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Ch. 4
Know Your Enemy
Another sprint up the large steps, and a bound over to a short wall lands him into cover. He peeks from behind the continuing flight of stairs, spotting two sentinels chatting the boredom of a late shift away.
Only two guards? That can't be right… Surely the Institute takes its security more seriously. Or perhaps, the champions that dwell within their walls are their security, out of some agreement. Either that, or not many people are crazy enough to sneak into a building of powerful mages that have bent even the most ferocious creatures to their will.
An opening presents itself, and the deft swordsman takes it, racing up the flat railing of the stairs. After summiting countless steps, he arrives at the grand entrance. Lavish stone and marble cover the floor and pillars in an ornate gloss, with luminescent bands of light decorating the etched patterns that border the entirety of the space. Footsteps echo just ahead. The nimble swordsman lunges for a column, staying out of sight. Moving swiftly and carefully, he infiltrates deeper and deeper into the structure.
"These must all be Summoners…" Ephrial thinks to himself, noting that everyone he has passed by is wearing the same purple robe.
He comes across a group of three members of the arcane foundation, two of them instructing one that appears to be new, given the confused look on his face. Keeping close to the shadows, he listens in.
"Oh, before I forget, you'll also want to learn a little about who you'll be operating with. You can brush up on your champions in the library. The stairs are across the mess hall," one of the hooded figures points out before departing from the newbie alongside the other.
"Great. Th-thanks," a nervous voice waves the two off. "Phew…this place is massive. I'm going to get lost a few times for certai—!" he falters, falling to the floor with a thud.
"Sorry. I'm going to need to borrow this," the infiltrator says to the unconscious magician as he drags him out of sight.
Ephrial steps out into the wide halls once more, shrouded in the simple, purple garment used by the Institute's denizens. Following the previous Summoner's direction, he heads toward the stairs.
His pursuit leads him to a quiet room crowded in bookshelves and tables covered in various scrolls. Fortunately, no one else is around at this late hour, and Ephrial helps himself to the wellspring of knowledge, reading the basic information on each of the League's champions. He suspects the more detailed reports are located within a far more secure place, but these will have to do. After having already spectated several battles, the inclusion of a quick background check, list of known capabilities, and statement of allegiance or aspiration becomes more than enough for him.
The hours roll by as the mercenary-knight educates himself on the League's affiliations, as well as the men and women who run it. Some are rather straightforward, and others remain shrouded in mystery, even to the Institute itself. Still, every bit helps when preparing to face threats no one could have imagined existed before witnessing it with their own eyes. In this way, he'll have more preparation to fight than most who have walked through the Summoner's Rift for their first time.
He comes across the final two sections of the database, sorted by nation. The alphabetical order in which the files were once held is slightly askew due to common laziness. Unfastening the one labeled for 'Noxus', he gathers inside information on the city-state's roster, studying each page attentively, and arming himself with every ounce of knowledge to be had. With only several more to go through, he picks up the next one, labeled with a familiar name. The sleuthing adventurer opens the parchment and reads through the summarization of the subject's past, just like all the others.
A section on her track record has him thinking they might have mixed another person's papers with those in this one, reading on the part she played in the bloodbath that was the invasion of Ionia. With the abruptness of an incomplete timeline, it jumps to her joining the League, noting that her endeavor is to stop the war and bloodshed Noxus has imposed.
The 'Spirit of Noxus', who had obeyed orders of slaughter without question or hesitation, now seeks to redeem herself for her violent ways. Her allegiance is still listed as Noxus, but her adversaries are almost strictly from the same nation. A devoted soldier turning against her own beloved nation… There is only one reason such a notable warrior would do such a thing: The nation is under attack from the inside, and she seeks to preserve it. Speculation, perhaps, but based on a personal witness to the change in the Noxian way. Having lived there himself underneath the flawed creed of a hypocritical city-state, he finds himself all too acquainted with how the strings of corruption are played. A rather specific conjecture, but the only possible conclusion that holds. After all, he too was a victim of the wolves that lie within the gates of Noxus.
With due care, Ephrial closes the parchment. He had not planned on entering the League for political means, much less to test his own might. Up to this point, his interest has lied only with a possible way to find his sister's murderer. However, with inspiration by the infamous Exile's turnaround, perhaps maybe…just maybe…they could succeed in ending the Noxian oppression and imperialism. The League is where even one voice, if strong enough to act on it, can make a difference. In this way, although far too late for it to carry its entire original meaning, he could still form a place where his sister could have lived in peace. A place where she deserved to live in.
His night of research is almost over. With only one last pile of champion files to read through, a fingerless glove reaches for the bundle of parchment. Uncovered from the mountain of paper preceding it, the name of the final city-state flickers in the candlelight:
'Zaun.'