"Hold on, Swain—let me ask you something."
Logan looked at Swain with open suspicion and pointed at his own face. "You're telling me you want an outsider to help you rescue Noxus's future top general? No—why would I care whether the Hand of Noxus lives or dies?"
Swain's eyes narrowed for the briefest moment at Logan's words, then returned to normal. Calmly, he lifted his teacup. His expression stayed composed, but inside, his thoughts churned with a sharp jolt of alarm.
So Logan really did gain the ability to see the future in that mysterious world.
Because what Logan had just said—Swain had never even mentioned it to Draven, the person he trusted most. This was the kind of plan where hesitation meant death. The rule of three—the Trifarix—meant that any single seat within it was something countless Noxian nobles and warlords would crack their skulls open fighting to seize.
Swain's original intent had been simple: once Darius returned to Noxus, Swain would hold him up as the living example of a commoner rising through merit, and use his story to ignite the hearts of the people.
At that point, Darius would become the symbol of Noxus's strength and military authority—not because he was richer than anyone else, not because of some noble bloodline, not even purely because he was more fearsome than every rival, but because he happened to be a commoner… and because his loyalty to Noxus was absolute.
That was why Swain had chosen him.
But then came the real problem.
If Swain spoke those words out loud, would anyone accept it?
"He's loyal, so you picked him?"
Then others would shout back, "I can be loyal too! I can follow orders too!"
That was exactly why Swain had planned to cut through everything like a blade—complete the entire move in a single stroke, so fast that no one could find a seam to wedge their hands into and twist. But now Logan had dragged it into the open.
Heh. Dodging the question back then with jokes… but slipping up now?
Logan kept talking, unaware that Swain, in this very moment, had quietly made a decision in his heart:
Noxus truly could not afford to make an enemy of the Twin Cities—no, to be precise, it could not afford to make an enemy of Logan.
A man backed by a powerful god—two gods, even—who was strong enough on his own, and who also possessed the ability to foresee the future… was that someone you could "test" or "provoke"?
Swain sipped his floral tea, listening to Logan's words.
"Darius will run back on his own in a while. It's not like he needs my help," Logan said.
Swain smiled faintly, set his cup down, and replied, "But we need to bring LeBlanc over to our side soon, don't we? Logan—within my plan, Darius is a crucial link."
He continued evenly, "It was your sudden appearance—your arrival in Noxus—that introduced variables into my arrangements. Of course, I'm not asking you to take responsibility for that. LeBlanc inviting you was genuinely unexpected; it exceeded my forecasts. Blaming you would be unreasonable."
Swain's gaze held steady. "But you want the forging method for rune steel. So I think it's perfectly fitting for you to handle this matter. Don't you agree?"
Logan shut his mouth. He listened, then drained the rest of his tea in one go. With his thumb, he wiped the moisture from the corner of his lips and asked, "Where is he now?"
"He's currently escaping the Winter's Claw's pursuit," Swain answered.
Logan's eyes sharpened. "You know how strong Sejuani is, right?"
Swain blinked once. "Of course. But Darius has never met Sejuani. The strength of the Freljordians is far beyond what we imagined. He followed Boram Darkwill's command and attacked the northern front. His force was wiped out by the Winter's Claw, and he became a prisoner."
Swain's voice remained calm. "Even so, he never encountered Sejuani."
He added, "What Darius ran into was merely one branch of the Winter's Claw."
Logan stared at him, speechless.
This was different from talking to anyone else. Facing Swain, Logan didn't need to pretend to be cryptic—Swain already knew far too much. In Runeterra, he was nearly "all-seeing." Karma, who carried the title of prophet, ought to hand the word "prophet" over to Swain and stop embarrassing herself.
"Don't play dumb, Swain. That's not what I'm asking," Logan said flatly. "I mean you definitely know what stands behind Sejuani."
"A god," Swain replied, smiling as if it were trivial. "But Zaun also has a god's protection, doesn't it?"
After learning what happened to Darius, Swain had not sent anyone to rescue him—because Swain understood one simple truth: if he threw his people into the northern front, then every last one of them would die there. One after another. None would come back.
