"I'm... excited..."
"Such a lofty, priceless... neck..."
"Let me cut it down..."
The Grand Commander's palace remained the same place of debauchery and extravagance.
The dancers were striking seductive poses, the nobles were offering their flattery, and everyone was trying their best to please the fat man sitting on the throne.
The current president, Braum Darkwill.
He was still in that dazed, drunken state, as if the crushing defeat of the previous days had nothing to do with him. The soldiers who had fought for the empire had died far from home, while he was still agonizing over how to spend the next day's fun.
In his relatively short life, he indulged in pleasure almost every single day.
But not everyone sees him so relaxed and at ease.
Soldiers who are truly devoted to their country will end all of this.
Just before the midnight bells rang in the capital.
Thump--
The palace doors were pushed open forcefully; the sound, though not too loud, was somewhat reckless, causing Darkwill to frown in displeasure.
Then, a middle-aged man with a limp walked in.
The moment Darkwill saw who it was, his anger flared even more—a cowardly, useless disabled man dared to step into this hall that symbolized the pinnacle of power?
Especially at a time like this?
"Get out of here, Swain!" Darkwill had no interest in knowing why the other man had come; he simply ordered him to be thrown out of the hall. "Guards! Guards!"
At a single command, the guards inside the hall immediately surrounded Swain, and some sycophantic dignitaries took the opportunity to kick their former "colleagues" when they were down.
"Isn't this our esteemed Swain? What brings you here? Oh, I suppose you've come to beg the President—you must want to explain to the President again the reasons for your past failures, right?"
"Then I think he should tearfully explain—everyone knows that our dear President is very kind-hearted," another person laughed.
"But in my opinion, Jericho Swain has no right to come in at all—look at his limp... tsk tsk, I'm so greedy that he's also dirtied the palace floor." Some even openly expressed their contempt.
The crowd mocked and ridiculed him, but Swain ignored them completely.
He shouldn't waste his breath arguing with a group of dying people.
They're nothing but a bunch of useless trash, no different from ants.
The filth that plagues the empire... the executioners will deal with them.
"Get him out of here!" Darkwill yelled again, like an ignorant and short-sighted villager. "Throw him into the arena! Let him die!!"
Upon receiving the order, the guards quickly tightened their encirclement around Swain.
Their halberds were almost piercing Swain's body, and their shouts sounded like those of a true emperor issuing commands.
Swain remained calm and composed, his weathered face showing no trace of fear or other negative emotions—he seemed to never wear his heart on his sleeve, his terrifying composure as deep and unfathomable as the abyss of Freljord's Howling Abyss.
Then, he opened his coat with the hand that was inside it.
It was revealed...