Arcane: The Gods Want Me to Pick a Route-Chapter 143: “Is This Idiot Always This Brave?”

Chapter 143: Chapter 143: “Is This Idiot Always This Brave?”

Beneath the massive Noxstora forged from black stone, the air felt oppressive and solemn. Iron-shod hooves hammered against the stone road. Past this main route, the Variu Mountains lay ahead—a colossal range stretching across Valoran, running from the western edge of Demacia all the way to the eastern reaches of Noxian territory.

"Rettas!"

Atop an enormous warhorse wrapped in heavy plate, Viscount Kiril wore a steel helm that revealed only his eyes. Black-and-white armor covered him from head to toe, a red scarf tied to his left arm fluttering in the wind. A massive double-edged greatsword rested across his back. He tugged the reins, halted his mount, and turned to the large force following behind him.

"Speak, Viscount Kiril," Rettas replied. Wearing armor and a helm that left his face exposed, he rode up to Kiril’s side.

Rettas really did come from a Noxian merchant family, but his horsemanship was equally impressive. He reached Kiril quickly, his expression calm.

Inside the army, Kiril was his superior. He had to obey every order.

In Noxus, military authority wasn’t the only thing that mattered. Ability didn’t mean brute strength alone.

So even without a noble title, Rettas’s standing wasn’t far below Kiril’s. But once they were in uniform, hierarchy was hierarchy—Rettas had to follow Kiril’s command.

"Have the entire force halt and recover. Also send cavalry to pressure the infantry battalion to pick up the pace," Viscount Kiril said in a low, firm voice.

Valoran was open plainland, but in places where Noxstora had been erected, you wouldn’t find muddy ground—there would be a flat, paved stone road instead.

That was a Noxian habit. After conquering a place, they would build a Noxstora there—an emblem branded into the land itself, a symbol of imperial force and glory.

So once you saw one, it meant you were already standing within Noxian territory.

And because the roads were prepared, Noxus infantry didn’t move slowly. Add in their brutal physical conditioning, and covering a hundred kilometers in a day and night wasn’t difficult.

Besides, Viscount Kiril’s unit wasn’t some ragtag rabble. This wasn’t a disposable fodder legion. The sick, the weak, the old—none of them existed in his ranks.

"Yes," Rettas said, then rode off to pass along the order.

Soon, two mounted riders peeled away from the tail of the cavalry and thundered back in the opposite direction.

Then Kiril issued another command.

"Pass this along: the entire army will rest and restore stamina."

"Strip the horses of their armor, tie them down, and feed them. We camp here tonight."

Viscount Kiril narrowed his eyes toward the Variu Mountains. After considering it, he decided not to push forward.

Rettas was startled. He stepped closer and asked quietly, only loud enough for Kiril to hear, "General... we’re not entering the Variu Mountains?"

"No." Kiril shook his head. "I understand what you’re thinking, Rettas. You want to reach Piltover tonight, then rest right under their noses—put pressure on them. Correct?"

"Piltover is weak," Rettas said seriously. "Their growth these past few years exceeded expectations, and they’ve even unified with Zaun—but I still don’t believe they can resist us. According to intelligence, Piltover’s garrison is only a few hundred at most. None of them have ever seen a real battlefield. They’re soft, incompetent civilians. One cavalry charge and their defenders will be wiped out."

He paused, then added, "And their so-called technology—rifles, or whatever—against heavy cavalry plate? Children’s toys."

"That may be true," Kiril said evenly, "but Ambessa failed inside that city-state."

"The Ironblood Wolf Mother?" Rettas scoffed. "Medarda was powerful—once. Now she’s just an old woman who lost a political struggle and fled Noxus to find a way out. How many people did she even bring when she left?"

"And I don’t believe Medarda’s household retainers are better than your army," Rettas said.

Kiril chuckled and shook his head. "That’s why you merchants—people who play with brains—don’t understand anything."

"Ambessa may be down on her luck now, but she used to be a grand general under Swain, Raine, and Grant. A full quarter of this land was taken by her hand."

"Yes," Rettas replied with a smile, stroking his chin, "and yet she still lost to Piltover. She’s old. She’s not the battlefield butcher she used to be—the kind of general who led from the front and piled corpses behind her."

"She brought so many people and still couldn’t take the city-state. If it were me, I think I’d only need fifty men to seize it. And General—right now we have fifteen hundred."