But Logan was different. Logan's battle against Nagakabouros had already proven what kind of man he was.
"That's Volibear!" Logan's voice jumped in volume. "You want Janna to fight Volibear?!"
Silco and the others, seated nearby, showed a flicker of surprise.
They didn't know who Volibear was—but they could hear it in Logan's voice: the weight he put on that name, the seriousness with which he regarded that god.
Swain's tone stayed unhurried, almost pointed. "Isn't there another god supporting you as well?"
He looked at Logan and continued, "Besides, I already told you: Darius has never met Sejuani. In the Winter's Claw's eyes, he's an insignificant prisoner of war. He isn't important enough to meet the Winter's Claw's leader."
Swain's smile didn't change. "If you go to the northern front to rescue Darius, you won't encounter Volibear—and you likely won't even run into Sejuani."
"So what, exactly, are you worrying about?"
Logan fell silent, calculating whether it was truly feasible.
Going to the Freljord…
Truthfully, Logan's original plan did include taking Jinx to the Freljord at some point. But that was supposed to be a trip to enjoy snow, to see glaciers, to do something reckless and fun—not to haul a mission up there to rescue a middle-aged wall of muscle.
And yet the other side of the scale was obvious: if doing this earned him the rune steel forging process, and also let him build a better relationship with Noxus, then it really wasn't a losing deal.
While Logan weighed it, Swain suddenly added, "Besides… didn't you already want to take Jinx to the Freljord?"
At those words, Silco's eyes shifted to Logan, a thin edge of scrutiny in his gaze.
Ionia wasn't enough—now he wanted to take Jinx to the Freljord too?
But Silco didn't question Logan at this moment. Instead, he turned to Swain and said coldly, "You've been investigating us?"
Swain tapped his temple lightly. "It's my ability. And is it not normal that I would investigate you? Just as you sent spies into Noxus."
Silco went quiet.
From Swain's behavior and that one sentence, it was practically a direct statement: Swain knew the identities of every spy the Twin Cities had planted in Noxus.
In Swain's presence, Noxus held no secrets. Other places might be shielded by powerful existences that prevented Swain from probing too deeply—but in his own "backyard," Swain knew everything.
Silco's silence and icy stare made the atmosphere tighten, the earlier ease turning sharp.
Then a sudden, bright, almost childlike voice shattered the tension.
Jinx came trudging over toward Logan, both hands hooked into the straps of a travel bag. The bag was stuffed so full it bulged; from a split seam near the side, several books were visible. She dragged it with effort, her big eyes shining. Her thick blue hair was still damp, and her cheeks and forehead were flushed red as she called out loudly, "Logan, I'm hungry!"
Logan turned and saw her like that—then saw the bag, swollen like it was packed with bricks. His mouth twitched.
Silco did the same. He simply pretended he hadn't seen the bag at all, and he didn't look at Swain either.
But when Logan turned back, he saw that Swain—Swain, who had been calm since the moment he appeared, as if nothing could ever ruffle him—had finally shown a crack.
A real emotional ripple.
Swain's mouth twitched too, just like Logan's.
That bag…
It was full of his books, wasn't it?
How did this girl manage to do it—right in front of him—so brazenly stuffing his books into her own bag, then marching right up like she'd done nothing wrong?
People always said Noxians were bandits. Savages.
But right now, Swain couldn't help thinking that Jinx was the real bandit here. The real savage.
"Logan," Jinx shouted again, "I'm hungry!"
While Logan and Swain had been talking, Jinx had been "busy" for quite a while. Reading in the library?
Please. How many books could she possibly read like that?
If she liked them, she was taking them.
If Jinx had laid eyes on it, then it belonged to Jinx.
Jinx had always been someone with very few moral restraints, someone who did whatever she pleased. Even now, she was still a little maniac.
She wasn't going to do things the "proper" way.
Because that wouldn't be cool.
"You—" Swain looked toward Logan, about to tell him to rein her in.
But Logan suddenly grinned at Swain and said, "Let's eat first, Swain. Eat first."
"We can talk while we eat."
"That's mine—"
"Is there meat?" Silco cut in out of nowhere, interrupting Swain's protest.
