Arcane: The Gods Want Me to Pick a Route-Chapter 135: Swain

Camille talked for a long time and covered a lot, but if Logan had to sum it up in one sentence—

Noxus was panicking.

And not just panicking—panicking and spiraling. Internal contradictions were piling up everywhere. Boram Darkwill’s incompetence was obvious to anyone with eyes. Anyone could see the old man had completely lost his mind.

In his obsession with living forever, Darkwill had ordered the entire empire to dig up some mythical "immortality cure," and that order just so happened to give certain nobles... ideas.

Originally, Darkwill didn’t care about a small city-state like Piltover at all. Noxus ruled countless city-states across Valoran, and in his later years, Darkwill probably didn’t even know how much profit Piltover brought to Noxus. At this point, he only had one thing in his sight: eternal life.

Blinded by the fear of death, he had no idea how many nobles and generals were quietly building massive fortunes in Piltover behind his back.

Of course, those nobles weren’t stupid enough to tell Darkwill how good Piltover really was. Because if Darkwill found out, how were they supposed to keep getting rich?

So right under Darkwill’s nose, they treated Piltover like their personal piggy bank. Whenever they needed money, they sent people over, reached into that fat sheep’s wool, and walked away with wealth ordinary people couldn’t even imagine.

But now Piltover had suddenly cut off trade unilaterally, refused to let their people enter—something like that was absolutely intolerable.

The problem was, if they openly sent troops and pressured Piltover, and Darkwill found out how rich that city-state truly was... once the secret blew up in their faces, they could easily imagine what kind of monster the tyrant would become.

But what if... they changed the angle?

If Darkwill was willing to believe anything and try anything for eternal life, then they could simply deceive him—make him abandon the hunt for a miracle potion and instead chase a technological way to extend his life.

So noble after noble flooded Darkwill’s desk with documents about the twin cities’ alchemy, about Hextech. They praised Piltover and Zaun’s technology until it sounded like magic made real, and it worked: Darkwill’s attention shifted from waging war in Ionia to fixing his eyes on Piltover.

Put plainly, these nobles weren’t afraid of Darkwill anymore. What they were doing now was taking advantage of the fact that the Grand General hadn’t fallen yet—and that Noxus still looked "stable"—to squeeze out one last haul of wealth.

The military aristocracy was preparing for the empire’s collapse: so when the fractures finally split open, they could seize territory quickly and become warlords with armies.

Because in the last few years, uprisings and rebellions in Noxus had been constant.

Everyone knew it.

This country was dying.

So what Camille brought back mattered—a lot.

And it made Logan think of something else. If... if Swain had truly died in Ionia—if Irelia hadn’t just shattered his kneecap but had taken his head clean off—would Noxus have turned into nothing more than a paragraph in Valoran’s history?

Because without Swain, Noxus was finished.

Right now, Noxus looked like a dynasty at the end of its lifespan: a ruler too incompetent to stand, factions below him that didn’t share a single heart, the empire’s "feed war with war" machine stalling out, the entire country swaying on the edge of collapse.

Noxus had more than a hundred warbands. The most elite among them, of course, was the Raedsel Guard—but in Camille’s words, nearly half of the warband leaders were already waiting for the empire to break, ready to bite off a chunk of flesh.

And among those factions was House Medarda—already forced off the stage because of Zaun.

Thinking about it now, Logan could see why Ambessa had come to Piltover. A huge part of it was her trying—behind everyone’s backs—to swallow Piltover early, seize wealth and weapons, and prepare for the day the empire shattered.

By that logic, Swain—someone who could grab Noxus by the throat and keep it from breaking apart—really was a gift dropped from the sky.

With a man like Swain, you could curse him ten thousand times, but a ruthless soldier who does what he does for his country... even as an enemy, you had to respect him.

His personal charisma was terrifying.

That was probably why so many people understood exactly what kind of nation Noxus was... and still liked it anyway. Because they believed that if someone like Swain led it, Noxus would actually become better.

