The Next Day, Lightshield Bulwark Outpost
"Your Highness, I will make sure the message reaches home."
General Laurent bowed solemnly to Prince Jarvan before mounting a Silverwing behind his escort knight.
"Ow!"
With a thunderous cry, the four silverwings took to the skies, their wings slicing through the wind as they soared toward Demacia.
Jarvan watched the general disappear into the clouds, concern flickering in his eyes.
But it was quickly replaced with resolve.
He turned to the soldiers gathered behind him and shouted:
"Soldiers! We march to the Noxian arena. Are you afraid?"
"DEMACIA!!"
The shout echoed in unison—strong, unwavering. Faces hardened with determination.
These were the finest warriors of Demacia, handpicked from every legion.
The pride of the capital. Each one is ready to lay down their life.
"Move out!"
Jarvan hefted his halberd and led the march toward the arena.
Yesterday, Xin Zhao had been insulted by a Trifarian officer.
Today, the Lightshield Bulwark would meet the Trifarian Legion in battle.
No matter the outcome, one thing was certain:
'The Lightshield Bulwark must win.'
At the gates of the Immortal Bastion, a woman with dark, unbound wings stepped inside.
Her bare feet touched the cold stone without hesitation.
Her black hair flowed like a waterfall down her back, lips curled faintly in a knowing smile as she surveyed her surroundings with quiet approval.
As the Lightshield soldiers passed, led by Jarvan, her gaze lingered.
Interest sparked in her eyes. She followed them without a word.
High above in the floating castle, two figures sensed something shift.
Ryan nodded at Syndra before vanishing.
In the Mage Tower's laboratory, the test bench was empty.
Kayle, who had been confined there, was gone.
Syndra, watching Ryan disappear, let the brief softness in her expression fade.
The cold detachment returned.
She turned away and walked toward the library at the tower's peak.
Lately, only magic and reading held her interest.
Soon, whispers spread through Noxus:
"I heard the Trifarian Legion is clashing with the Lightshield Bulwark?"
"The Lightshield, what?"
"Demacia's elite guard—the ones who protect the capital. Looks like they're marching into Noxus under their prince's banner."
"Hah! They say every one of them is the best from other units. Hope they put on a good show."
The arena filled quickly. Spectators buzzed with excitement, curious about the incoming Demacians. Most doubted their victory but admired their boldness.
Not far from the arena, Ryan appeared before the black-winged woman from earlier.
He smiled slightly at her.
"Welcome back to the Immortal Bastion, Councilor Morgana."
She bowed her head, her tone respectful.
"Your Majesty. Thank you for the welcome. It seems something... significant is happening today."
"A challenge from Demacia," Ryan said calmly.
"If you'd like to witness the might of the Trifarian Legion, I'd be honored to accompany you."
"It would be my pleasure," Morgana replied, lips curving into a smile.
"The justice of Noxus suits me. And as you said, this is the perfect stage."
She had been to Noxus before, but this time, it felt different.
This time, she came not as an outsider, but with the intent to understand it… Perhaps even join it.
Compared to the increasingly rigid and extreme Demacia, Noxus felt alive.
Energetic. Full of belief.
"I truly want to see the strength of Noxus' finest," Morgana said with a soft chuckle.
"What kind of duel is it today? Something like the old days?"
After centuries in Demacia, she knew the long-standing history of duels between the two nations.
Ryan gave a faint smile, shaking his head.
"It was originally arranged as a ring match—but since you and I are both attending, how about we raise the stakes? A full-scale skirmish—one hundred fighters on each side."
"A hundred-on-a-hundred?" Morgana arched an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.
"This arena doesn't seem large enough for that."
"Then we'll make it large enough."
"Very well. I look forward to it."
Side by side, they walked at a calm pace toward the arena.
Morgana kept half a step behind, her bare feet silent on the stone as they made their way to the high platform overlooking the battlefield.
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Center of the Arena
The Trifarian Legion stood in perfect formation, clad in black and crimson armor.
At the front stood Xin Zhao, eyes closed, his spear in hand.
Suddenly, his eyes snapped open, fixed on the gate across the arena.
Steady marching echoed through the tunnel as Prince Jarvan emerged, leading the Lightshield Bulwark.
