Arcane: Mage from Noxus

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"General Du Couteau, is she your candidate?"

The question hung in the air, cold and sharp, cutting through the iron-willed atmosphere of the Noxian war camp. Among the iron-blooded soldiers clad in dark armor, two figures stood out as entirely out of place.

Ryan Meredith, the man who spoke, was one of them. Draped in an elegant Red-and-black ensemble, he bore no resemblance to a soldier.

His demeanor—casual and smug—fit more with a scheming nobleman than a warrior on the battlefield. His keen eyes, however, betrayed an intelligence not to be underestimated.

He scrutinized the young woman who had just entered the command tent. Her wine-red hair cascaded down her shoulders, framing a determined, frosty face. She wore form-fitting black leather armor, her slim figure exuding deadly precision.

"Lord Meredith," Du Couteau began, his deep voice carrying the weight of command,

"Katarina has been personally trained by me. She is more than capable of completing this mission: infiltrating the enemy camp and assassinating Demetrius."

Du Couteau, seated at the head of the table, was the picture of Noxian authority—a resolute, battle-hardened man whose every word brooked no argument.

Ryan tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk curling his lips.

"As you will, General. I'll defer to your judgment."

He gave a small bow, though the amusement in his voice was unmistakable. He could see it in Katarina—the edge of her determination, sharp as a blade.

The scars scattered across her pale skin told the story of countless hours of grueling training. Yet, to him, she was still untested steel. A blade newly forged, sharp but unseasoned.

As Katarina turned and left the tent, her rigid posture betrayed her frustration at Ryan's thinly veiled skepticism. Watching her leave, Ryan sighed lightly, his expression unreadable.

When the other officers had dispersed, Du Couteau turned his sharp gaze on Ryan, irritation flashing in his dark eyes.

"Lord Meredith, your reputation precedes you. They say you have unparalleled judgment among the Black Rose. Katarina is my eldest daughter and the most gifted assassin I've ever trained. She will surpass me one day. I fail to see the reason for your doubts."

"She's skilled, yes," Ryan replied smoothly, "but this is her first real mission. Enthusiasm and raw talent are no substitutes for experience."

As he spoke, Ryan snapped his fingers. Instantly, water began to pool on the table between them. It swirled and coalesced into a mirror-like surface, rippling gently before solidifying into a clear reflection. Within the water mirror, an image of Katarina appeared.

The young assassin moved like a shadow through the enemy camp, twin daggers in hand. Her movements were silent and precise, her black armor blending seamlessly into the darkness. She weaved through patrols and obstacles with calculated grace, heading toward the largest tent.

Ryan's lips curved into a faint smile as he observed the scene.

"Youth is a dangerous thing," he mused,

"Always eager to prove itself. She believes killing the enemy commander will turn the tide of this war. Admirable, but naïve."

Du Couteau's face darkened as he watched the unfolding events.

"Her mission was simple: assassinate Demetrius, the enemy captain. What is she doing in the commander's tent?"

In the water mirror, Katarina slipped into the tent's interior, her eyes narrowing as they fell upon the sleeping figure of the enemy commander. With a mocking smile, she crept closer, one dagger poised above his throat.

Ryan shook his head, his tone one of bemused disapproval. "She's overstepping. Noxus uses every means to win wars, but there's a reason we targeted Demetrius instead of the commander. The latter is a fool—irrelevant in the grander scheme. Demetrius, on the other hand, is a strategist who can turn the tide of this conflict."

The water rippled as Katarina made her move. With a swift, calculated motion, she clamped one hand over the commander's mouth and drew her dagger across his throat in a single, soundless stroke. Blood spilled across the sheets, but her expression remained cold and victorious.

Du Couteau clenched his fists, his expression thunderous.

"She's compromised the mission. The enemy commander was never the real threat." His voice was tight with fury.

Ryan leaned back, unbothered by Du Couteau's rising anger.

"She's eager to prove herself, to show she can end the war single-handedly. Unfortunately, her inexperience blinds her. And now, with her clumsy infiltration, she's wasted too much time to deal with Demetrius. This was never about one grand gesture. It was about precision and strategy—two things she has yet to master."

Du Couteau's temper boiled over. With a swift motion, he slammed his hands against the table, shattering the water mirror and the image of Katarina's triumph.

"The war could have ended cleanly! Now we're forced into a premature confrontation!"