Originally, tonight’s banquet was supposed to be a chance for the Councilors to relax and enjoy themselves. But after hearing Camille, who had the mood for dancing?

Silco and Vander immediately said they needed to seize the mountain behind Piltover as soon as possible and build New Zaun. Not even for people to live in right away—use it as the first defensive line.

On Piltover’s side, the Councilors were honestly scared. They’d bragged before—talked big about how Noxians weren’t that scary—but in reality, if Noxus truly marched on them, their first thought would be whether they should surrender.

Mel calmed them down. There were too many wolves and too little meat, and Noxus wasn’t united right now. Piltover didn’t need to worry about facing a full Noxian army—Mel believed it would probably be... only a few warbands.

If it was just a few warbands, the twin cities had a real chance to resist—especially if Logan and Vander stepped in.

And once Piltover’s Councilors remembered Logan and Vander’s strength, they relaxed a lot.

So, with Camille’s intelligence hanging over the room, the twin cities began discussing how to respond to Noxus.

Evening, the Immortal Bastion in Noxus—

As the heart of Noxus, that black fortress had a history stretching back more than a thousand years. In that place, there were only two colors you ever really saw.

Black, and red.

One symbolized Noxus’s cold cruelty. The other symbolized its iron-blooded brutality.

And right now, a figure hunched forward, moving with heavy difficulty, was making his way toward the Immortal Bastion’s Grand Library.

He leaned on a cane. He was missing an arm. White-streaked hair fell across a black coat. His face was gaunt, his nose sharp, and his eyes—hawk eyes—were hard with intelligence and discipline.

At the library entrance, soldiers in red armor and black helmets saw him and looked at him with deep respect... and a trace of helplessness.

When he reached them, the captain, Perin, stepped forward and raised his spear to block him.

"Sorry, General Jericho," Perin said quietly. "You’re forbidden from entering the library now."

"I’ve been stripped of my commission and demoted to a civilian," the man replied, lifting his gaze calmly to Perin. "But I believe I still have the right to enter the library."

"This library belongs to all sons and daughters of Noxus. Even civilians. Isn’t that true?"

His name was Swain.

Jericho Swain—a noble who had just faced a military tribunal, been expelled from the army, and reduced to a common citizen.

"It’s true," Perin said through gritted teeth. "But... these are General Roar’s orders."

Then, softer: "Please... don’t make this harder for me."

Swain pressed his lips together. He stood there, lowered his head for a moment—then raised it again.

"Then could I trouble you to bring a few books out for me?"

Perin drew a deep breath and nodded. "...Please wait."

Even if Swain had been demoted and now technically stood below him, Perin still treated him with respect.

Because the man in front of him had once been the great general trusted by countless soldiers.

Perin had been one of Swain’s soldiers. He knew Swain didn’t know his name and wouldn’t recognize him even if he stood right in front of him—but Perin had no resentment for that.

Because he knew what kind of man Swain was.

Grand General Darkwill never should have demoted this man just because the Ionian campaign failed. Noxus needed him—needed him before, needed him now, and would need him in the future.

It was Jericho who had made Darkwill’s rise so smooth. Jericho who had helped Noxus reach its brightest days. And if Jericho hadn’t uncovered the secret organization hiding inside Noxus—dragged them into the open and had them executed—Noxus would have faced even worse disasters.

And during that upheaval, Swain had personally executed his own parents, personally killed many of his own relatives. For the sake of Noxus, Swain had done far too much.

Perin was just a soldier, but even he believed Noxus had wronged Swain.

So when Swain made his request, Perin agreed without hesitation.

He wasn’t worried about being punished by General Roar, either—because someone would take the weight of it.

Draven—a man born a commoner who had risen to become a commander—would step in.

And Draven’s brother, Darius, who had vanished into the north, was a living symbol of courage and ferocity.

When Swain returned to Noxus and everyone mocked him and pushed him away, Draven stepped forward, publicly supported Swain, and kept him from starving.

That was also why Swain hadn’t been driven out of the Immortal Bastion. Otherwise, as a mere civilian, he had no right to live there.

