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Chapter 11

Noxian Diplomacy

A long day's walk has drained the sun, leaving the moon to take its place. Stars glitter above, and crickets chirp loudly. It is a lengthy way to the next village, and the grassy stretch of land now belongs to the creatures of Valoran.

In the distance, a silhouette emerges, speeding Ephrial's way. He squints his eyes, focusing on the form clouded in the cover of night. It grows closer, the frame becoming more distinct.

"A horse…but no rider," he examines.

The stallion keeps a straight line, charging at full-speed. With plenty of experience in the wilderness, the swordsman knows a spooked animal when he sees one. As it gallops closer, he notices the loose reins fluttering with the horse's movements, marking it as a tamed steed.

Ephrial lowers his stance and moves to a neighboring bush, crouching behind its leafy cover. He waits as the speeding mount gets closer, preparing himself to intercept the four-legged transportation. As the horse tramples by, the mercenary-knight leaps from its flank, grabbing hold of the saddle, and using the momentum of the horse to swing his leg over as it pulls him with it.

"Yep…one of Noxus'…" he strains a murmur to himself, enduring the act of being taken for a rough ride by a very sturdy horse, as it attempts to buck him off.

Using the horn of the saddle, he pulls himself forward and manages to fix himself into the seat on the mount. A gloved hand reaches for the reins and pulls back. The hulking purebred arches with it, yet still refuses to slow its pace.

"Alright, you…I've no intentions of backtracking the ground I've already covered…" Ephrial stretches forward, sacrificing stability for reach.

Carefully maintaining his balance, he leans himself over the flowing mane of the animal, and rests his torso on its neck. Aiming for a more assertive measure, he places his hands over the horse's eyes, blinding its view. His assertive endeavor yields instant results, and the panicked creature tears up the ground beneath it as it grinds to a halt with a loud whinny.

Without proper bracing, Ephrial is tossed forward, off of the steed's back, and tumbles along the ground. Long-ingrained reflexes roll with the motion, but only does so much with the unorthodox angle from which he hit the ground. Foliage flings into the air until he flops to a stop. The staggering mercenary recovers to his feet, shaking off the disorientation. The horse bucks in place at first, but gradually winds down, associating the calm human presence with lack of danger.

"Couldn't make it easy, could you?" Ephrial reproaches the stallion a funny look.

A Noxian purebred replies with a light snort, a hint of visible steam puffing out of its large nostrils.

The swordsman pats the dust and loose blades of grass off of himself as he steps toward the horse. "Okay…we'll pretend that didn't happen," brushing a large leaf off of his head. "Now, let's see what sent you, a Noxian warhorse, running away."

He places his foot on a stirrup and climbs the saddle, settling in the proper way, and taking the reins in his firm grip. Pulling to the side, he steers the stallion toward the direction it had come. With a whip of the leather straps, and an encouraging heel to the sides, the two speed onward.

Ephrial's eyes remain wary for any signs of distress as he rides forward. The wind tosses his organized mess of hair around, and hooves clad in steel leave their mark on the ground below. A short distance past the point the knight had caught his ride, and he notices a plume of smoke rising above the horizon ahead. He leans forward, streamlining himself with the horse's frame, and gives one more heel to speed up.

Sounds of a skirmish begin arising, and a sight of a caravan troop appears. A rampaging flock of raptors assault struggling men, swarming them on all sides, armed with large talons and piercing beaks. A defensive ring has been formed around the remains of the broken vehicle, part of it burning from a stray lantern in the hands of a slain military escort.

The journeying swordsman blazes through the circle of feral beasts, forcing the stallion on course. He draws his blade, sweeping it through the feathered foes, letting the speed of his transport do most of the work as he breaks the enemy line.

Ephrial drops off the mount, leaving it to its own devices, and positions himself alongside the defending men and women of a Noxian company. Cerulean eyes quickly scan the situation, taking account of the remaining combatants and their weapons in hand.

Twelve people remain, only three of them are armed escorts, and the rest of them are civilians that deal with trade. This is clearly a simple merchant expedition gone wrong, only prepared to fight simple bandits, rather than the monsters that dominate the night. Sometimes traveling under the cover of nocturne hours holds the advantage of being unseen by rings of highwaymen, but at the risk of running into more primal threats. This scene, however, is simply unprecedented.

"Pull the line in! Let the caravan act as a wall!" Ephrial barks, pointing at those closest to the flaming debris.

"Who the hell are you!?" an armored guard scowls beneath the shade of a speared raptor.

Ephrial lashes his blade out in front of them, launching a bolt of fire toward a group of four fiends. It collides with the one in the center, a direct hit, blasting with a ring of swirling flames. The clustered creatures close to the discharge are caught in its fervor, getting knocked down with concussive force. Another raptor leaps out from the flank, in a surprise attack from above. The collected swordsman counters with a solid left hook to its beak, knocking it out, and saving his sword to pierce a sneaky addition, halting its attempt to sprint past their defense.

A disapproving scowl turns itself around, relaying orders to the traders and remaining escorts. "Bring in the line! Form with the caravan!"