Kiril listened and still shook his head. He didn’t completely disagree—Ambessa was old, and she wasn’t what she once was.

Just like Boram Darkwill.

In the past, no one in Noxus dared resist Darkwill’s commands. Wherever his orders reached, Noxians would charge without hesitation, throwing death aside, offering their lives for the empire.

But now?

Darkwill was visibly incompetent. And as far as Kiril knew, more than half the army was already disobeying him in public compliance and private contempt.

Even so, Kiril didn’t change his mind. Because this was his style of war.

Against an enemy, leave no room. Hit in one surge and kill them outright. That was the Noxian way. They didn’t grant the enemy a single breath. If you wanted to surrender, if you wanted to pledge fealty—fine. Do it after the war ends. After you’ve already taken a blade.

Kiril reached out and patted Rettas’s shoulder. A flicker of predatory coldness surfaced in his eyes as he said softly, "The battlefield isn’t a game. Even a lion uses full force to crush a rabbit. Swain taught me that. And remember your place, Rettas."

"..."

"I understand."

Rettas lowered his head, shut his mouth, and said no more.

By dusk, the infantry battalion under Kiril’s command finally appeared—what had been a distant black speck became a long, crawling line as it approached the resting site.

Warhorses dragged wagons piled with grain and cargo. Behind them were handcarts pushed by men, stacked with more supplies.

Blades. Spears. Bows.

"Light the fires," Kiril ordered.

Soon, soldiers sat in small clusters around hanging kettles, and Kiril’s army began to eat.

After tonight...

He would trample Piltover beneath hoof and steel, seize the city-state, and present it to General Lincton as a "gift" to propel himself higher in the Noxian command.

Wealth mattered, but in Noxus, power mattered more. 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚

Darkwill’s reign was clearly nearing its end. If Kiril could bring Piltover to Lincton, it would help him become a warlord in a fractured Noxus—rather than a pawn.

He narrowed his eyes, drank the hot, salty meat broth in his bowl, and imagined his future. A smile crept across his face.

At the same time—Piltover.

Standing before the Hexgate’s control apparatus, staring at the glowing crystalline magic sphere, Logan’s expression turned strange.

This was his first time seeing the Hexgate’s control system. How to put it...

It felt overpowered.

Hextech airships passed through the gate and would appear on the other side of the world—and during the transfer, no one was actively piloting them. Fully automated. Which meant this device was the "brain," the intelligent control center for the Hextech airships.

"The anchor point is confirmed. The Hexgate is ready to warp at any time. Reduce speed—make sure the enforcers can hit accurately while firing from the airship."

"Enforcers are already aboard and standing by. The crystal cannons are installed. Ammunition is fully stocked."

Jayce pressed his large hand against the crystal sphere as he spoke.

"We’re ready to depart at any moment." He turned to Logan.

Jinx stood close by, eyes shining, both arms wrapped around Logan’s. "I’m going too."

It wasn’t because she wanted fireworks. It wasn’t because she wanted to hear Noxians screaming as they got blown apart. She wasn’t obsessed with gore and flying limbs—Jinx wasn’t that crazy.

She wanted to go because she wanted to ride a Hextech airship. When she was little, she’d dreamed of it, but she’d never had the chance.

And now? Now was the perfect chance.

Logan nodded and said with a smile, "Let’s go, everyone. Let’s see what we’ve built."

As his words fell, the group—Jayce included as the operator—walked out and headed to the airship boarding platform.

A massive deep-blue airship hovered outside, suspended in open air. Dozens of enforcers stood on deck—Zaun enforcers mixed with Piltover enforcers—faces hard, posture rigid.

All the councilors boarded the same ship. Councilor Kiramman gripped the railing... though in truth, she didn’t need to.

The airship was so fast it had protective shielding. Otherwise, at the kind of speed that could reach the Freljord in an hour, no matter how hard she held on, she’d be ripped right off the deck.

Logan, meanwhile, stared with curiosity at the crystal cannons mounted on the ship.

The Twin Cities’ craftsmanship was impressive. The cannons weren’t simply bolted on—they were embedded into the airship’s structure. With the safety locks engaged, the Hextech cannon was fused firmly into place. An enforcer stood behind each cannon, able to adjust aim up, down, left, right.

Watching the enforcers work the cannon controls, Logan couldn’t help but admire it.

Smart people were terrifying.

Give them a single idea, and they could spin it into multiple different, correct paths forward.

