Sorry about the lateness of the chapter -- I thought it was Thursday.
...
Jericho Swain didn't dismiss the report, despite the temptation to do so. An ugly truth didn't change merely because you closed your eyes to it, and he suspected that this was indeed an ugly truth. His army was setting up camp with his own tent already erected. In the distance, the skyline of Piltover jutted out like a mouth full of shattered teeth, all save for the reason they took this detour in the first place -- the Hexgate.
Directly before him, knee bent and head bowed, was Katarina. Formerly Du Couteau before her exile over a bout of teenage arrogance that had cost her dearly. However, given the nature of her family, the fact that she’d kept her life was extremely complimentary of her skills. Jericho could not say that he knew the young woman particularly well, as she had fallen under his command mere months ago, and most of that time had been spent in Piltover. There, she was instructed to either assassinate or capture Trafalgar Water Law.
He did have a strong impression of her however. And that impression was not of a young woman who exaggerated details or created false narratives to cover for her own inability. He almost wished that she was, because one cowardly assassin was far preferable to what she claimed to be true.
“The Black Rose…” Jericho murmured the name, a familiar indignation rising in his gut. He recalled them all too well. It was his discovery of them that saw his rise through the ranks… as well as his far-flung commands, well away from the intrigues of court. A banishment disguised as a reward. He hadn’t cared then. It allowed him to serve Noxus, first as a soldier, then as a commander, and now a general. He had little patience for courtly intrigues anyway.
Katarina said nothing, her head bowed, awaiting his verdict.
“Ambessa Medarda is not the type for intrigue of this nature,” Jericho allowed himself to entertain the thought. He knew the woman well enough. She was ambitious. Clever. Never one to shy away from conflict or from getting her hands dirty. She was, in a few words, the ideal Noxian in his eyes. “Nor would she rely on the name of a foe that I supposedly slew as a shield for her treason and expect it to deter me.”
The Black Rose. He had been a young man when he first found traces of the conspiracy amongst the nobility, one determined to uphold the ideals of his nation. He saw the nobles that were connected to such a group -- fat, slovenly, weak. The kind of noble that festered in the elites like a cancer that needed to be cut out.
He had been hot headed. Emboldened by youth and the brashness of one convinced that he was incapable of failure. When he caught a stray thread of the conspiracy, he pulled and pulled and pulled until it felt like the entire thing had unraveled when he presented his findings to a much younger Grand General Boram Darkwill.
A Grand General that he had not seen since his exile in all but name over a decade ago, until he was summoned to the capital and granted an army that was tasked with conquering Piltover before using the Hexgate to transport their troops to Ionia. A Grand General that had gotten fat. Weak. And the very same cancer that he had convinced himself was excised remained in the court and, worse, had spread to the Emperor.
Jericho, a much older man, and a touch wiser, thought it was a result of power corrupting those at the top. That not all that rose to the top of Noxus did so because they held to the standards of their empire. That not all gained their positions because of service and ability, but through nepotism, bribes, and favors.
Now he had a different name for it.
The Black Rose.
Revealing such a thing to him did nothing for Ambessa. At least, not in her immediate goals. It would not earn the famed warlord absolution. Nor would it stay his hand in the battles to come. Thus, the only way she stood to benefit from such a reveal… was to ensure his submission once the battle was done.
“She's confident,” Jericho mused, his gaze rising to the ruined skyline of the City of Progress. “Does she have reason to be?”
Their spies had infiltrated Piltover long in advance, decades before Piltover had been brought to its knees by forces unknown. Piltover had made a commendable effort to conceal its production numbers and secret projects, but the very same people who stamped their approval on the forms were the ones who reported their progress to him. They had the military strength to make the battle bloody, that he would acknowledge. But there had never been a battle that had been won without bloodshed.
They were Noxians. Warriors and conquerors. They would not balk at the blood price of accomplishing their objective.
But it was not in Jericho's nature to spend the lives of loyal soldiers frivolously.