The other soldiers didn’t stop Perin. They simply stared forward, pretending they hadn’t seen anything.

"What books do you need?" Perin asked.

"The seventh book on the first shelf, first row. The thirteenth book on the third shelf, fourth row..." Swain rattled off several more.

Each one was on a different shelf, in a different place, and the order was irregular.

Perin found it odd, but assumed Swain was just throwing out random numbers.

He went inside. When he returned, he was holding a heavy stack of books in his arms.

"Here, Mr. Jericho," Perin said, bringing them to Swain.

Swain nodded and awkwardly took them. He braced himself with his cane in his right hand, pinned the books against his body, lowered his head, and used his chin to keep the pile steady so it wouldn’t spill.

With one kneecap completely shattered, and one arm left behind in Ionia, Swain moved with brutal inconvenience.

He carried the books away like that—slow, clumsy, and worn down—each step dragging, but each step landing with a stubborn kind of force.

Watching his back, Perin’s expression shifted beneath his helmet. After a moment, he sighed quietly inside himself.

"What a waste..."

———

Night.

In a small room lit by an oil lamp, Swain used his teeth to bite down on a bandage, hoisting his missing left arm into a sling. With his right hand, he strapped an iron cuff onto the stump, and at the end of that cuff he tied a table fork in place with cloth.

He released the bandage from his teeth, tested the stump—now equipped with its crude utensil—and then leaned sideways.

He used his good right hand to turn pages. His left stump speared food from the plate. He ate dinner while reading.

The books were all Noxian chronicles, written by different authors, recording hundreds of years of Noxian history. Tonight, he was reading a history written by Vincent.

It covered one of Noxus’s darkest eras—what the empire looked like under Mordekaiser’s rule.

As Swain read, his brow tightened, and he murmured inwardly:

Still nothing.

No mention of the three-eyed raven.

No mention of the Black Rose.

This book didn’t have it.

Then, suddenly, Swain’s furrowed brow eased. His eyes sharpened.

He dipped his head, staring hard at a single line on the page.

It was a normal line—just Vincent’s opinion on that period of history—but Swain saw something else buried underneath.

He studied the sentence carefully, then began tapping the tabletop with his fingers.

A moment later, Swain found it.

A cipher.

When he’d been near death, Swain had seen things inside the eyes of the raven that landed on him—secrets no normal man could ever know. Because of that, he understood this encryption. He knew what it was hiding. He even knew how to seize control of the thing behind that hidden truth.

But what he needed now was how to find it.

His right index finger rubbed the edge of the page. Swain closed his eyes and thought.

A moment later, he opened them, emotion finally flickering across his face.

He wrote the decoded words onto paper. The line read:

In the dark, an undying flame burns—it is the eye of a demon. It hunts the souls of the dying and devours their secrets. Yes, I am prey... but you are too.

"Me too?" Swain murmured.

"No," he said softly. "I’m not."

His right hand crushed the paper into a tight ball. He opened his mouth, tore the paper with his teeth, and swallowed the pieces with his food.

That existence had once tried to devour Swain’s secrets and treat him as prey.

But Swain resisted it—and bit back, learning its secrets instead.

Now, many things finally connected.

He understood what his parents had once been searching for. He understood what kind of organization they had joined. And he finally understood why Darkwill—once brilliant, once strong, a ruler Swain had believed in and served willingly—had become what he was now.

Swain lifted his head. His eyes closed. His throat moved as he swallowed.

Then he stared at the oil lamp, his gaze slowly turning cold and sinister.

"Noxus won’t be your toy," he said quietly. "The more you try to kill me, the more it proves my path is the right one."

He shut the book with his right hand and spoke again, not for anyone else—only for himself.

"Darkwill... looking at it now, sitting on the throne only proves you have a butt that fits the seat."

"That seat... should not belong to someone like you." 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

He exhaled once, then reached out and snuffed the flame.

In the darkness, Swain’s eyes burned bright.

His voice whispered through shadow where no one else could hear him—

"I won’t let Noxus collapse."

"Never."

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