Why didn’t he have that kind of brain?

Logan looked down, thinking.

Variu Mountains.

Kiril sipped his broth. His soldiers were smiling too—some had even started shooting dice and downing swigs, the camp turning rowdy with confidence.

Kiril didn’t stop them. Because he felt the same way.

What trouble could taking Piltover possibly be?

Sure—Zaun existed too. But wasn’t Zaun even worse than Piltover? None of the Warmasons sent to Piltover ever wanted to go to Zaun. That told you everything: Zaun was poor, chaotic, filthy. Add it in, and what changed?

Two trash heaps instead of one.

Kiril snorted at the thought.

Then—

Shadow fell over the camp.

Was night really coming that fast?

With summer approaching, Valoran’s daylight lasted longer. Normally it wouldn’t go fully dark until after seven. And this was only dusk.

Frowning, Kiril raised his head.

His pupils contracted instantly.

The sky was crawling with enormous "monsters," each one tens of meters long—far larger than Demacia’s drake-rider corps.

"Ene—!"

Kiril jolted to his feet, snatching up his steel helm to put it on as he shouted a warning—

But the next second, a thunderous blast cracked from above.

BOOM!

A bright azure sphere tore through the air, plunging down from more than a hundred meters toward Kiril’s position.

It wasn’t big—about the size of a Noxian helmet. Kiril’s face tightened with confusion, but instinct took over. He seized his massive greatsword with inhuman speed, leapt high, and swung two-handed straight at the falling sphere.

Only then did he see what it really was.

It wasn’t a crystal orb at all. It was a gray-black sphere marked with a skull emblem. He’d mistaken it for "crystal" only because blue flame was burning around it, blinding his eyes.

Seeing that dull gray shell, Kiril threw his head back and laughed.

"You Piltovans are out of your damn minds! You think tossing stones from up high means I can’t deal with you?!"

"This garbage thing—what can it do?!"

He roared as he put everything into the swing.

"BREAK—!!"

His blade struck the sphere.

Kiril really was fast. And he really was strong.

He was wearing heavy plate—and yet he could leap nearly three meters into the air. Calling it monstrous wasn’t exaggeration. The Twin Cities’ enforcers could barely move in armor that thick.

But Kiril? He sprang up, swung a greatsword that weighed like a small anvil, and met the shell head-on—one strike, clean impact.

His fearless display helped the panicked Noxians regain their composure. Soldiers threw on armor, seized weapons. Archers raised bows toward the sky, ready to bring down the "monsters."

But up above—

On the airship drifting through the clouds, a hundred meters overhead, Jinx clung to the railing with one hand and held binoculars with the other. She leaned out and looked down, shrieking with delighted chaos.

"Whoa, Logan—look! There’s a dumbass!"

Silco heard her and covered his face with his palm.

He genuinely didn’t remember raising her like this.

Vander shot Silco an irritated look, clearly deciding this was Silco’s influence.

Piltover’s councilors wore strange expressions too—but somehow, they all felt the blue-haired menace was... correct.

Because that guy really was a dumbass.

Not only did he not dodge—he cut a bomb with his sword.

Seriously. Was he always this brave?

Logan was watching too. Seeing Kiril’s move, he almost laughed out loud.

Sure—this guy’s physical condition might even be better than Logan’s back when he first stepped into the Spirit Blossom realm and fought Sevika after meeting Jinx.

But eating a shell head-on?

Even Vander wouldn’t do that.

Zaun’s weapons had gone through multiple rounds of upgrades. Under Jinx’s development, her chem-bombs were stronger than earlier models by an absurd margin.

If that thing detonated, half of Vander would get blown apart—and he’d be left sprawled on the ground, waiting for his body to regenerate.

So—

"Logan, are these dumbasses always this brave?" Jinx turned, lowered her binoculars, and asked eagerly.

Logan was about to answer—

Then the explosion hit.

The blast wave surged so hard it rocked even the airship far above.

BOOOOM!!!

The dark plain flashed into sudden daylight. Wild fire erupted, swallowing the ground in a roaring bloom. From below, screaming rose in a wailing tide.

——————

"No...!"

"What is this?!"

Rettas—who hadn’t been caught directly—clamped both hands over his ears. His hearing rang, his vision swam, nausea clawing at him. Through the haze, he saw Kiril’s body thrown like a ragdoll.