“Yes, my lord. Trafalgar Water Law… I don't know what he is. He's not a god, but he felt like more than a man.” Katrina answered dutifully.
“A mage?” He prodded gently, uncertain if it was a boon or a curse that Law had survived his assassination. That Katarina had instead murdered an imposter, while the real brilliant innovator was instead captured by a group of mages. Mages that Ambessa was so very quick to call the Black Rose.
The information sat in the back of his mind like a weight. Even to the far-flung reaches of the empire, he had heard the rumors. The half-truth tales whispered in low tones around a campfire about people disappearing and coming back wrong. He hadn't believed them, and for good reason. But he couldn't help but draw parallels.
“I cannot say, my lord,” Katarina answered. “Only that he sensed my strike before I could kill him.” Something extraordinarily difficult given the artifact that he had been bestowed from Noxus’ royal armory. A magical ink that was etched into Katrina's flesh in the shape of a rune that erased her presence from the world -- she could be standing in plain view, and without looking directly at her, you couldn't see her. Perfect for an assassin, especially one as skilled as Katarina was.
One man could turn the tide of battle. The right man, in the right place at the right time -- magic or powerful artifacts or an unknown nature weren't necessary. One could say that Law had already changed the nature of the battle as Jericho hadn't expected any resistance following the devastation that still plagued the city. But if he was so powerful a warrior, would he truly need to develop technology to balance the scales of power? Or was his nature that of a warlord, choosing to elevate those under his command with investment of time, resources, and training?
He could not say. Not without meeting the man, and that would only be possible once they had taken the city.
Ambessa would not be so confident without cause. That, more than anything, told him that he needed to prepare for a vicious fight. Equal to or greater than what awaited them in Ionia. Meaning that he needed to redraft his plans in the final hour, but such was the nature of war.
“General!” A messenger approached, kneeling outside of his tent. “An envoy is enroute from Piltover.”
A last attempt to negotiate a compromise, Jericho knew. “I will meet with them halfway,” he decided, standing up. “Katarina, watch over the meeting from afar, if you would. They may be desperate enough to break the terms of a flag of peace.” Katrina nodded, rising to her feet and falling in step as Jericho left his tent. As did the messenger, “Have the commanders split off in groups of five hundred and spread across the embankment. We know the strength of their warships resides in attacking concentrated formations.”
The messenger bowed his head before running to carry out the message. It was an order with multiple benefits, but in particular -- there were few things more daunting than seeing a larger enemy army that was entirely active. That was what the envoy would see as a backdrop to their negotiations.
Jericho did not expect it to change anything, of course. The Council of Piltover had voted to fight, and fight they shall. In truth, it made his estimation of Piltover rise slightly. He never would have suspected that underneath their scholarly and mercantile nature was a spine of steel. It was as pleasant a surprise as it was inconvenient.
On the journey towards the meeting, another joined their number -- Riven. A young swordsmaster so skilled that she was granted a Runic Blade that was roughly the same size of her, yet she carried it with ease. He nodded a greeting to the young white haired woman, gladly accepting her sword arm for negotiations. Partly because of her skill, but also because of who Piltover had sent to negotiate a truce.
Mel Medarda, Cassandra Kiramman, and the legendary Yordle Heimerdinger. They approached with a handful of their Enforcer guards, meaning that they outnumbered his party that visibly consisted of himself and Riven. Something that spoke to their confidence, even in the face of the laser guns that the Enforcers bore.
“General Swain,” Mel began, her tone firm but soft-spoken with her gaze lingering on Riven for only a second too long. “Thank you for meeting us in the middle. I hope to take that as an indication of intent for these talks.”
Mel looked much like her mother. A softer version. “I am afraid that you cannot,” Jericho replied. He offered no more explanation than that, and he saw a familiar flicker of annoyance in her eyes. She might be a softer version of Ambessa, but Jericho still saw much of her mother in her.
“Then why did you bother meeting with us at all?” Cassandra questioned, though based on her tone, she suspected the answer.
