Malphegor
patreon
Arcane: TTB: Ch. 161
🕑 Added 2026-01-22 00:25:52 +0000 UTC"Piltover's been quite lively lately," Emystan said, her voice breaking the silence in the council chamber. "Nobody wants to tell me what's going on?"
She'd called another meeting of Piltover's elite. Every major family was represented, crammed into the space. Her intelligence network had confirmed that today was the day, the citizens of Piltover would finally try to push back.
Perfect timing.
She was going to break this city's spine right in front of its nobles, and show them exactly what happened when people forgot their place.
"Acting tough but staying silent?" She let the sneer show on her face. "That's very Piltover of you."
Her tone was provocative, trying to bait someone into revealing themselves. She wanted to know who was organizing the resistance, who'd been stupid enough to arm civilians with Hextech weapons.
"General Emystan, what exactly are you implying?"
Mel stood from her seat, and every eye in the room turned toward her. Of course it would be her. The woman had more spine than sense.
"Conquest is one thing. But what you're doing here? Plundering the city and refusing to develop or integrate it into the empire. That's not how Noxus conquers territory."
She took a step forward, and Emystan had to admire the audacity even as she felt fury building in her chest.
"Does the empire know how you're managing this occupation? Because I'm fairly certain this violates every principle of Noxian expansion."
It was a direct challenge. And worse, Mel was right.
Noxian doctrine was clear: conquered territory became Noxian territory. You didn't just loot and leave. You built, developed, and integrated. That's how the empire had grown so powerful, by assimilating conquered peoples rather than just extracting resources.
Piltover had enormous strategic value. It controlled critical trade routes, possessed advanced technology, held one of the best natural harbors in Valoran. Treating it as a temporary cash grab was objectively bad policy.
"How I conduct my operations is none of your concern," Emystan said. "Not even your mother would presume to lecture me on military affairs."
"I'm not lecturing," Mel shot back. "I'm reminding you that mistakes have consequences in Noxus. Especially mistakes that damage imperial interests. Do you really want to explain your methods to Emperor Darkwill?"
Emystan was on her feet before she'd consciously decided to move. For a moment, she considered just killing Mel right there. The woman's mother might object, but Ambessa was in Ionia and she had an entire warband here.
Then pragmatism reasserted itself. Killing a Medarda in front of witnesses would create more problems than it solved.
"Guards," she said instead, forcing her voice to stay level. "Lady Medarda is clearly exhausted from her civic duties. Escort her home so she can rest."
This time, Mel didn't wait for the guards to grab her. She just gave Emystan a look of contempt and walked out on her own.
The chamber stayed silent until Mel's footsteps faded.
"General," her adjutant whispered, leaning close. "The demonstration has started."
Emystan's mood immediately improved. "Now that the irritation is gone, we can enjoy ourselves."
She gestured, and soldiers moved to position the Piltover elite near the windows. Emystan herself led the councilors out onto the balcony, where the view was better.
The council hall was the tallest building in Piltover. From this height, you could see most of the city spread out below. Several streets leading toward the hall were packed with people. They carried banners.
DRIVE OUT THE NOXIAN INVADERS.
RETURN FREEDOM TO PILTOVER.
FOR PROGRESS, FOR LIBERTY, AGAINST TYRANNY.
The crowd was mostly young people. Students and teachers from Piltover Academy, judging by their clothing and the improvised engineering vehicles they'd constructed. Someone had welded together mobile platforms from scavenged parts, and protestors stood on top waving flags and leading chants.
They'd even formed something resembling military formations, with people carrying shields at the front lines.
The chanting was loud enough to echo off buildings: "Out with the invaders! Piltover stays free!"
Under normal circumstances, Piltover's citizens would never challenge Noxian authority like this. But Emystan's policy of tax collection without executions had given them confidence. Combined with agitation from whoever was distributing Hextech weapons to civilians, it had snowballed into this.
A mass demonstration right under her window.
"Look at that," Emystan said, unable to keep the amusement from her voice. "They think they're soldiers. Adjutant, send our boys out to play with them."
"Yes, General!"
The signal went out immediately.
Noxian soldiers poured from the ground floors of nearby buildings. They moved in tight formation, a black wedge driving straight toward the demonstration. To minimize casualties, they weren't carrying blades. Instead, each soldier had a rubber truncheon.
"Men!" the lead sergeant bellowed as they advanced. "How much bonus did you get yesterday?"
"A year's pay!" came the shouted response.
"Win this, and there's three more years waiting! General Emystan is watching from above! Show me what that means!"
"LOYALTY!"
"Then let's teach these Piltovans what loyalty looks like! Anyone who runs, you chase them down! Anyone who fights, you break them! The general wants a clean sweep!"
They hit the demonstration line at full sprint.
The protestors had shields up front, probably thinking they could hold a defensive line like you'd see in military manuals. It might have worked against another civilian mob. Against professional soldiers, it lasted about three seconds.
The lead sergeant planted his boot in the center of a shield and kicked straight through. The student holding it went flying backward, crashing into the people behind him. The formation collapsed immediately. Then the Noxians were through, and it stopped being a confrontation and became a massacre.