Their golden armor gleamed under the arena's harsh light.
Hundred warriors from both sides now filled the arena, making the space feel tight, almost claustrophobic from the sheer presence.
"Hoo! Hoo! Noxus!"
The crowd erupted in a powerful chant, rhythmic and forceful. It wasn't mockery—it was welcome.
Jarvan stepped onto the battlefield, letting the roar of the Noxian crowd wash over him.
There was no fear in his heart—only pride and fire. His soldiers felt the same.
Even surrounded by enemies, they stood tall.
Then, he raised his voice, sharp and proud.
"DEMACIA!"
"DEMACIA!!" the soldiers behind him echoed, their unified cry cutting through the audience's chants.
The Lightshield Bulwark had announced itself.
Jarvan's gaze shifted to the high platform.
He spotted Xin Zhao ahead, but then raised his head to meet the eyes of the man seated above them.
"General Xin Zhao," he called, his voice steady.
"And… Draven, the Imperial Executioner."
There was a pause as Jarvan squared his shoulders and spoke with unshakable conviction:
"Today, by the rules of your Noxian traditions, Demacia accepts your challenge. Even if it is a battle to the death… we stand ready, in pursuit of glory."
Draven leaned forward, fingers tightening on the arms of his seat.
He scowled—not at Jarvan's bravery, but at the fact that the Demacian prince had just seized the momentum.
This was supposed to be his arena. His rules.
But it seemed Swain had concerns about Draven handling the ceremonial opening.
He decided to hold him back for later rounds.
For now, Xin Zhao alone would take the lead.
Xin Zhao stepped forward, about to speak—but suddenly, as if hearing something in the distance, his expression shifted. He straightened, his tone becoming formal.
"In this hundred-man duel, as envoys from Demacia, you will be granted magical protection. A single fatal blow will be shielded," he declared loudly.
"Presumably, those of the Lightshield Bulwark will uphold their honor and not bring shame upon themselves."
He stood tall, spear resting across his back.
Jarvan understood what he meant. This was Noxian territory.
They had the mages, the resources.
And he had no illusions about what magic could do.
But pride still burned in him.
They were Demacia's strongest warriors. It wasn't a true victory if they couldn't win here, even protected by magic.
The Lightshield Bulwark would not be underestimated.
"Agreed," Jarvan replied firmly.
Xin Zhao didn't elaborate. He nodded and gripped his spear.
"Noxus honors challengers," he said, glancing at the packed arena.
"Though... it does seem we're running out of space."
Jarvan stood tall, eyes locked with Xin Zhao.
"That's about to change."
Xin Zhao's gaze shifted toward the high platform.
"Indeed," he said, his voice hinting at something deeper.
"It's changing now."
Jarvan followed his line of sight.
Two figures now stood at the platform's edge: Ryan and Morgana.
Ryan raised a hand, but Morgana stepped forward before he could act, smiling faintly.
"Your Excellency, Council President, allow me to take the lead."
She lifted her hand.
Black energy erupted from her palm, pouring into the ground like liquid shadow.
The arena trembled. A deep, resonating rumble filled the air.
Even seasoned warriors on both sides—the Trifarian Legion and the Lightshield Bulwark—struggled to keep their balance.
Shielded by Morgana's magic, only the audience felt the quake without danger.
Jarvan's eyes widened.
He could feel the power.
Magic—not just any magic, but ancient, overwhelming. He looked again at the platform.
Morgana… and Ryan.
So that's what this was.
The ground beneath him lifted. He and his soldiers were rising.
"The arena…" he muttered.
"It's… floating?"
A rift split the center of the battlefield, stone and soil rising from below to fill the gap, expanding the space.
First, the middle of the arena rose, then the stands. What had been a crowded battleground was now vast.
The entire structure surged upward—fifty, sixty, seventy meters—until it hovered a hundred meters in the air, suspended high above the Immortal Bastion.
Only the floating castle itself stood higher.
The base of the arena spread outward.
Earth and stone formed stairways from the four corners—east, west, north, and south—connecting the hovering arena to the city below.
In mere moments, it was complete.
A massive, skyborne coliseum.