“To offer Piltover one last chance to offer a peaceful submission,” Jericho answered. “I commend your bravery and willingness to fight, but doing so will only waste the lives of your citizens and my soldiers. You will accomplish nothing more than that with the resources at your disposal. Surrender, and you have my word that the occupation of Piltover will be as bloodless as I can make it. With any blood being spilled being upon your ability to control your people.”
“You can't expect us to accept that offer,” Mel retorted with a trace of disbelief in her voice. She’d truly expected a better offer.
“You are of Noxus, Mel Medarda. You know our ways,” Jericho returned and there was a flicker in her gaze. It wasn’t what he expected either. Confidence. As if she was a woman waiting to throw his words back into his face when the opportunity arose, and she was certain the opportunity would come.
“Is that it, then?” Heimerdinger questioned quietly, his voice just above a whisper, but it carried a bitter disappointment. His small hands curled into fists. “There is no reasoning with you? No discourse? You are here to invade and unmake everything I have dedicated two hundred years to build?”
There were many things that he could say to that. That they were not here to unmake what made Piltover such a brilliant star, but to take possession of it. That they would take all that made Piltover glorious and seek to apply it across the empire. But Heimerdinger wouldn’t care to hear it. Despite their approach, they were well past the point where mere words could divert their course.
His own position was being challenged amongst the army by those that mistook good sense and caution as cowardice. They would not accept another lengthy delay. It was a challenge that he did not fear, but he did worry about the effect such a delay would have on the cohesion of his army.
“Yes,” Jericho replied with a small nod. Heimerdinger looked up at him like he couldn’t believe that he came right out and said it. Then a wane smile crossed the Yordle’s face, seemingly hearing what went unsaid. “But you three did not come out here in the hopes that you could avert what is coming with words. No more than I did with the hope that I could convince you to surrender.”
It was Mel who squared her shoulders, lifting her chin with a defiant tilt. “The Hexgate,” she began. “That is what you are after, is it not?” She searched his expression for a hint of an answer, and he gave her a deliberate rise of an eyebrow. “A proprietary technology of Piltover… but one that we are willing to part with in the name of peace.”
Interesting how she presented the offer when she was the one who desired to fight against her homeland. Jericho’s gaze flickered to Cassandra, who watched him silently to gauge his reaction.
“I am afraid that such an offer is not enough at this juncture,” Jericho replied gently. “Had it come months earlier, then perhaps it would have been. However, the Grand General has expanded his plans. Piltover has long since served as the gateway to Shurima. As such, for further conquests, be they during his reign or his successors’, the occupation of Piltover has been deemed of crucial strategic interest. With or without the Hexgates.”
It was why they’d had spies in Piltover in the first place. Sooner or later, be it a decade from now or a century, Noxus would look to expand into the southern continent properly. And Piltover sat on the only bridge between it and Valoran. Something that made it a perfectly placed merchant hub… as well as a city of strategic importance.
“I suppose that’s that, then,” Mel decided, her tone ambivalent. A contrast to what he knew of her. She was clever. Soft spoken. One who preferred words over actions. For her to so easily give up… that confirmed his suspicion that Piltover had something up its sleeve. But, whatever it was, it would seem that both Cassandra and Heimerdinger were ignorant of what it might be from the way their expressions twisted.
‘Interesting.’
“I suppose it is,” Jericho replied before the other two could recover. “Come what may, I do hope that once more we can all sit at a table again.” Meaning that they all lived.
“As Noxians,” Cassandra rebuked with distaste, her lips pressing into a thin line. She seemed to realize that peace wasn’t ever truly an option. Either they won the battles to come… or they didn’t, and they joined the empire. There existed nothing between those extremes.
“Of course,” Jericho agreed before he inclined his head to Mel. “Please, give my regards to your mother. It has been some years since we last met, but I recall her fondly.” Mel didn’t react, but that in itself was a reaction.
But, with nothing left to say, Jericho walked away from the talks, and the Piltovan delegation did the same.