The soldiers were brutal. First strike to the legs, usually the knee, to take away mobility. You can't run if you can't stand. Second strike to the ribs or stomach, driving the air from lungs, making it impossible to scream for help. Third strike to the head, just enough force to cause disorientation and pain without permanent brain damage.
The protestors at the front went down like wheat before a scythe. The ones behind them tried to hold, but they were students and teachers. Some of them had probably never been in a real fight in their lives.
The Noxians had been killing people for years.
Blood spattered across the cobblestones.
When the people at the back of the demonstration saw the carnage up front, they broke. The orderly march dissolved into fleeing, people scattering in every direction.
The Noxians chased them down. One soldier would drop a protestor, then immediately move to track the next one.
Within minutes, Piltover's streets had descended into chaos.
---
On the balcony, Cassandra was watching with horror.
"General Emystan," she said. "Perhaps you should order your men to stop. If casualties get too severe, the infrastructure could collapse."
Emystan glanced at her.
"Collapse?" She gestured at the streets below, where Noxian soldiers were still beating down fleeing civilians. "Your city's backbone isn't down there. Take a closer look at who's participating."
Cassandra had already done the analysis. The protestors were mostly students, young workers, academics. Piltover's real infrastructure were conspicuously absent.
Those people had families, mortgages, and real stakes in the system. They'd learned long ago that idealism didn't feed your children, and rebellion didn't pay the bills.
"My soldiers are professionals. They know exactly how much damage they can inflict without causing permanent injury. It looks brutal because it's meant to. But notice... nobody's dying down there."
It was true. The protestors were injured, bleeding, and in pain. But they were alive.
"Still," Emystan said thoughtfully. "We can't just leave them lying in the streets. That would be irresponsible." She turned to Cassandra with a smile. "Your daughter is an enforcer, isn't she?"
Cassandra's blood went cold. "Yes."
"Have her mobilize the enforcers. Arrest these rioters for disturbing public order. And take them to Stillwater Hold for rehabilitation."
The trap was obvious. If Cassandra refused, Emystan would have grounds to accuse House Kiramman of supporting the rebellion. If she agreed, her daughter would be the face of Piltover collaborating with the occupation.
"I don't think..." Cassandra started.
"Mother." Caitlyn had been standing quiet until now, but apparently she'd reached her limit. "I'll handle it."
"Caitlyn—"
"It's fine. I'll get the enforcers mobilized."
"Excellent!" Emystan's smile widened. "Adjutant, send some men to assist Miss Kiramman. We want to make sure every single rioter gets properly processed."
Caitlyn understood the underlying meaning. She gave a crisp nod and headed for the stairs without another word.
As soon as she was gone, Cassandra sagged slightly. Around the balcony, the other Piltover elites were processing what they'd just witnessed.
Emystan surveyed them with satisfaction. This was what breaking a city looked like. Not through overwhelming force, but through application of pressure. You made them watch their children beaten in the streets. Then you forced them to take part in the arrests. After that, you taught them that resistance brought only suffering.
By the time Zaun finally "liberated" Piltover, these people would be so grateful they'd probably build statues to their rescuers.
---
Thousands of kilometers away, in an unremarkable estate in the Noxian capital, two ancient beings sat by a fireplace drinking tea.
LeBlanc poured carefully from an ornate pot. Across from her, Vladimir examined his fingers.
They'd both lived over a thousand years. In that time, they'd accumulated secrets. Under normal circumstances, they might go years without speaking. Now, barely a month after their last meeting, here they were again.
"Emystan accomplished nothing," LeBlanc said, watching steam rise from her cup. "Her entire warband served only to confirm that Zaun possesses long-range strike capability. Beyond that? Complete failure."
The tea's aroma filled the small room. It was something rare and expensive, because with a thousand years of accumulated wealth, why drink anything less?
"Another failure," Vladimir murmured.
He didn't sound particularly upset. Warbands were replaceable. Information was what mattered.
"What interests me is the discrepancy," LeBlanc continued. "If Zaun has the military capability to annihilate a Noxian warband so easily, why did Swain die so pathetically at Placidium?"
She took a sip of tea. "Based on what Zaun has demonstrated, the Ionian forces at that battle shouldn't have been nearly enough to kill him."
Vladimir finally looked up from his hands. "You think he walked into the trap deliberately and staged his death, vanishing into the shadows like we once did."
"I think that Swain's supporters in the military have been remarkably quiet about his death." LeBlanc set down her cup. "For a man of his charisma, that's impossible. Unless they were informed ahead of time that his death was theater."
Vladimir considered this. "He's clever, I'll grant you that. But staging your own death on a battlefield is incredibly risky. Even for someone of his caliber."
"Which is why he needed Zaun's cooperation." LeBlanc smiled and poured more tea. "He's been building this for years. And now that he has Zaun's military backing..."
"He's ready to move against the old guard," Vladimir said quietly. "Noxus is the game board, and he's testing whether we can stop him."
No one spoke. The only sound was the fire crackling nearby.
"Continue probing with proxies?" Vladimir asked finally.
"No." LeBlanc drained her cup in one motion. "Probing accomplishes nothing at this point. If he wants a direct confrontation..."
Her eyes gleamed in the firelight.
"Then the Black Rose will oblige him."