The rallying survivors slowly backed themselves into a tighter circle, letting the broken vehicle serve as an obstruction to make up for lost numbers. Together, the men and women fight alongside each other, turning the tide with decisive instruction.

"Archers, position yourselves to the rear flank!" Ephrial sends them as reinforcements to the spears holding the back. "Shields, push forward!"

Ravenous, birdlike creatures screech as their numbers dwindle, weapons tearing away at their plumes and flesh. Bloody moments pass, and the remaining stragglers retreat back into the blanket of a nearby forest.

The traders catch their breaths around the littered ruins of their shipment, watching as the last part of a severed load burns away. A couple of them, most likely in charge of the expedition, begin taking inventory of what can be salvaged. The captain of the escort approaches the intervening mercenary-knight.

"That was a true display of the might of Noxus. Then again…you're not truly Noxian, are you?" a firm voice shows aggression.

The captain raises his weapon toward Ephrial, and his two men respond by surrounding the mercenary-knight.

"I see Noxian hospitality hasn't lost its signature touch."

"Silence, half-blood! I know who you are. Anyone with access to a crystal screen or a spinning wire knows your face now."

"Well then, I guess I don't have to tell you where to address the 'thank you' card to," the mercenary-knight sheathes his burning blade.

"Your kind doesn't belong on Noxus soil! That is, if any more of you remain hidden somewhere."

"Then why the hesitation?" Ephrial glares.

The two escorts exchange glances with each other, before turning their gaze to their commanding officer. He holds his silence, beaming at the swordsman with conflict in his eyes.

"…Very well. I'll explain it aloud for you," the half-blood continues. "The situation to where you owe your life to a half-Ionian stings you to the very bone; a shame that will not be taken lightly to your superiors. Even now, you're thinking you can kill me and fabricate a story of glory and honor, assuming you can cough up the coin to keep these traders quiet. Perhaps your military salary might cover it, or you can silence them with your blades, but there is still the manner of investigation as to why a rather large shipment did not reach its destination whole. A shipment under your supervision. That might cause officers to question your capability…and your rank. You'd only be trading one shame for another," Ephrial's unwavering eyes piercing into the mind of the perspiring soldier.

"I-!" he chokes out.

"It'll be tough to explain the litter of scorched birds, not to mention the group of trained Noxian soldiers, whose cause of death were not by a blade, but by fiend. Conflicting details that will have you constantly changing your story as to how you encountered a League's champion, all of whom have faced far worse than your lance, and managed to overpower him and a horde of raptors at the same time. No matter how you try, a messy situation will only become more messy as you use one lie to cover up another. Whether they make you a public example, or do so quietly in secret, the execution for your embarrassment is inevitable. If you think your military standing will save your neck with diplomacy, I encourage you to remember how the Hand of Noxus deals with such disgrace."

"Don't think—!"

"Yet, that brings us to the real problem at hand for you… How likely do you think you are to make it that far?"

"You…!" the man clenches in fury. He reluctantly lowers his spear and growls at those following his orders. "None of you saw anything but raptors here. Is that understood?"

The guards hesitantly lower their weapons and step away. They nod in acknowledgment of their captain, but with internal confliction. Word of Ephrial's past deeds have spread widely, as do many backgrounds of the League's champions. He isn't fond of Noxus, and the city-state even less so of him, yet, here they stand; an uncomfortable turn of events, forcing the soldiers to stay their arms.

The Blazing Swordsman turns around, resuming his path once again.

"…The two of you are the real disgraces to Noxus," the captain can't help but mutter.

Ephrial stops in his tracks, strongly suspecting the implication in his words. "…Which way?"

"Why would I tell you a—"

The mercenary-knight turns over his shoulder with a fiery stare.

"Into the woods!" he corrects himself, pointing toward the trees the raptors were last seen fleeing towards.

With a new course, the warrior glances at the Noxian stallion, and calls it over with a sharp whistle. The mount responds immediately, trotting over to his side, and allows him to climb aboard.

"I'll be borrowing him," Ephrial speaks to the irked soldier without turning his head.

He steers into the appointed direction, and a trader sheepishly approaches him from behind.

"So it really is you? The 'Blazing Newcomer' from the League?" clearly a fan of the widely-broadcasted spectacle. "A word to the wise…: if you're after her for what she did to your people, you might want to wait for a Judgement match…" hinting at the notion of irreversible death outside of the Fields of Justice.

The words itch in his mind. 'Your people…' His kind is long gone. Wiped out by the relentless pursuit of oppression, under a banner that claims "honor" in its campaigns. Noxus…Ionia…he has no genuine connection to call either people his own. It's just as Senior Summoner Lessa said in the Chamber of Judgement… By choosing to side himself with the Exile, he has severed any possible connections with Ionia. At least for now. Whatever changes that lie in wait can only be brought by following this path. It is the only one left for him with a possible destination.

"The League has kept justice waiting long enough," the horse begins moving forward.

"She's no damsel in distress, y'know!" the merchant shouts from behind.

With determination and fervor brewing in his eyes, Ephrial whips the reins and proceeds onward at full speed, leaving no doubt to slow him down.

"I'm counting on it."