So began the gentle momentum of an invasion. The camp was spread out and decentralized with safeguards put up in case of a night attack. Transport ships were brought down the coast for a naval invasion, while another force would attack the outer city that was on their side of the river that cleaved the continents in two. Securing the upper city was paramount, but based on the intelligence he’d received, the foundations of the Hexgate were in the Undercity.
The agents they had in the city would be preparing to undertake their tasks to help pave the way for the invasion force. Some would succeed, others would fail, and some wouldn't even try. Such was the nature of things in warfare.
They prepared all the same. Weapons were sharpened, armor maintained, battle plans were reviewed to ensure that all commanders and squad leaders understood what the objective was and how to best proceed should the original plan prove untenable. Piltover was much the same. The city of lights cast itself in darkness, save for the spotlights that swerved back and forth to prevent a sneak attack. They covered themselves in shadows, that way they could hide the dagger they intended to plant in their hearts.
Jericho didn't sleep once the sun began to drift down and plunged beneath the horizon. He remained in his tent, one that was unadorned and no grander than any that his men used, save for the fact he didn't have to share it. Sentries remained awake, their hands on a signal for something that they all knew was coming.
Then the warning came with a high pitched blow of a horn.
Jericho stood before the first blow ended, striding out of his tent and looking up just in time to see blood red lasers flash in the night sky and rain down upon the camp below. Tents were ignited on impact, sending up sparks and smoke, while the occupants emerged from it with their belongings packed in bags. Bucket chains emerged to fight the fire while others rushed into formation to ward off a potential ground attack.
He moved through the camp with a sense of purpose, watching as the airship revealed itself in flashes of light that rained down from above. The ship fit the dimensions that he was told to expect. Though, when the ground trembled and an explosion illuminated the camp for a long few seconds, that was an unpleasant surprise. Yet, he was undeterred, continuing to walk through the frenzied camp towards his answer to the airships.
Their reveal a month ago had prompted him to slow his advance in search of a solution to the aerial warships. It had similarly given Piltover time to recover, of course, which was the intent behind the move, but a single month in war was nothing. It seemed like a worthwhile risk as he arrived at an outcropping that overlooked the camp and the illusionary magic weaved by one of his mages faded away to reveal six small gliders and six men and women, Riven amongst them.
“Destroy it if you must, but capture it if you can,” Jericho ordered, his tone flat. “They have two, but only one seems to be in the air. The other could be in reserve, or it could be laying in wait to counter you. Be careful.”
The squad snapped off perfect salutes and Jericho knew he had chosen well on who to trust dealing with the airship. Two mages stepped forward while the squad mounted the gliders. One was a gravity mage, one of the few there were, while the other was an air mage. The unique combination of their magics allowed each glider to be flung directly up until they were above even the airship so they could glide down overhead. After all, those in control of the sky rarely had cause to look up.
Jericho clenched his jaw, seeing an immediate reaction once the first of the gliders flew onto the airship. Flashes of lasers gave him snippets of a fight -- of Riven and her glowing green and black blade hacking her way through the gunners onboard. Those on the airship seemed unprepared for close quarters combat, but it was impossible to tell how well the battle was really going from afar. Only that the airship was no longer strafing them from above and dismantling his army one group at a time.
The guns stopped shooting one by one before the battle went indoors. For a moment, Jericho let himself hope that the operation had gone well, but that hope died when there was an explosion of green fire that tore through the flying vehicle's hull. The airship shuddered violently, listing to the side as it lost altitude. His hands clenched into fists, waiting for a sign that his soldiers were able to get out.
He didn't see them. Not until the airship slammed into the rocks below and exploded in a flash of light that was almost blinding. Jericho raised a hand up to shield his eyes, but he didn't close them -- squinting against the light and the strange mushroom shaped fireball the airship left behind, he saw five gliders flying away from the explosion.
Jericho clenched his jaw hard enough until his teeth hurt, but blew out a breath of relief all the same.
First blood went to Piltover.
Come morning… Noxus would have its revenge.