Swain looked at Silco, then Logan—and suddenly laughed.
In those two, he saw Draven's shadow.
And honestly… perhaps because of Draven, Swain found he couldn't even bring himself to dislike this kind of shameless, roguish behavior.
He pressed a hand to his forehead and said, "Fine. We'll talk while we eat. I'll have them prepare the food."
"Don't," Logan said quickly, stopping him.
Swain looked at him.
Logan continued, "Your Noxian food is terrible. Even if you have the best ingredients in the world, you'll still cook them into something awful. I already experienced it at the banquet."
He leaned back slightly. "Let me handle this meal, Swain. Have them bring ingredients. I'll make something that actually fits the moment."
Swain narrowed his eyes. He couldn't understand why Logan suddenly wanted to cook, but he didn't refuse.
He didn't hate it, so he rang the bell on his desk. Soon, an attendant entered, and Swain told Logan to list what he needed.
Dozens of minutes later—
The study was filled with the fragrance of food. In the center of the room, on a red carpet, Swain, Logan, Jinx, Silco, Mel, Jayce, Sevika, and the others sat in a circle around a compact stove.
It was a Hextech heating stove—made by Jinx. After the trip to Ionia, she had built a portable Hextech field cooker for outdoor meals.
Three stoves were stacked together, and above them hung a large pot. The pot hovered in place above the heat. The reason it could hover was Swain's demonic power.
Faintly, several crimson threads of energy could be seen rising from the floor, touching the bottom of the pot and supporting it in the air.
Inside, the broth boiled furiously—a rolling red, shimmering with oil. Thin-sliced meat and vegetables churned and surfaced through the steam.
Swain had already resorted to his demonic power. He didn't know how to use utensils properly for this kind of cooking, and while it wouldn't be difficult for him to thrust his bare hand into boiling liquid, he obviously wasn't going to do that.
Everyone was picking food from the same pot. If he reached in and rummaged around with his hand, what would that look like?
So Swain simply shaped his left arm's demonic energy into crimson threads and used them to coil around slices of meat.
He lifted them out, placed them into his bowl, mixed in dipping sauce, and ate with genuine enjoyment.
Swain had never rejected appetite. It was human instinct.
Jinx speared two slices of beef, dipped them into her sauce bowl, and then immediately went after more meat.
She had to.
Logan, Swain, and Jayce ate like bottomless pits.
And Sevika, that big brute of a woman, could eat like a monster too!
So Jinx wasn't doing the "cook one, eat one" thing. She was stacking her bowl like a hamster hoarding, then devouring it in a burst before going back in for more.
At this point, Logan didn't even bother complaining anymore.
He'd long since gotten used to Jinxie's eating habits.
The only people still eating with anything resembling elegance were Silco and Mel.
"This way of eating… it resembles a kind of boiled meal, but it's not quite the same," Swain said softly.
"This is called a Zaun-style chili pot," Logan replied.
As he spoke, he snatched a slice of beef right out of Swain's grasp.
Swain paused for a beat. He didn't care. He simply swapped to another piece, wrapped it with demonic threads, and dropped it into his bowl with sauce.
"So," Swain asked, "have you decided how you'll do it?"
"Yeah," Logan said around a mouthful of meat. "Deal's done. I'll go to the Freljord. While I'm gone, Jayce will stay in Noxus and learn the rune steel process."
Jayce heard his name and started to speak—only for Mel to jab him sharply in the side.
Jayce immediately shut his mouth.
Mel wasn't going to hurt him.
"Good," Swain said. "Then what about LeBlanc? How do you plan to invite her to join us?"
"That's easy," Logan replied. "Tomorrow I'll take a walk down the street once. There's an eighty percent chance LeBlanc comes to me on her own."
Swain used demonic power to grip Noxus—yet LeBlanc, in her own way, was also pulling strings from the shadows with magic.
As for the plan?
Fishing.
That was all it was.
A fishing plan.
At the same time, somewhere within the Immortal Bastion…
A purple-haired woman suddenly felt her nose itch. She rubbed the bridge of her straight, upturned nose, confusion flashing through her eyes.
"?"
"Why do I suddenly have a bad feeling…?"
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