He turned on his heel, his voice like a low growl.

"I warned her of the stakes. She was told the importance of this mission. Yet she acted like a reckless child."

Straightening his shoulders, Du Couteau strode toward the tent's exit, his tone heavy with disappointment. 

"General Du Couteau, what are you going to do?"

"Kill Demetrius with my own hands," Du Couteau growled, his voice as cold as steel.

"Then I'll deal with that reckless fool. Noxus has no need for failures."

The air around him was charged with an icy intensity as he strode purposefully out of the command tent, his every step echoing his determination.

Du Couteau was more than a commander; he was Noxus's sharpest blade—a legendary assassin who could end wars as easily as he ended lives.

"Perhaps we shouldn't be so harsh," Ryan interjected, his tone calm and measured, his usual smirk curling his lips.

"No one is born perfect. She still has the heart of Noxus within her. And you, General, perhaps it's time for you to make a choice."

Du Couteau halted for a brief moment, his sharp eyes narrowing. The cacophony of battle grew louder outside the tent. Without turning, he spoke coldly:

"Lord Meredith, I'll need some time."

Ryan's smirk deepened. "We has granted you that time. Consider this next display our... sincerity."

Standing tall, Ryan removed the pristine white glove from his right hand, revealing a dark-blue ring that adorned his finger.

Hum!

The ring pulsed with an arcane light, radiating power. Runes carved into the surrounding air ignited with a pale blue glow as a massive magic circle formed beneath Ryan's feet. The hem of his blue-and-white attire billowed as the energy swirled around him, his aura commanding, like that of a king of arcane magic.

A beam of blue light shot from the tent into the stormy sky. Thunder roared as the heavens churned.

From the dark clouds above, yellow raindrops began to fall—not natural rain, but droplets of pure, corrosive magic.

These strange, shimmering raindrops ignored the laws of nature, flying straight toward the Shuriman army advancing on the Noxian camp.

At the forefront of the Shuriman ranks rode their captain, a knight clad in gleaming silver armor, his warhorse armored to match. This was Demetrius, the proud hero of Shurima, a warrior whose mere presence inspired legions to fight.

Boom!

Thunder cracked, and the yellow rain fell upon the Shuriman soldiers. Screams erupted as the corrosive magic burned through armor and flesh alike, reducing countless soldiers to the ground. But Demetrius charged onward, undeterred by the devastation around him.

Even as the toxic rain seeped into the joints of his armor, corroding his skin and flesh, he pressed forward, gripping his greatsword tightly. His eyes, hidden beneath his helm, burned with sorrow and rage, yet his hands did not falter.

"Noxus!! Die!!"

With a defiant roar, Demetrius broke through the rain, charging headlong into the Noxian camp. His epee swung with brutal strength, cutting down the first soldier in his path.

In that moment, Demetrius became a figure of legend—a lone warrior against thousands, his defiance blazing like a fire in the darkness.

Ryan emerged from the tent, his eyes fixed on the spectacle before him. There was admiration in his gaze, unhidden by his usual air of detachment.

"Demetrius," he murmured, "a man worthy of being Noxus's opponent."

The light of Ryan's ring dimmed, and the corrosive rain ceased. The battlefield was now illuminated only by flashes of lightning, casting long shadows over the chaos.

Though Ryan respected the Shuriman knight's strength, he made no move to intervene. This was not his battle to finish. It was Du Couteau's.

From the darkness, Du Couteau appeared—a phantom of death. Without a word, he struck, his blade finding the gaps in Demetrius's armor with deadly precision.

Slash.

A new wound appeared with each strike. Du Couteau vanished and reappeared, an assassin's rhythm of death. His movements were impossible to follow, his presence a ghostly nightmare on the battlefield.

Boom!

A bolt of lightning illuminated the scene as Du Couteau made his final move. This time, he did not vanish. He stood before Demetrius, meeting the knight's furious, pain-filled gaze.

With calm precision, Du Couteau drove his blade into Demetrius's neck. Slowly, mercilessly, he pushed it through until the light in Demetrius's eyes faded.

With a blank expression, Du Couteau severed the knight's head and raised it high above his own. Blood dripped from the lifeless trophy as his cold voice rang out across the battlefield:

"Noxus will rise!"

The Noxian soldiers erupted into a deafening roar, raising their weapons high.

"For Noxus!" they cried, their voices echoing into the storm.