Kiril’s heavy plate armor was caved in with a horrifying crater. His helmet was scorched black. And the parts of his limbs that had been exposed—hands, feet—were simply gone.

"Viscount Kiril?! Viscount Kiril!"

Rettas screamed, but the body in the distance didn’t answer.

Bang!

Boom!

Explosions multiplied.

Rettas lifted his head blankly—and saw the sky raining countless blue-flamed "crystal spheres," plunging down like meteors.

One shell had erased Kiril and the guards around him into silence.

And now... dozens were falling at once?

Terror flooded Rettas’s eyes.

BOOM!

Each sphere that hit the ground detonated in a blast spanning more than ten meters. Soldiers were hurled through the air—too many to count—dead or dying.

Rettas was among them.

A shockwave caught him and flung him more than ten meters. He slammed into the ground. Before darkness took him, he saw his limbs twisted at impossible angles from the impact.

Armor could protect the outside.

But flesh couldn’t endure that kind of force.

Even now, Rettas couldn’t understand what weapon this was.

Shells?

But shells were iron balls, weren’t they? Noxus had cannons too—mounted on warships. They fired massive iron shot to sink enemy vessels. So why did these "shells" explode?

And why were there so many at once?

Shouldn’t loading take time? Shouldn’t barrels need cooling?

Those "monsters"...

Hextech airships?

When did Piltover start mounting weapons like this onto airships?

Rettas had a thousand questions.

But then a sphere slammed into the ground barely a meter behind him.

BOOM!

Under that deafening thunder, the Noxians scattered in all directions.

This was a natural disaster.

A catastrophe.

This wasn’t something human hands could fight.

Run—yes, run!

Don’t stop!

The horses, spooked out of their minds, were either dead or had bolted. The soldiers had no choice but to flee on foot across the plain.

Up on the airship, Marcus—the operation’s field commander—watched coldly and issued orders without hesitation.

"Enforcers!"

"Ship Three, rotate bombardment to the north!"

"Ship Two, fire forward—saturate the zone!"

"Ship Six, move northeast!"

"Crush their escape routes. Box them in!"

"Full speed! Pursue! Fire!"

"Wipe out every invader. Leave none alive!"

Marcus stood at the speaking tube, arm raised, voice roaring with triumph.

Logan watched Marcus from the control room, rubbing his chin as a thought surfaced.

The Twin Cities had talent everywhere—every field, every specialty.

But they truly lacked battlefield command talent—leaders who could act as real generals.

Because until now, the Twin Cities hadn’t had a formal standing army. Zaun had only begun building one, but population was still a problem. Vander’s current manpower didn’t even compare to what Vi oversaw as head of the enforcers.

So maybe Marcus...

Maybe he was someone worth shaping.

Human potential was limitless. Sometimes you only find out whether someone can do it by letting them do it.

And right now, Marcus—radiant with confidence—very clearly had the instincts for command.

Jayce was staring at the ground getting hammered, his face alight with excitement. The Twin Cities’ councilors wore the same expression.

Mel’s face held awe—and unease.

Thank gods this weapon was in the Twin Cities’ hands.

Because if this weapon had been in Noxus’s hands... Mel had no doubt they would have flown airships straight over Demacia’s capital and started dropping bombs the very same day.

Air power against infantry—no matter how elite the cavalry, they were still meat on the block. And under wide-area bombardment, it was even worse.

Horses panic. Once they bolt, you can’t control them.

Councilor Kiramman’s cheeks were flushed, almost gleeful.

Councilor Hoskel’s belly jutted proudly as his face reddened with excitement.

Salo shrieked and whooped, venting years of resentment from being bullied by Noxians.

Silco smiled faintly.

Vander, though, looked strangely irritated—because under this kind of bombardment, personal valor was meaningless. Didn’t Jinx just point out that "dumbass," the one who looked like their commander? He’d been blown apart in seconds.

Technology...

Could do things ordinary people would never even imagine.

In the past, Vander hadn’t cared much. He always believed that no matter how far technology advanced, raw human strength would still matter more.

But looking at this now...

Enforcers were simply lining up on an airship, loading shells, while two others handled aim and firing—and Noxians were breaking and fleeing.

After today, the history of war in Valoran would have a new line written into it.

And that line would be written by the Twin Cities.

Zaun and Piltover had changed war itself.

//Check out my P@tre0n for 10 extra free Chapters //[email protected]/Razeil0810.